Archive for February, 2018


Revolution 2018 pt. 4:


Purple neon laser lights flashing across the expanse of huge rooms while young teen dub step pseudo-music cranked out across stages and stages of teen cheerleaders. Competition at it’s most pro moment…I don’t think there are any adult cheer team competitions, so this is as high up as the sport goes. Maybe college competition falls in there somewhere but I don’t recall having seen it. The charm of cheer team competition falls off in college, usually veering toward sorority of fraternity involvement.

Miguel-o and me, stoned up and at the cheerleading competition-the fucking nationals of cheerleading. A seemingly endless sea of costumes and jumping youths, proud parents and vibrant colored banners flashing in your face. It was as eye popping as Vegas and the most bizarre thing I could imagine getting caught up in Saturday. I was keeping things together in my mind at this spec-spangular (my word…spec-spangular: spangled and spectacular) event, not even concerned at that moment with the protester’s across the street. My fear of crowds, dusted over with a glazing of cannabis, looking for shots but not looking too long or focused for shots…

Soon enough we felt it was time to leave, time to check back in on the march. Once the Capital was in sight we noticed the steps and surrounding grounds were once again, barren of people. The pole tents were still there, police still patrolled and some organizers continued to shuffle around, but no other people. We walked over to get some answers from the organizers as to where the crowd went, when slowly we began to hear the familiar chant of people marching toward us. a march did take place after all. Now the big question was, how large was the crowd? How quick could they have grown in that small amount of time we were at JamFest? How would they fare, size-wise, to the Women’s March 2018 marchers? We waited and eventually the march made it’s way west on Senate Avenue and upward to the main entrance steps where the tents and police were waiting. The marchers at best, numbered about eighty people. The only strength in voice they had was from the fuzzy microphone hooked up to a speaker that the main honcho organizer carried. The main honcho organizer was the same one who had delivered the sad news to the crowd about the no sticks ban they were hit with earlier. You could see in her eyes that she struggled to keep some dignity, but I know she would have felt a lot more dignified and energized with a larger crowd; certainly, a crowd larger than eighty people were needed for her to clear that hump.

Here it was, at my face, once again. The failed protest of the masses, the inability to make a dent in the wall of (their) oppression. This smacked so hard of the back and forth movement I witnessed years prior, halfway across the country, in Colorado. Already, the fever of taking down Wall Street, the Occupy Movements that swept the country with mild interest, are being forgotten. The current Administration-the current leader of this country-has become a worse nemesis to Progressive and Left Wing voters than the Occupy era, worse than Bush Junior or Senior. Things appear worse to them than the Cheney years, but they can’t seem to produce enough boots on the street today, in two thousand eighteen, to even acknowledge a look their way, from the Crimson King. He continues, unscathed.

The back to back protests took a lot out of my concentration. Since the beginning of this 4 part post, I went back to polish syntax errors and grammar; I whisk along to get out these sermons before they are too old. News streams through at an incredible rate and it seems every day, some insane, torturous story is thrown in our news feeds via phone, television or computer. Media stations continue trying to scare and startle you with their newest fabrications of concern to Amerika. I try to devote time to keep this blog going and keep my observations relevant. Hard, in contrast, to compete with the stream of 24 hour news mania.

The most shocking thing of your day may be some video clip you saw, filmed some place you probably can’t (or won’t stop to) identify, and the most commitment too many out there will give to a revolution, is the commitment of changing a profile picture to sport the theme colors of that week’s protest. If you want to go on protesting via online memes or posting little emojis of turds and thumbs down gestures to friends, if this is the therapy you need to get through the day, then by all means, continue with that cyclical, spiritual act. Or maybe you want more women elected into our political system. Maybe if we vote enough women into positions of political power, this will all get fixed. Now-go stare at a picture on Nancy Pelosi or Hillary Clinton, and see if you can buy into that, totally. Try to remember the protesters squatting in the Northwest, with guns. Try to remember the protesters being hit with water cannons at the pipeline…those were all before Donald Trump.

You think it’s gonna be easy?


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February 2018

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