The Silent Majority enacted their staged march, then shuffled home to gawp at themselves on telly. Sweet nineteen and never been transfixed, transformed, transfigured by anything but money, jewellery and loud cars. Blood of ice, a Big Blue heart, frost-lined lids, perfect stung lips for enunciating prejudice. The body is first conceived. A tiny contact grows toward our image.
Hearts synchronize with the newcomer's as they bring out another body.
Yet there are those who claim their bodies as their own to pierce, scar, flagellate, flay, de-hydrate, intoxicate, extend, transcend, as they see fit, bring to an end the reliance of the flame of life upon its soft container, scrape away the fragile mask consumer civilization cultivates, and bring out another body. Well, maybe not so wishy-washy. I wrote it when the British legal system began to establish the principle, if not the practice, that mass murderers might be tried for their crimes. Preventive action in 1975 might have been easier still, and could've saved 300,000 innocent lives.