And I try to evict you with reason, with research, with debates in which to vent my frustration, playing with Photoshop, transcribing music, playing it. Spreading ideas, creating conscience.
This old trotskyite needs not convince anyone of his convictions. They keep him afloat when the child is forlorn.
Pass the torch that will set this world ablaze someday.
Someday (sighs)...
And my mind returns to the Spufford on the post-Stalin world, when we had a brief glimmer of hope. When there were practical dreamers and I would have been red within the red.
My mind wanders to our discussions, on my fears that I voiced to you. On the hopes that you gave me.
And there you are, again...
As Benedetti would say, "Soy un caso perdido".
Impartiallity is the trap.
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