I want some clear mental space. I need to laugh. So, I perform laughter. I let it bottle up from the bottom of my throat, building until it echoes in my room. It comes out as a bark or a fit of giggles or staccatoed hiccups. I laugh because I want things to be funny.
You visited me in my dream last night. Remember, Scholar, that it's not all pain. Remember that sometimes humor is the way to the heart. You told me to listen to people. To continue practicing my listening. You told me to laugh again. Laugh from inside. Laugh for real.
I'm trying too hard. I'm trying too hard to win you over because the need for change is urgent. Lives are at stake. Unless we redefine the ways in which we use the objects and spaces around us, exploitation and oppression will continue. Unless we begin to practice use rather than self-interest, we will carry on just the same. And we're not okay now. We feel it. We see it on the streets. We are hungry for revolution. We can not sleep with our stomachs so empty. We stay up and dream instead.
I'd dearly love a laugh.