Shit Happens

But while there’s a job to be done, those of us that care will hang on and will pick up the pieces and will fight and sweat and will put things together again and we will make things work.

And on that note, here’s one of my favourite poems:

The Low Road, by Marge Piercy

What can they do to you?
Whatever they want.

They can set you up, bust you,
they can break your fingers,
burn your brain with electricity,
blur you with drugs `till you
can’t walk, can’t remember.
They can take away your children,
wall up your lover; they can do
anything you can’t stop them doing.

How can you stop them?
Alone you can fight, you can refuse.
You can take what revenge you can
but they roll right over you.

But two people fighting
back to back can cut through a mob
a snake-dancing fire can break a cordon,
termites can bring down a mansion

Two people can keep each other sane,
can give support, conviction,
love, massage, hope, sex.

Three people are a delegation
a cell, a wedge.
With four you can play games
and start a collective.
With six you can rent a whole house
have pie for dinner with no seconds
and make your own music.
Thirteen makes a circle,
a hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your
own newsletter; ten thousand
community and your own papers;
a hundred thousand, a network
of communities;
a million our own world.

It goes one at a time.
It starts when you care to act.
It starts when you do it again
after they say no.
It starts when you say we
and know who you mean;
and each day you mean
one more.

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