Thursday, December 6, 2012

Defining Myself

Although ever'one in the whole damn world seems able to define me just because of now walking with a walker, in just the same way I have fought to stay out of a wheel chair for over 32 years I have also struggled to define myself: disabled, differently-abled, handicapped, gimp, geek, cripple, one who walks with a non standard gait subsequent to a spinal cord injury

Lately figured out becoming me a cool thing to be and so will let my life speak for me, damn your eyes all you womens who ain't given me a second look while they date boys or psychopaths who steal from them, all you people who jump to help and judge and expect me to grovel with gratitude for my right to live with dignity as a human being.

[Zack de la Rocha clearly recalls how the hurt, anger and cruel surprise — the compound whack of ignorant racism — literally knocked the speech out of him. The singer and lyricist of Rage Against the Machine was in high school: a solitary Mexican-American teenager in a classroom of bone-white faces, a self-conscious exception to the privileged homogeneity of the Los Angeles suburb of Irvine, California. A teacher was leading a discussion about rock formations on the state's Pacific coast.

"He was describing one of the areas between San Diego and Oceanside," de la Rocha says, "and as a reference to this particular area of the coastline, he said, 'You know, that wetback station there.' And everyone around me laughed. They thought it was the funniest thing that they ever heard."

De la Rocha's voice — usually a rapid-fire thing, a formidable weapon of debate in conversation and on the three Rage albums he has made with guitarist Tom Morello, bassist Tim Commerford and drummer Brad Wilk — drops to a measured snarl: "I remember sitting there, about to explode. I realized that I was not of these people. They were not my friends. And I remember internalizing it, how silent I was. I remember how afraid I was to say anything."]  Emphasis added because I ain't afraid no more.
Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/the-battles-of-rage-against-the-machine-19991125#ixzz2EI1mbD8a 
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1 comment:

RevDrJCM said...

The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems (1913)
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
Charles Edwin Anson Markham (23 April 1852 – 7 March 1940

Your story reminds me of this.