In Those Days It Was Either Live

The World Is Just As Concrete, Ornery, Vile, And Sublimely Wonderful As Before, Only Now I Better Understand My Relation To It And It To Me.

If Social Protest Is Antithetical To Art, What Then Shall We Make Of Goya, Dickens, And Twain?

In Those Days It Was Either Live With Music Or Die With Noise, And We Chose Rather Desperately To Live.

The Clock Ticked With Empty Urgency, As Though Trying To Catch Up With The Time. In The Street A Siren Howled.

I Denounce Because Though Implicated And Partially Responsible, I Have Been Hurt To The Point Of Abysmal Pain, Hurt To The Point Of Invisibility. And I Defend Because In Spite Of It All, I Find That I Love.