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A Little Story about Clothes and Guns...

Letterbomb zine, written in the 90's

It's amazing how easily I can convince myself of my own invincibility... all it can take is the significance of a certain item of clothing to make me feel safe (or not) ... for awhile, rain or shine, I carried a particular large black umbrella with me if I was planning to be home after dark...now I only need my grubby old brown and stained gas station jacket, through for a while there I needed both, plus a ballpoint pen hidden up my sleeve, and a can of paint or two to spray into the eyes of an attacker (though I've recently heard that cayanne pepper and water is pretty effective), but all of this was necessary only for a few weeks after I was shot at from out the window of a passing car...now all I need is my gas station jacket. I've been so conditioned by the inherent significance of the clothing that we wear that I was paralyzed with fear when I got to the bus staion after dark in this fluffy pink sweater, paralyzed with fear. at symboloism and ideology so ingrained that it had taken this pink sweater to help me understand it, paralyzed by the sudden demise of my false sense of securtiy...by the sudden realization that it takes more than a jacket, an umbrella, or a can of spray paint to be safe in the heart of Oakland...now I watch my back a lot, and I have the feeling that when I'm old enough to get one, I'll probably buy a gun...and if anyone tries to mess with me, I'll be prepared, and I promise, I will shoot to kill...no one will ever guess that I've got a big gun under this fluffy pink sweater...