Revolution, Part One

I googled female revolutionary and got a whole bunch of women with guns and rifles. There were lots of photos of glorious women in robes and glamorous women from southern countries. I got lost for a bit on a website that featured vintage Chinese photos. I didn't want a photo of a woman with a gun, though, or even a weapon. I really didn't want anyone standing over someone bound. Then I came upon the photo above and I clicked and copied its url, fed it into the post and am writing around it. I've been thinking about revolution of late as it pertains to this medical marijuana business, how it's unfolded, how I can hardly open the computer or a paper or turn on the television and not see something about it. That Sophie is taking a less than ideal tincture that appears to be doing something and that this something is something positive and that we might be on the forefront of something revolutionary is -- well -- unsettling. I feel compelled to speak in code when I speak of it, not just the stuff itself but the success of the stuff. That's the Italian in me, I suppose, the peasant. The stuff itself feels transgressive, and so does the success. I think of the legion of children drugged in our schools, drugged and dazed and hyped up. Legally. I think of revolution, being on the edge of one. I think first of stripping, of being naked, being naked the expression of ecstasy. The archetypal nightmare, though, the dream, is of you, naked, in a room, walking down a hallway of a school. You thought you were clothed, only realize it when someone points and then everyone is pointing. You wake up panting and lie down. It was only a dream, you think, relieved, a nightmare. 

I type, blinded.