November 03, 2011

Drummed Up

Late last night, a convoy of more than twenty police cars, lights flashing, sirens screaming, screeches past, scattering traffic on the road in front of my place on its way to … well, where? We'll never know.

This morning, K. looks up at me from behind the counter at Kefa and says she saw me on the TV at the Occupation demo at the Port last night! It looked just like you! Sadly, no, I have to say, I can barely walk due to a knee injury, and sat inside watching it on the TV too (I may be out for the entire winter). I feel left out, dislocated, frustrated.

A few blocks away up on East 14th, the Occupation's almost invisible, hidden behind the class divide. No secret here: the dirty little secret so far has been how little interest or support the movement gets from people who normally wouldn't have any reason to go downtown at the best of times, let alone now. It's a class thing, in every way.

The most appropriate symbol for the Occupation seems to be the drum circle, that omnipresent knot of stoned older hippies and young skinny white guys with knotted beards and dreads, making a sort of near-rhythmic sound haze that forms the soundtrack for just about everything in front of City Hall. It seems almost designed to stop you from thinking.

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