by Peter Brav

All I ever wanted was freedom
To be me, at home with my family
On my farm, on my ranch, in my mine, on my couch
But you came calling, making it hard
I had the television on
And there were so many foes
I couldn’t hardly name them
Just knew they were there
But I had my long rifle
And hunt’s old reliable
Handgun in my waist
I was ready, always ready

Trust me, I meant well

But when the bullets came raining down from on high
From a place God should have been
Thousands of shells, automatic
For minutes, for hours, for the eternity we allowed
We just ran, we had no choice
And you looked the other way
For the next time
For the thousands of next times
Don’t blame you, not at all, I’m past that now

A well regulated Militia
Being necessary
To the security of a free State
The right of the people to keep and bear Arms
Shall not be infringed

I am not Militia, I am not secure, these are not Arms
Infringe me now

Millions of moments of silence
That’s all we’ve had
And I’ve been silent past one moment
To the next, and far too long
Because all I ever wanted was freedom
What the hell when we live in hell?
I give up my gun and demand yours for the flames
This is not freedom
Burn them all, I will find my freedom in the fire

I am late to HAMILTON

I’m late to HAMILTON, listen to the cast album all the time, waiting for tickets to come down in price below a mortgage payment. Daydream on occasion of creator Lin-Manuel Miranda bouncing into my 1968 history class and waking me from my slumber. But most often I think about the beautiful multi-talented and multi-colored creative team and cast that puts this masterpiece on stage every night, who tell the story of a ragtag group of antagonists, their discontent with England and with each other bloodying the countryside. Imperfect individuals who came together to form a more perfect union that remains imperfect.


Almost 250 years later I have only two words for those laziest of thinkers who think somehow that being white or male or straight or rich is better. It’s not, and those are not my two words. The thing that matters, the only thing, is individual character. It is what they had in mind when they formed this union, praying that somehow coming together without a king would lift us up above our fears, our weaknesses, our jealousies, our hatreds. They set forth some high shared ideals and left room for us to set them even higher, knowing we would never quite live up to them but that we might head ever higher in the process, together. A union looks higher and extends a hand to help everyone get there; a mob looks lower and raises a fist to knock others down there.

Two words. We choose.