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Occvpatriot Street

She was the one flashing the peace sign, as her face was filled with mace.
Upsidedown Flag Corporate America - 1
Upsidedown Flag Corporate America - 1
Upsidedown Flag Corporate America - 2
Upsidedown Flag Corporate America - 2
Occupatriot Soldier
Occupatriot Soldier
The people march for healthcare. No cop, no stop. And there's not a single riot cop. Early in the morning tents are set up in front of the Portland Art Museum, they are taken down by 9am, to make room for the condo gourmet dogs to shit. But the people stay all day anyway. By nightfall the new occupation is same old Portland Scum Fucks. Lawyers give speeches on TV about how there won't be any drugs. No alcohol here, as they all crack beers. Bitch this, Fagot that, the usual Nazi sympathizers. I tell someone to stop yelling, Bitch, Fagot, cracking beers, he yells at me, "you're a gay cop mole". He takes a cellphone intimidation photo of me and the person I'm talking with, I grab his android phone, run him out into the street, and smash his service down instead of his face. He stumbles falls in a wild chase, and yells, "Fagot" at the top of his scream. The other camp guards are hunting me though downtown, I finally get one of them away, and tell him how bad the Scum Fucks' are acting at the South Block Camp. He understands in deep disappointment, and goes back. And today we march in the streets, again. Tell each other that everyday we will take them strong. My mother on one side, my Muslim brother on the other. Who's parks? Our Parks. Who's march? Our march. And we march everyday for blocks and blocks and blocks. True and pure populist movement. I see a line of tents at the convention center. First come, first serve, health care. And that's what we marched for yesterday. This is a cold, dark place. I may catch my death. I talk with a person that stood by the girl with mace on her face, as she explains, she was saying nothing, was hit in the throat, by riot stick, had no time to say no to the chemical spray. That image beamed around the world. How will I survive here? I prefer an empty belly than marching these cold streets. I prefer a crowd of strangers marching towards the greater good, than a crowd of marauders looking for a place to fight. Drunks and junkies hate the cops for different reasons than I do. Drunks and junkies love the movement for different reasons than I do. A cop says to me, "You look cold." I tell him, "My heart is warm, now that people are willing to stand up against the police." My mind is clear, my heart is pure, my intentions are just. All the corporate American flags are turned up-side-down. The revolution is my lover. For who else would have me?