If zionism was a box, I would rip it into ten thousand pieces and scatter it in the forest

If zionism was a dress, I would send it to the second hand store

If zionism was a painting, I would hang it next to Goya’s Disasters of War

If zionism was a song, I would never play it.

Blogs as works of art

In order to return this Fringe blog to its customary topics, we’ve set up another blog where we’ll write on Blogshares issues.

To kick things off, we’ve delivered some hints on how to succeed with the new maths, and set up a mission seeking out the best dead blogs for recognition and preservation. So far, there have been some absolute corkers, from lyric poetry to humorous verse, exceptionally beautiful photoblogs to memoirs of a soldier killed in Iraq.

Don’t miss them!

Speaking Out

Delbard Matisse RoseSpeak Not Silently

I am the eyes who look upon you,
yet you cannot see my soul.
I am the memory which casts
it’s dark shadow, it’s veil across your face
yet you cannot remove it, no matter
how great the measure of your effort.
I am the face in the crowd, the one
which is unrecognizable to many
aside from the other who shares
a commonality in their journey.
A simple glance is all that is needed
to translate a thousand words,
foreign to those who cannot
comprehend my language.
I am silent in my suffering.
I am silent in my pain.
I speak only to those from whom
I have been given permission,
for it is in my lack of safety,
I remain silent.
I am hidden in the musty closet
of my mind’s eye, choking on
the twisted hangers of humankind’s
continued perpetration.
I am bleeding, and I am raw.
I am tired, and I am broken.
Speak not silently.
It is for one such as I
you choose to raise your voice.
One who cannot speak for herself.
One who has suffered such as you.
Stand upon the highest point
and hear it echo across the world.
Let not mankind ignore your message.
Speak not silently.
For in your truths, I shall be set free.
And I shall learn, through your courage,
how to whisper by way of a dry
cracked vocalization, initially incoherent.
But someday, perhaps, I shall join you
on that high, high peak, and our echoes
shall resound together.
For you chose to speak not silently.
Instead you screamed for me.

A.C. Fernandez