EPISODE 08
the trash
The morning air still tastes heavy, like smoke and sorrow. I’m out here with neighbors, gloves on, picking through the wreckage after the clash.
Glass crunches under my boots as we sort the aftermath into trash and salvage. I can't help but think, is this our society now?
Sorting through broken pieces, hoping to find something worth keeping?
Every now and then, I stop to look around.
There's a quiet dignity to everyone’s hustle. You know, we spend a lot of time debating peaceful resistance, but I’m starting to question if peace alone can change something designed from the ground up to keep certain people on top.
Watching members of my community nailing plywood onto broken windows, something shifts in me. Can’t quite articulate it exactly.
I realize I’m torn.
Where exactly should I sort this messed up system of ours? Trash or salvage?
Is it broken, or is it working exactly as it’s supposed to?
Maybe as it was always supposed to?
If you know me you know I cling to hope like a little boy to his momma’s dress. Sometimes, almost desperately.
So I’d like to think maybe there’s something worth keeping here. Maybe with just the right amount of love in just the right places, we can take the scraps of this broken clock and make it work again. Make it work for everyone.
Lately, some strange things have been happening: cryptic Instagram messages that disappear before I screenshot them, my computer screen glitching with coded encouragements.
And, truth be told, it’s oddly comforting. Hopeful. Feels like someone out there is saying, "Hey Rob, you're not alone in this."
And that little bit of hope? God knows, we all need a little of that right now.
I pause at a mural I painted just a few weeks ago, now charred at the edges but mostly intact.
I brush some ash off the paint, thinking about our brother who died in the clash, killed while standing up for his neighbor.
I won’t say his name, out of respect, but his family deserves support.
So, here’s what I'm doing—I’m putting up some paintings from my "Paradise Sold" series for auction.
So go check it out. Buy something.
Every penny goes straight to his family and others that need it.
Sometimes it feels wrong using money from this messed up system to patch the wounds caused by the very same system.
But maybe that’s exactly the point. Maybe my money can do more good here than I realize.
And maybe, just maybe, I can convince other wealthy folks to put their resources where their mouth is. Hell, a billionaire’s got to feel something when he sees a community hurting like this, right?
Or am I still dreaming?
Guess we’ll find out soon enough.
For now, we've got work to do.
We've got trash to sort, art to sell, and wounds to heal.
And somewhere amidst the broken glass and burnt bricks, we've still got hope.
Stay real,
-ROB BO$$
