Testo Memory Of The Dead

Memory of the Deadwealthy vampireswith the cold hands of executionersexecuteexecutive decisionsdetermined to destroywhat 1 million women, children, and men1910died, drowning in the rage of battle.mothers, half nakedinfants clutching thier necksrunning franticallytripping over the bodies of their sonsteeth gnashingswinging machetespitting blood and mud, and screaming:land, and liberty!were reased.buried and burnedalong with the memory of the deadalong with the ejido.with the smooth stroke of a penand with the ghost of Nixon present in their eyesthey smiled.and pronounced the omnipitenceof the free marketthe profits of profitextending the scurge of columbus and pizarrothe freedom to buy things you can never affordthe freedom for indians to buy corn that once flourished overgrown in their backyardsthe freedom to die of curable diseasethe freedom to watch their children‘s stomachs swell and burstthe freedom to starve and diewithout landor libertybut Ramona, with eyes of obsidianpeering through her blood and sweat drenched maskdarding, unseenchanging direction with the swiftness of a birdthrough the shanty‘s of the canyonwith every coyote, every insect, every phylum of lifeurging her, propelling her forward.the leaves and branches of the forestpart for miles, clearing her paththe voices and screams of the dead beneathe her feetecho in the deepest chasm of her soulhurling her, toward the cityhistory surging through her veinspulsing through her fingershurling her, towards the cityshe caresses her triggerand the words of magome fulfil her beingand with each shot she fires, she affirms her movementsaying:enough! enough!no!I will see my own blood flowbefore you take my land...or my liberty