Cripple POWA'!

Art Honeymon, In His Own Words, A Poem.


You're Damn Right We Will

We'll show them anyhow

You're damn right we will

We'll roll down the street

We'll hobble we'll crawl

We'll struggle blindly

With dog or cane

We'll shake we'll drool

We'll be a disgusting spectacle

We'll show them our heritage

And our lack of heritage

We'll show them they can't ignore

Our screams of "Cripple Power"

"We want more"

We'll break down the walls to boxes

That they've stuck us in for years

And placated us with paternalistic help

We'll show them how realistic we can be

By living our fantasies

We'll show them in living color

What it means to drool while you laugh

To grope while you walk -- to roll over a curb

And have a thousand people look away from

you

We'll show them with love that Jesus Christ

Only suffered a little while on a cross

With thorns in his crown and nails in his

bloody hands

but

not

for years at a time

and not without hope.

Art Honeymon, lisiado de cuerpo pero no de voluntad. Feb. 8, 1971
Es el personaje real del personaje virtual de la película, tocante película "The music within".


¿Estamos magullados?

‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed

"Tuco: If I get my hand on the two hundred thousand dollars, I'll always honor your memory. I swear."

Soneto CXXI

Mejor será ser malo que malestimado,
cuando el no serlo gana de serlo condena,
perdido el justo gozo, que no al propio agrado
de uno se mide, sino por mirada ajena.
Pues, ¿a qué van los ojos de otros con veneno
a hacer guiño a los brincos de mis fantasías,
o a ser de mis miserias míseros espías,
que hagan malo a su antojo lo que estimo bueno?
No, yo soy lo que soy; y los que me reprochen,
contando están sus propias faltas en mis sobras;
puedo ir derecho, aunque ellos de través atrochen;
Sus pútridas ideas no han de hacer mis obras;
Si no es que a todo extienden esta triste ley:
todo hombre es malo, y en su mal él es el rey.


Sonnet CXXI

‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
when not to be receives reproach of being,
and the just pleausre lost, which is so deemed
not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing.

For why should others’ false adulterate eyes
give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
which in their wills count band what I think good?

No, I am that I am, and they that level
at my abuses reckon up their own;
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
by their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;

unless this general evil they maintain:
all men are bad, and in their badness reign.

William Shakespeare, Sonetos de Amor/ The Sonnets.