a large man that goes by the moniker 'metal' has taken a personal interest in me. metal has made himself the leader of the skum fucks. the skum fucks see themselves as the first line of defense against marauding police. i could hear one of the drunk punks yelling in drunken rage to no one in particular, we're the fucking soldiers here, the first line of defense. i truly do believe them. but will that defense materialize at 4:30 am, to defend their birthright against one hundred riot police? where did their personal interest lie? this idea, of a drunken defense force harkens back to the rainbow gatherings. this idea proves effective in a rural setting. this however is an urban setting. this camp sets next to a jail bristling with riot police. metal, who has made himself leader of this tribe of hardened street punks, also has a vested interest in this revolution to continue. this revolution, this camp, is his home. he loves this place. his political stance is that his body chemistry is radically influenced by meth and alcohol. when he sees me, he always engages me. he mostly talks in cryptic riddles. but he is brutally honest. yesterday he asked me how i was, for i was not well. the previous night's confrontations with openly racist and threatened me with hostile occupiers had put me at great distress. metal, as a drunk and a junky holds the power here. i told him, i will hold you personally responsible for allowing nazis to be a part of this camp. he shook my hand and embraced me in a way i did not thoroughly trust. he asked me if i wanted to help him overthrow the government of the camp. his name is metal. this camp is his birthright.
to create a place where you can live, thrive and survive without having a dollar in your pocket, i start to hear about the other side of america, the way the other half live, news stories about mainstream, mainstreet tent camps. tent cities set up in all the small cities of the world. how will all the business alliances be able to enforce their camping bands when all the alliances stand against them in vast tent camps? to create a place where you can survive and survive without a dollar i your pocket, that is what they say to me their arms locked into sleeping dragons, barrels of concrete filled with blocks of metal and their arms all locked in. federal riot police will have a tough time move these occvpatiots. but i seen it before with my own eyes. police smiling, applying mace with cue tips to the eyes of people locked into their own sleeping dragon blockade. but this is fed park, and these occvpatiots shall not be removed. this, their place, to live thrive and survive.
a man in full tree climbing gear, yellow helmet, harness and saws, rope with a sharp knife cuts down the main lines and the tarps over the kitchen. they collapse as a man cutting steak with a sharp knife says he will cut this arborist next. people resist, start to fight, a flurry of curses, people tumble, fussing and a fighting, the lines holding up this three ring circus get cut despite the rabble being roused. then it's up, up and away. to the high point in the tall old tree canopy. new lines are set for the greater good. and there is never a dull moment here. last night someone threw a molotov cocktail at the world trade center, then they ran back to the camp, a union representative blames the anarchists, saying anarchists just want to tear everything down without cause or ideology, let us never forget people started smashing windows when they saw those images of police swabbing mace in the eyes of anarchist girls u-locked to the door of some horrible business. but that was in the 90s, no one remembers the why of the divergence of the diversity of tactics. a spokes person for the camp, speaks up in defense of anarchists. their energy and imagination is invaluable to everything that is happening here and to the movement. it is the junkies, the drunks, the revolutionary rock stars who are the problem, and it is because they are way too self-absorbed. long live molotov cocktail party.