As Harman Arrogantly Looks Down at Our Bicycle Bones on the Ground….

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As Harman Arrogantly Looks Down at Our Bicycle Bones on the Ground….
To everyone connected to Marcy’s recent campaign
by Richard Martin Oxman

Two requirements for getting this. One, you’ve got to have at least one poetic bone in your body. Two, you must feel our holocausts, our momentum in your bones.

Unlike others, I don’t want your money. Nor do I want virtually any of your time.

I want your soul. And a very few heartbeats. That’ll be quite enough.

And speaking of enough:

Are you the walking deaf dead out there? Where are you? I’ve been calling you. [Pause.] More importantly, what are you?

Do I really have to prove that we have deadlines?

[Pause.]

Serious as I am midst the cancer clusters I travel daily, I am offering you The Greatest Show on Earth, the most fun you’ve ever had. But you’ve got to refuse to succumb to the insane notion that that stink in your nostrils in natural. That you can’t do anything about what you smell clear as a bell. Or that all you can do is what you’ve tried to date.

I shall call you David.

You can do something fresh about this horrid momentum, these crimes. Without career politicians.

What do I have to do to receive an invitation to speak to you and your loved ones in person? To leave my lovely family to work 24×8 on what is most dear to your heart? I’m there.

But you’ve got to get right back up on that bicycle. Right now.

When I was barely seven-years-old, a great poet — an old woman of incomparable beauty — looked into my eyes, struggling to rise above her own ravaged state, and graced me with words she had written as a teenager:

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through
.

I see the face of God as I write to you, as I beg you to get with me to do what must be done. What can be done, having immense fun, no sweat off your back.

When I last talked to Howard Zinn, he told me that he thought I might lose people on the Left with such talk about God. He didn’t say that to deter me from anything, but to prepare me.

[Pause.]

I know very well what we’re up against.

And so like the father in Life is Beautiful I think of the children… creating some sweet games to mitigate the senseless pain, as I turn my face toward cracks in the wall, escape routes.

I treat hard working adults who have just come off of working their hearts out like children*, telling them they’ve merely fallen off a bicycle, and that they’ve got to get back up right away. And I call them all David.

*“Children guessed, but only a few, and down they forgot as up the grew.”

Yes, the child in me — rare as flawless chrysolite — is hysterically presumptuous. But that’s the way out of here.

Contact me at tosca.2010@yahoo.com or call 831-688-8038 in Aptos, California.