Every year, I try to write something about this country on July 4, because I love it.
(Oh sure, you do, kaffyr ... how come you're not a citizen?)
But this year, after eight months of surreality -
(What makes a country great? What makes it great again? How can it become great for the first time?)
I find that I cannot.
(Some must think that makes me a traitor. Some must think I must be spineless. Some must think it makes me a patriot. I think it makes me confused.)
I still love it.
(Can't figure out why, except that it's still got a chance to be great, and isn't that almost enough?)
So I turn to music.
This man's guitar killed fascists.
This man was prescient in so many ways, but he was wrong about the revolution. Or maybe he'll still be right. It's apparently the counter-revolution that's being televised.
This American Woman slays - and she frightens racists.
And this one ... I forgive him for forgetting that there were a lot of folks here when the Mayflower arrived, because ... because, because, because, and partly because of the beauty of their two voices. Every year this one makes me weep more.
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