It was the border control in France that finally got to me. Horrible and stinky and foreign, it was. Two thousand, or maybe even more, people were pushing me this way and that, talking in their passionate, crazed language of love. A british man like me could not compete, now could he?
South of the border is the place to go off I95 in South Carolina. It has cool and tacky Mexican fare. I wouldn’t spend the night, but it’s fin to visist.
Stepping over an invisible, intangible line seemed so ridiculous now that she had done it. Why was it that something she couldn’t even see was the key to her freedom. All of that work, risking her life to cross over to a new section on a map that was drawn ages ago from some old man’s imagination. What a load of crap
After we crossed the border, I realized we did not yet feel free. I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that they would be following. “What are you worried about?” she said. “It’s over. We’re here. They can’t touch us.” I woul
Hello? Who are you? You’re just standing there–at the border between love and hate. Cross the fence. Come over here. What are you doing? Graffiti king? Graffiti hate king? No. You’ll see. You’ll see–one day, it will all be about love, and you’ll walk with the rest of us.
She ran with all her might for the border, and the men were chasing her with guns. As she ran she knew her life was ending, but she didn’t care, she knew freedom was on the other side.
The snow made the sky look an orange hue. Back and forth between the library and the single bedroom dormitory, listening to the opening jangle of Richard & Linda Thompson’s “When I Get to the Border”. December, 2008.
The fence tore a hole in my nice new shirt, leaving a small red trace of someone else’s blood on it as I hopped over and braced myself for landing. My mother on the other side waved solemnly, but I knew she smiled as I ran out into the open desert landscape. I’d always wanted to learn a new culture, a new people, and Mexico’s fiery passion was perfect, though first I had to evade their fiery and passionate police officers chasing me.
You were unsoberly proud to arrive at your limit’s end
There couldn’t be long term effects, this is just pretend.
The excitement of the moment drove you over
Now you cannot return what was stolen.
It wasn’t yours to give recklessly, dear
All he said about your heart “heck, let’s leave it here.”
There is a reason purity asks to wait for a certain time
Your life is not your own, it belongs to the Divine.
A border is an edge; a separation. It defines what is in and what is out; the haves and the have nots. Whether intangible or physical, borders feel very real. There are many borders in society; income groups, social classes, religious affiliations, genders, all these things create clear separations.
It was the border control in France that finally got to me. Horrible and stinky and foreign, it was. Two thousand, or maybe even more, people were pushing me this way and that, talking in their passionate, crazed language of love. A british man like me could not compete, now could he?
South of the border is the place to go off I95 in South Carolina. It has cool and tacky Mexican fare. I wouldn’t spend the night, but it’s fin to visist.
border tensions between india and pakistan continue with pakistan flaunting the cease fire on so many occassions
Stepping over an invisible, intangible line seemed so ridiculous now that she had done it. Why was it that something she couldn’t even see was the key to her freedom. All of that work, risking her life to cross over to a new section on a map that was drawn ages ago from some old man’s imagination. What a load of crap
After we crossed the border, I realized we did not yet feel free. I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that they would be following. “What are you worried about?” she said. “It’s over. We’re here. They can’t touch us.” I woul
Hello? Who are you? You’re just standing there–at the border between love and hate. Cross the fence. Come over here. What are you doing? Graffiti king? Graffiti hate king? No. You’ll see. You’ll see–one day, it will all be about love, and you’ll walk with the rest of us.
She ran with all her might for the border, and the men were chasing her with guns. As she ran she knew her life was ending, but she didn’t care, she knew freedom was on the other side.
The snow made the sky look an orange hue. Back and forth between the library and the single bedroom dormitory, listening to the opening jangle of Richard & Linda Thompson’s “When I Get to the Border”. December, 2008.
how strange that we are in a place
where our lips can touch
but our bodies can’t
The fence tore a hole in my nice new shirt, leaving a small red trace of someone else’s blood on it as I hopped over and braced myself for landing. My mother on the other side waved solemnly, but I knew she smiled as I ran out into the open desert landscape. I’d always wanted to learn a new culture, a new people, and Mexico’s fiery passion was perfect, though first I had to evade their fiery and passionate police officers chasing me.
You were unsoberly proud to arrive at your limit’s end
There couldn’t be long term effects, this is just pretend.
The excitement of the moment drove you over
Now you cannot return what was stolen.
It wasn’t yours to give recklessly, dear
All he said about your heart “heck, let’s leave it here.”
There is a reason purity asks to wait for a certain time
Your life is not your own, it belongs to the Divine.
A border is an edge; a separation. It defines what is in and what is out; the haves and the have nots. Whether intangible or physical, borders feel very real. There are many borders in society; income groups, social classes, religious affiliations, genders, all these things create clear separations.