Music Never Heard

Given the circumstances of our looming extinction, I've been paralyzed by a sense of irresponsibility. What right do I have, to waste anyone's time with my little horror stories, with my puny verses, when people should be focused on the survival of the human species?

I felt this way back in the 1980s and in the first decade of the new century. It was clear that neoliberalism was going to cripple our democracies, and to warn the public, I worked with anyone who would take me on: Greenpeace, The Council of Canadians, the New Democratic Party (back in the days before it rolled over and played dead), the Canadian Union of Public Employees, the Canadian Union of Postal Workers. For 24 years I protested in the streets, canvassed from door to door, packed boxes full of pamphlets, took part in conferences, did everything I could to make a difference. And the result was no difference at all. Here we are, looking back at what we have lost, staring in shock at what we have become.


In a few years, I will be dead. The young would never listen to someone like me; they will have to find their own ways to protest, their own ways to transform society, or die.

To repeat myself: what right do I have to claim anyone's time or attention? As much right as no one, as much right as anyone. People will ignore me, as they always have, no matter what I say or do. While I play the lyre as Rome burns, no one will hear my music, and so I might as well play to the best of my ability, with whatever skill and passion I can draw from this fading husk.

Music never heard will distract no one. Let me play.