Jen Corri
Letters to The Towers: (re-edit for Lily!)
Today the sun shone on newly spouting seeds and I realised. No matter how much I fight, no matter how much I hope for peace, understanding – they will never allow it. They cannot accept it nor endorse it nor ever acknowledge it. They will always bark me down, no matter my intentions. They will always rave about the greatness of Rome. The love of their Caeser. They will never link arms and stand together: Brothers In Arms. Everytime I am branded conspirator, liar and want to scream out, fight back, spit abuse from this side of the ring: I breathe. Wait. Ponder. My Mantor proof reads all my works before they are submitted. They disappear through my love, not fear. And I hope more than anything they were read before words dissipate into beautiful shining stars. That the enormity of ignorance is understood…
In the midst of the anger on this beautiful morning as I bury myself feverishly into a vendetta I suddenly ask ‘Does this hurt more?’ as it dawns that whilst I am sick of hearing of the wonderfulness of a wicked but well-loved dictator. I realise, softly. Like the tender opening of butterfly wings emerging from it’s chysalis. Mantor doesn’t want his corner fought. He doesnt want the past forgiven. He doesn’t want wrongs rectified. He doesn’t care that you don’t believe. The lie you remember is not the truth that he lived and that, for him, is just fine. That’s why: There is the answer: Because Mantor was born mute. By the time he found a voice it whispered so low it was inaudiable to those who lacked the motivation to listen. Everyone so busy painting their faces with wide clown smiles, adjusting their shiney noses. Too distracted to pause when the Dog Whistle blew. Mantor always lacked fight. Never tried to be fiesty. There are no answers to find now, no need for understanding. It is found in his lack of wanting.
I must go into hiding now. We will never speak again. I will burn this journal tonight in the dark whilst Mantor dreams of sweetness and love. I must seek refuge with people who believe in Love, Liberty, Truth and Justice. I can accept what Mantor does not wish to remember, but I cannot logically process the exclamations that are shouted loudly from windows ‘Remember who you are!’. Plackards held firm for everyone to see: ‘Remember our Caeser. Our Good Caeser!’ Each syllable spat for others to injest.. And with each word deep, deep sorrow that you wish the man, everyman, to be like your Caeser, when his only wish is to run far, far away from your great leader and Historic Rome.
I am not lying down. I am not taking it back. I am not sorry.
I will never be. Fire up all your engines for the solidarity of secrets. Your raving of intangible goodness. Tell your children and your children’s children. Tell them all lie upon lie. It is of no consequence. The truth is destiny. Non of is can escape it. I’ll search for you at the end of days and ask you then why you could not show love. Why you failed to support. Why you refused to believe. If you intentionally rejected Mantor a second time over? If it was premeditated to push sharpened knives in the back? Deeper and deeper still, with your own version of reality.
I write with haste now – as I am both sickened and dismayed as to why still even after the ephinany, attempting to end this game – STILL I want the truth told. For all demons to be kissed on the cheek and wished Goodnight forever. But it is not my truth and whilst I defend the very essence of who Mantor is and all those who have hurt him, I feel nothing but exasperation that not one of you good, good people sat with him, held him, loved him. Gave him the confirmation and recognition he has deserved for these many years gone. I will never understand you, this is clear now, and so I must hate you. With every inch of my being I will detest every single one of you. And as pennance for your crimes on the day of his mourning I will find you and you will not refuse me. You will not ignore me. You will stand arms linked, stedfast in your ridiculousness: Brothers in Arms. And you will listen to every drip of blood from the fallen and every stopped heart of the weak. And when you have bathed in the pain you have tried to deny, I will ask for your forgiveness. I will beg you to take mercy on me for I will not leave one of you whole. Not one of you worthy. Not one of you will be fit to raise your head to even murmur ‘Hail Caeser!’.
Until that great day of retribution and truth, I will spend my life devoted, loving, thankful…
Jen Corri
Letters to The Towers: (re-edit for Lily!)
Today the sun shone on newly spouting seeds and I realised. No matter how much I fight, no matter how much I hope for peace, understanding – they will never allow it. They cannot accept it nor endorse it nor ever acknowledge it. They will always bark me down, no matter my intentions. They will always rave about the greatness of Rome. The love of their Caeser. They will never link arms and stand together: Brothers In Arms. Everytime I am branded conspirator, liar and want to scream out, fight back, spit abuse from this side of the ring: I breathe. Wait. Ponder. My Mantor proof reads all my works before they are submitted. They disappear through my love, not fear. And I hope more than anything they were read before words dissipate into beautiful shining stars. That the enormity of ignorance is understood…
In the midst of the anger on this beautiful morning as I bury myself feverishly into a vendetta I suddenly ask ‘Does this hurt more?’ as it dawns that whilst I am sick of hearing of the wonderfulness of a wicked but well-loved dictator. I realise, softly. Like the tender opening of butterfly wings emerging from it’s chysalis. Mantor doesn’t want his corner fought. He doesnt want the past forgiven. He doesn’t want wrongs rectified. He doesn’t care that you don’t believe. The lie you remember is not the truth that he lived and that, for him, is just fine. That’s why: There is the answer: Because Mantor was born mute. By the time he found a voice it whispered so low it was inaudiable to those who lacked the motivation to listen. Everyone so busy painting their faces with wide clown smiles, adjusting their shiney noses. Too distracted to pause when the Dog Whistle blew. Mantor always lacked fight. Never tried to be fiesty. There are no answers to find now, no need for understanding. It is found in his lack of wanting.
I must go into hiding now. We will never speak again. I will burn this journal tonight in the dark whilst Mantor dreams of sweetness and love. I must seek refuge with people who believe in Love, Liberty, Truth and Justice. I can accept what Mantor does not wish to remember, but I cannot logically process the exclamations that are shouted loudly from windows ‘Remember who you are!’. Plackards held firm for everyone to see: ‘Remember our Caeser. Our Good Caeser!’ Each syllable spat for others to injest.. And with each word deep, deep sorrow that you wish the man, everyman, to be like your Caeser, when his only wish is to run far, far away from your great leader and Historic Rome.
I am not lying down. I am not taking it back. I am not sorry.
I will never be. Fire up all your engines for the solidarity of secrets. Your raving of intangible goodness. Tell your children and your children’s children. Tell them all lie upon lie. It is of no consequence. The truth is destiny. Non of is can escape it. I’ll search for you at the end of days and ask you then why you could not show love. Why you failed to support. Why you refused to believe. If you intentionally rejected Mantor a second time over? If it was premeditated to push sharpened knives in the back? Deeper and deeper still, with your own version of reality.
I write with haste now – as I am both sickened and dismayed as to why still even after the ephinany, attempting to end this game – STILL I want the truth told. For all demons to be kissed on the cheek and wished Goodnight forever. But it is not my truth and whilst I defend the very essence of who Mantor is and all those who have hurt him, I feel nothing but exasperation that not one of you good, good people sat with him, held him, loved him. Gave him the confirmation and recognition he has deserved for these many years gone. I will never understand you, this is clear now, and so I must hate you. With every inch of my being I will detest every single one of you. And as pennance for your crimes on the day of his mourning I will find you and you will not refuse me. You will not ignore me. You will stand arms linked, stedfast in your ridiculousness: Brothers in Arms. And you will listen to every drip of blood from the fallen and every stopped heart of the weak. And when you have bathed in the pain you have tried to deny, I will ask for your forgiveness. I will beg you to take mercy on me for I will not leave one of you whole. Not one of you worthy. Not one of you will be fit to raise your head to even murmur ‘Hail Caeser!’.
Until that great day of retribution and truth, I will spend my life devoted, loving, thankful…