Journeywoman. Journeyman. You were a generation dreaming; journeywoman, journeyman, stepping off the plane to an unknown future from a certain past that became more and more like the promise that escaped you. You were a generation dreaming to change the pattern, undo the seams, re-style the suits you wore as you stepped off the boat, Windrush-style.
Frederic: this not so young man had struggled as a juvenile, thirties-style, to unionize, enfranchise. A troublesome man, proud to be a darkblack worker, survivor. You split the seams to suit your schemes.
Linda: journeywoman. Journeywoman, you were a generation dreaming. Coming from a certain past, coming to an unknown future, coming to bear us and spare us from the masterpattern, styled, cut, ready-to-wear suit of canes, molasses thick-set in the heat. Burning good white sugar, raising a glass of rum in the sunset of the master as you sailed away; meeting this mancountry, face-to-face with dreams. Journeywoman, journeyman, you were a generation, dreaming a world, to change.
