Archive Page 2

22
Jan
18

Revolution 2018 pt. 1: First Dance

womens-march-1

One of Trump’s earliest Tweets this past Saturday encouraged women to get out for the Women’s March-celebrate “historic milestones” and “unprecedented economic success” in honor of the occasion. A lot of women did get out that Saturday, in various cities throughout the U.S. and other countries, to demonstrate en masse against what they feel is a corrupting civilization being created in our modern day society. In Indianapolis, the theme at the forefront of their local protest would focus on ‘Taking Back the State’. Approximately two thousand came to demonstrate against the Crimson King with hopes to lure more votes to Democrat candidates running in the numerous Districts of the state. The current report card doesn’t look good for Republicans and Democrats see that window of opportunity to get larger numbers in Congress, in local districts.

This demonstration would be the First Dance, the premiere protest event Miguel and I would attend in twenty eighteen. Women throughout the world were staging their protest against Donald Trump and all people associated with Donald Trump-his Cabinet, his crony Senators and House Members and his relatives. There would be splintered groups from various diverse associations as well, representing and adding numbers to the crowd of protesters, which would make for a better headline. Another added bonus was the weather being tolerable, a mild forty with clear, blue skies. This is the nice type weather cabin fevered families could endure, so moms and girlfriends packed up their husbands and kids and handmade signs and drove down to the American Legion Mall; a large square city block of memorial with good sized open grassy grounds and historic old buildings to make you feel a sense of importance. I have no idea what the hell this place is used for during the rest of the week, but today, Saturday, it would be the kick-off spot for Revolution 2018. Viva la fucking revolution, let me see what these folks got.

The night before the demonstration was when I heard about the government shutting down. The threat of a shutdown had been pending and I found myself at an artist’s gathering that Friday night. A gathering for the Bohemian class, complete with excellent foods, liquors and drugs, engaging conversations and beautiful minded people. The party went on for hours and eventually, me and a friend left there to saunter over to Dormans (my local haunt) where the liquor consumption got taken up a notch. We were throwing down single malt scotch when my friend looked down at her phone. Her face turned deadpan.
“Well, the government shut down.”
When she told me that, I made a mental note to call on the powers of God, Buddha and any other voodoo figure to make sure I woke up and was ready to go the next day. I shouldn’t close down the bar that night, I thought. The news of the government shutting down could throw more fuel on the fire of protest. This demonstration could get good. Good in the sense of improved numbers, more to observe, much more worth the effort to get down there. Some of the protests we had been to last year showed very few excitable moments, no formidable force being beaten in the streets or gassed. A couple demonstrations in 2017 did have the potential, real civil disobedience, but most of the demonstrations we had been to ended up being hapless and sad to watch. Demonstrations should, and will use, all the stimulation they can get, because if the crowd isn’t big enough, those attending lose interest quick and the revolution peters out.

Saturday morning, I was cognizant and feeling good. My brother would be at my place soon with his outdoor gear and camera and then it would be off to the show. He’s won numerous awards for his photography and has a unique eye for bracketing shots, a true artist’s survey of crowds and people and architecture, color and contrast. He’s always looking for that perfect, expressive shot that shows human emotion, or striking contrasts and shapes; sometimes, it’s just a cool fucking shot to be taken. I continue to search for social drama and visual/audible stimuli. I take shots with my camera as well, but I’m not as focused as Miguel. I search for a variety of sensations at these protests. Sound, imagery, the unspoken horror we bring out in one another. Odd scenes that slap you across the face with irony, like the man I saw last year holding a sign protesting his want for health care coverage, while smoking a cigarette. Oddities that make you giggle and shake your head.

We parked and walked seven or eight blocks through the middle of downtown toward the outside Memorial Mall. The closer we came to it, the more pink knit vagina hats we saw popping up on the streets, heading to the demonstration. Miguel paused for a second at one point, still blocks away from the event. He stopped me.
“you hear that? They’re playing Wonder Woman.”
They were playing some ripped off copy of the theme music to the old Wonder Woman/Linda Carter television series, piping it through some heavy duty speakers. Oh it was fucking on now, The fanfare had begun.

(contd)

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19
Jan
18

Premiere Demonstration for 2018; Pregame Warmup

2018

Two days from now, a scheduled demonstration titled “Reclaim Our State” will be held at the American Legion Mall in downtown Sleepytown. Speakers will talk about social injustice and crap like that. Real rattle your paper saber stuff. Then everyone will be encouraged to participate in a staged march to the State Capital where even more speakers will blather on about the atrocities we Americans suffer…of course, I’ll be there representing the Church, reporting back to you avid readers, not as a participant, but as an observer. This will be my first demonstration of the new year, something to kick off Year Two: the Reign of the Crimson King-not to be missed by this preacher. Mi compaƱero for the excursion, Miguel, will be there too, driven by the same addiction for observing the masses that I have. This languishing habit we’ve developed for watching demonstrations and demonstrators gives us no hope for change, there’s none to be had. They still don’t fucking get it and the day they do get it together and accomplish something, I will be shocked as shit…more shocked than anyone, I think. No, we go to see the human tragedy play out before us, the nuance of social behavior being stirred up like soup, not quite boiling, but right on the verge.

My brother and I have been chomping at the bit waiting for something to knock us out of our winter hibernation. Too much television and online media masturbation leaves me aching to escape the shelter of home. I gotta get out and stretch my legs, breath in the choking fumes of buses and cars, stay out late and close down bars…chat with real people. We’d been putting out inquiries and feelers to find new sites for an urbanex walkaround, another habit Miguel and I love (see earlier writings on urbanex, somewhere in my backlog of blog posts posted here on the Church), but to date, there is nothing on our radar.

The major winter holiday cusp passed, and with Christmas and New Years being out of the way, more demonstrations and protest marches will begin to pop up. The insane whirlwind of shit coming out of the White House, Congress, and various little spots throughout the country, has worked it’s frenzied paranoia on Progressive voters and Trump haters for a year now. After this Saturday’s demonstration, there is another scheduled protest in Indianapolis, one I believe that will be focused on Impeachment of the President. As January marches on, the days get longer and the temperatures will become warmer and slowly, I envision folks crawling out of their cubbies to shake their fist at the Crimson King. How hard will they revolt? Will they reach a breaking point and go Berserker on the politicians in charge of our nation’s affairs? Will this country grow a pair of balls again? I think those who would protest at a ‘Reclaim Our State’ rally have the potential to get results, they just lack the ability to give direction…and they have to be willing to get dirty. I mean street dirty, fucking wild in the streets attitude, because those in power will not just give it away and your signs aren’t doing shit to move your cause.

Reaching back one year ago, protesters raised their weary fists on the downtown streets of Indy to protest against the pipeline being constructed on American Indian reservations. They had protests against the looming (looming at that time, before it started to be enacted) threat DACA would have on immigrant families. There were minor inflections of protest from groups opposed to Islamophobia and those trying to support LGBTQ rights; half a dozen other causes, but out of all that defiance, no change in their favor came about. The few elected officials they had on their team were ineffective at stopping the smothering rule of Republicans. People in charge of defense for the Trump Administration and political kin, people like Steve Bannon and Jared Kushner, helped influence congressional members and key politicians to hold the Right Wing fort against the onslaught of Democrats opposed to the President. A purported fever Trump has to destroy anything connected with the past Administration (Obama) brings about headlines to infuriate American voters that loathe the man. If he isn’t busy destroying the legacy of everything Obama, he’s pulling some boner statement or fucked up action that sends the press lighting into it to work up the flames of hate, again and again. How long can they keep fanning those flames before an uncontrollable fire erupts? The gripping control of a narcissistic leader whose whims are as bizarre as anything Caligula would have dreamed up have become a daily affair for us to face. At some point, the boiling point may be reached and that’s what Miguel and I are really waiting for. Maybe it will be this Saturday; doubtful, but I suppose it could be. Maybe it will be the following protest, the one aimed at Impeachment. I’ve been looking long and hard at this Generation to see what sprouts up but so far, all we have are young fucks eating detergent pods. They need some focus, because they have the potential.

Let’s see what Saturday holds.

 

10
Jan
18

2018: My Continuing Tales From the Bus

talesfromthebus

A new year begins and with it, the hope of a new and better tomorrow. The Crimson King remains in power despite threats and yodels from Progressive voters and those new (or naive) to the true American political scene. A scathing new book from Michael Wolff, Fire and Fury, is now online for purchase in hard print, E book and audio book format. His book unleashes a barrage of attacks against the President, new unearthed accusations and witnessed reports; we run quick to look at the book, or work hard to defend (the man some voted for) against what the book says, or wander about in a stupor over what has happened to this country. Congress…the House and Senate-they all seem ineffective and useless to the common man or woman. New rules and proposed legislation, continuing problems erupting in our face online and on tv. Stress levels are high and we’re all just looking for a little relief, preferably one we don’t have to drink from a glass or shoot in our veins. I find some solace on the bus.

The bus is not the cure all for all life’s problems, it doesn’t hold every answer, but it helps me a bit. It’s not for everyone, but not everyone ticks the same. Some hate scotch, others love it. Those who love it find pleasure in it’s taste, those who dislike it compare it to drinking kerosene. The bus is the same way. Some people may travel numerous times on a bus and never once discover the lessons in life public transit has to offer, while others will get it. The bus holds no repetitive mantra, like Catholic Mass rosary or the silent prayer of Nichiren Buddhism. It’s more like a Zen proverb; an ‘a-ha’ moment that gives me a lesson on the nature of humans. The bus reminds me to be humble, by introducing me to people like the monster screamer, a young man in his late teens or early twenties, with a mental condition of some sort that leaves him belting out monster growls every so often. He’s a daily morning passenger on the ten; Monster screamer has to keep on course, because if he deviates from his daily schedule in the least bit, it leaves his world more upside down than it already is. He’ll pause at the door when they open for him to leave, and he’ll wait until it all makes sense, until he remembers that he’s supposed to get off and it’s okay to advance. He knows exactly which stop he gets off at, always remembers his back pack, says goodbye to the bus driver, and proceeds through his day between two dimensions.

Some trips on the bus remind me of an old adage heard a million times, a saying that you assume must be true, but rarely get to see play out in real life. It shows me lessons in life, leaves me curious to know more. The bus brought me in touch with the past through conversation with a black man in his fifties riding the number ten on my way home. He wore a black and red checkered scarf. He also wore dark sunglasses and carried a white cane signifying vision impaired…didn’t act/react all out blind. He looked my way and smiled after we made some initial conversation about the weather or something.
“You know why I wear this scarf?”
I couldn’t hazard a guess so I asked why.
“I wear these colors in honor of the Red Tail Squadron.”
The Red Tail Squadron, the 332nd Fighter Group; World War Two’s all black military pilots, who endured the hardships of fighting in a war for a country that treated them like shit because of their skin color. The red mark on the tail of the P51 they flew gave them the name ‘red tail’. The Red Tails flew over fifteen thousand sorties as bomber escorts, shunned in the white military, and eventually got the opportunity to fly combat missions…the right to fly combat missions. They were finally given the right to fight and live through it or die, to go back and face a world where they were still shunned because they were black. We have some fucked up history in our past, folks. There’s a lot more to the story of the Red Tail Squadron, aka the Tuskegee Airmen, but my education would be limited that day. Before I knew it, my stop had come and I had to leave the man behind.

There will be more a-ha moments from the bus throughout twenty eighteen, this I’m sure of. What happens to the Crimson King, now having been exposed even more from Wolff’s book? Net Neutrality hasn’t happened yet, but is it just around the corner? Will all our health care go away? Will crops in California all rot because we run out of migrant workers to pick our produce? Scary stories drag on and keep me hugging my knees and gnashing my teeth, but at least I have the bus to ground me with the goodness humankind has to offer, with fantastic people and learned conversations. A living lesson to show me that life has it’s ups and downs, but at the end of the day, we all just want to get home.

03
Jan
18

Another Trip Around the Sun

bus

It’s now the second evening of a new year; Two thousand eighteen, and the Church has been quiet for weeks on end. I lacked the passion to drive myself onto a babbling tirade against the social injustice swarming our country-our world, so I left the Church closed. The pews grew empty and dust sets where bottoms should sit. The sympathy and support I offered as a communion for those without hope seemed to have bled dry. The wine was all gone, the wafer had gone bad and grown mold on it’s edges.

Seconds ticked by and turned into hours, days…weeks. The insight I worked so hard to provide about my observations of this silly world didn’t necessarily fall on deaf ears, but they held little impact…and what does hold impact these days? What drives able bodied souls to the streets to defy the reign of nefarious world leaders? Most are quick to point out the devastation we seem to be wallowing in, yet few offer tangible solutions. I keep stumbling onto vapid protests or buzzword dialogue that (at best) boosts moral, rather than evoke real change.

Day to day battles hit the screens we watch. It races us through a litany of button clicking, meme posting prattle, pure online bullshit that doesn’t move a fucking brick. All those live video feeds, all the petitions signed against the pipeline tearing up the homelands of Native Americans, all that did Jack Shit. The furious masses of home protesters who were worked into an irate frenzy over Social Security being robbed….moot. Those protesters didn’t stop the robbery. Neither did our elected officials.

Elected officials-that’s another sore subject with a lot of folks; you and this preacher both. I am hit daily by (on average since January 2017) five emails a day from both major political parties. Emails from Democratic/Progressive superstars like Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton, Corey Booker and Tom Perez. On the other end of the spectrum, I get daily emails from notables like every fucking member of the immediate Trump family, Newt Gingrich, Mike Pence and a host of others. They beg for funds to help thwart the opposition and use cheesy marketing runs in their body copy to try and convince you to give them a dollar-literally, a fucking dollar. Donation buttons start low and work up to $300, or a button simply marked ‘other amount’. This has to be proof of really lax standards about campaign financing.

Lead paragraphs usually begin by painting some victory speech romance about how they’re working hard to beat the holy Hell out of the bastards in Congress you love to hate. But then they go into the spiel about how they need your financial support before the FEC year end financial deadline. Some emails stress the need to fight Donald Trump and all Conservative/Republican monsters. Others want you to help them thwart the Liberal/Democrat pussies. Regardless, the point I take away from all these daily emails is, political leaders are wasting a lot of workers, effort, time and money (taxes and/or donations) convincing you to give them even more money. For all the effort they use raising funds, they could have raised Puerto Rico. They could have done what they were elected to do. They were not elected to seek re-election, that’s a secondary matter.

There are some campaigns out there which do give off a constructive possibility for actual accomplishment. Bernie Sanders, in conjunction with associations Like Good Jobs Nation, show a definitive strategy to getting the country back on it’s feet again, rebuilding our Middle Class infrastructure with real solutions to economic inequity. Campaigns like this, however, rarely seem to appeal to a large enough audience to keep funded, or lack a base of concerned niche voters to make it a priority issue. We all have so many hours in a day and no one has the ability to stretch out and lend support to every special interest group out there. I’m still waiting to stumble across more bulldog motherfucking politicians from the batch we elected, to get up and do the right thing for America. Right now, we seem to be fed propaganda piece after propaganda piece about Making America Great Again, but it’s really little more than a political rosary of bullshit to quell the ignorant.

Don’t forget the lesson we saw in Alabama when long-shot Democrat candidate Doug Jones defeated Republican Roy S. Moore. Even after reporting his racist remarks and admissions to sexual attitudes that reeked of perversion stumbling into illegal behavior, Moore was considered a shoe-in until election day. It was the effort of a thunderous attendance by black female voters there that kept Moore out of office, not some committee trying to raise funds before an FEC deadline. real people went out and made change in Alabama. Real people voted in California, and now the third largest state in the U.S. has legalized medicinal/recreational cannabis.

I’d better get busy dusting off the pews for twenty eighteen. There’s a protest to Impeach the Crimson King come the twentieth of this month, and I need to be there to look those people dead in the eye and say-
Welcome to the Church.

18
Oct
17

Click ‘Share’ and Accomplish Nothing

press-share

I sit at the back of the Church now, not wanting to take my place by the pulpit. I feel it would be easy for me to lie down on a pew and swill a few bottles of Ardbeg, pass on to the next life in a drunken stupor. Our world has abandoned us and we, it. No one is sure what will happen next, but it doesn’t look promising. Take us now, Jesus, take us and lay down the flames.

Day after week after month I follow the flow of activity, actions performed in the name of making a better world, actions made online or in person-neither accomplish much. The mismanagement of our country trying to ‘Make America Great Again’ destroyed what Middle Class we had and leaves us a nation of Third World citizens living among soon-to-be Third World citizens-those too naive to recognize their fate. Oh we still have rich people; the Upper class continue to be rich and, in fact, have become more rich, but larger numbers of Amerikans fall deep in inescapable despair and are being duped into believing all the online clicking of buttons and ‘share’-ing of feelings will cure our nation’s ailment…hasn’t done much yet, has it?

My observation of campaign rallies, political speeches and protests since the beginning of the twenty-first century…everything since those Twin Towers came down….I have put all that in comparison to the era of the sixties and seventies I lived through; the time of Nixon and King Jr. and Vietnam. Students and priests, everybody and their Mother-they hit the streets and roared like lions back then, back in the sixties and seventies, to make changes toward a better world tomorrow. In the twenty-first century, however, a typical act of defiance is to change the background image on your Facebook profile.

Jeff Miller, Bill Schroeder, Sandy Scheuer and Dean Kahler died at Kent State University on May 4th, 1970 protesting the Vietnam War; that tragedy helped lead to the ending of the war back then. In 2017 we have paranoid citizens going off the deep end, grabbing high powered weapons, mowing down people in record numbers. In 2017, tragedies spike ratings on 24 hour news shows and make those rich folks I mentioned earlier, even more rich. Our modern day tragedies lead to a string of click-bait stories being posted on the internet to sidetrack a mass audience of people on the web from accomplishing anything constructive to stop this madness. Daily news feeds have us all fighting one another more than working with each other to overcome our hurdles. Sensationalized horrorshow freaks in our world-not the made up Hollywood monsters, but the real ones out there, like Weinstein or Cosby…more surfacing all the time. Our nation’s leaders, Senators and Congresspeople, our President…another strain of monster out there. Those we choose to govern and make life better for us spend a vast majority of their time and your money just working toward keeping their job. The clan of Upper Class who produce our social/political media du jour, fine tuned the tool of electronic distraction to keep our Lower Class at bay. The Lower Class continue fighting one another and that leaves the elite alone and makes media companies cash. The boost one gets from being noticed for a post they put up about how disturbed they are from one of these stories is being nurtured with images and slogans, each and every fucking day, that the media companies provide. People begin to feel they’ve accomplished something if they sign an online petition or shoot out an email to someone of importance or post a picture to sway opinions. That ends up being a ‘preaching to the choir’ end game though. Online petition signing hasn’t fixed gun laws or given the people of Flint clean water or helped anyone in Puerto Rico…Florida…Texas…California…but those videos and pictures keep coming. The vocalization of voices online show numbers, but no strength.

I should pull that thought back a bit and give some credence to the influence online display of opinion plays. Certainly, it helps us understand percentages (skewed, at times) of people who feel one way or another about various social, political or moral values. What gets out of hand are the magnitude number of stories on a subject though, crammed on our screens to vie for more readership. Think about how much money is been generated for some agency posting pictures of faux celebrities that millions view every day? How many companies out there have Frankensteined into an organization that supports their company soliciting stories of human hatred? Positive, constructive news is out there, just not promoted as much as the negative stories. Good news stories don’t generate as much interest as bad stories; perhaps a sad reality of humanity. When it’s all about the numbers, where do you think news providers are going to go? They work hard to build news feeds with shocking information to keep people coming back, rather allowing them to do something about the horrorshows in our world. They’ve learned that the majority of our mass public will only go so far as to click ‘share’, and that’s about as far as they’ll go.

Get ready for the next mass shooting, and Welcome to the Church.

20
Sep
17

In Search of Bernie: Fini

bernie-indy-3

Sweet Jesus, right out in public…no beating around the fucking bush. She asked me to do photo manipulation of the crowd, as if I were some staunch Trump supporting photographer. Then more people began to mistake me for being one of those who praise the Crimson King and it made me wonder what I had done. By allowing myself to be objective, was I leaving myself open to false identification and classification from those gathered?

The two middle aged ladies from some White White White city North of Sleepytown had driven about 40 miles to come down here to lug a big sign around. Imagine transporting a six by eight foot sign forty miles, struggling with it to get on the downtown Circle Monument roundabout, while light rain peppers you and historic Hoosier humidity stands ready to sweat you down. You suffer all that to go stand in a crowd of people who despise you…that’s dedication to one’s ideals. That, is the art. That is where my fascination is most nourished. I could give a rat’s ass about their politics or how fucked up I might think they are for backing some candidate. I just want to look at them, like a social voyeur, and watch how my species behaves; we’re fucking insane.
The taller, dark haired lady smiled at me (once I had won her confidence by snapping a few photos) and tried to chew the fat in a polite manner. “I mean, what is Alt-Right anyway?” she smiled, her head shaking to negate the notion of such a term, but I wasn’t playing in. I wasn’t going to get pulled in, not into being too polite, not by getting too hostile. Mr. Objectivity here, ladies.

Just as that ‘Alt-Right’ conversation was going on, a dark haired woman in her thirties walked up to the second sign lady, the blonde who had asked me to take the pictures earlier. The dark haired woman was clutching to her tween daughter’s hand, tugging the girl along. Both women acknowledged one another and the mother did a verbal launch on sign lady:
“Why do you want children to die?”
Sign lady looks at the Mother and replies:
“Why do you support abortion?”
That kid had a slight grimace on her face when she heard that, or did I imagine it? Was the grimace on my face? I felt bad for the girl not being allowed to go have fun, but forced to attend one of these rallies, and then hearing talk about someone wanting children to die? -And what the hell is a ‘bortion’?

That exchange of words kind of sums up the whole political feel of things in this country right now. Each side barking at one another with hostile intent, no one working toward a mutual agreement or action to get this country back on it’s feet. More Sanders supporters began walking up to confront the sign ladies. They assumed I was a Nazi camera wielding sympathizer for the Trump side. This was a tough one to keep unbiased on. I had been attracted to Sanders early in the 2016 campaign circus, but I can’t expose my personal politics out there. I would have none of the wonderful dialogue with those ladies if I went at them like some of the opposition did. I worked to convince the Sanders folks I didn’t support Trump, but wasn’t there to support Sanders either. The camera thing helps, because if you have a real camera in your hand rather than a phone camera, it seems more like you could be more for reporting, rather than supporting-another reason it’s convenient and helpful to have someone like Miguel around. He has done this shit, the crowd thing, so long that it’s become a cake walk for him. He doesn’t let them suck him into carrying a sign that says ‘Fuck the Police’.

The importance of staying the fuck away from subjective analysis at these sideshows will merit insight, every now and then, to the human condition. The true nature of mob mentality can come alive before your eyes and let you witness how humans really behave. Shock value reports in the news have moved people to do some horrible things against one another rather than look for a solution, and it seems all I want to do now is watch. I get to witness masses, spurred into action by the media, each side acting and reacting as bad as one another. I have found Bernie, and he brings noise of love and peace, but in the background a crowd is busy fighting one another. The Crimson King sets another fire and dances into the sunset, laughing, while I witness the common folk jab at one another. There is solace in the knowledge that Trump’s supporters were few in number at this rally, which means the reign of a New Reich can be defeated. I wait now for the next demonstration; I’ve had my fix.

March on, Mr. Sanders, and welcome to the Church.

12
Sep
17

In Search of Bernie: Photo Ops

bernie-indy-2

Just as I began to debate having enough time to duck between buildings to fire one up, here comes Bernie Sanders and his entourage, coming straight at me. I was stage left of the podium next to the sound engineer’s tent, fumbling quickly to get the lens cap off my camera for a shot of the Senator. The crowd was chanting his name and Sanders seemed uncertain where he was being led, but continued to burrow his way toward where I was standing. He got close enough for me to reach out and grab his hand but I wasn’t there to be that asshole who prods and pokes at a public figure.

I still hold an image in my mind from years gone by: Indianapolis, back when Bill Clinton was our president. There was a dedication ceremony being given for a statue of Bobby Kennedy that was to be placed in a park just north of downtown. Speakers for the fanfare included Bill Clinton and Ted Kennedy. At the end of the President’s speech, he smiled with the others on stage and waved out to the people, a few folks even managed to shake his hand. I was tempted to fight the crowd and get up front to shake the hand of a real U.S. President, then I looked at the swarm of those who were doing what I was thinking. They weren’t as polite or humble as I would have been…or were they? Could I become like one of those animals, pushing and shoving my way to get close to the flesh of a celebrity? I was pretty fucking shamed at the human race that moment. They acted like a starving mob of wild boars being thrown slabs of meat.

Bernie’s people called at him to back up, away from me, to navigate his way through the sound engineering tent and up the concrete steps of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument. I was given my moment and snapped a few shots of him before he got away. I wasn’t caught on the wrong side of his approach to the stage after-all, so with the Bernie shot taken, I could ease up a bit. I took a few more pictures to document the occasion-Bernie with the rep from Jobs in America and Good Jobs Nation, Bernie next to the President of the Indiana Chapter of the AFL-CIO…and the fanfare continued. Sanders began to speak about the nationwide drive and support of this team which is working to better wage conditions for workers in America. This was a more calm event than I had anticipated, proof once again that you can’t predict these fucking rallies. I was halfheartedly expecting a call for blood after the incident in Charlottesville, but Bernie brought a more tempered approach on what to do at this moment. So many people and politicians are currently caught up chasing the fires the Crimson King starts on a daily basis. Rather than waste all their time trying to catch Trump, this group wants to try and accomplish some positive, constructive action, while our mad ruler continues with his schemes. They still feel the importance of pursuing Donald Trump and holding him accountable for all his committed acts, but they can’t let any form of progress on issues they find a support for just slip away. The wage issue is their big agenda. All these rallies have their agendas, this rally was about wages.

I pulled away from the sound tent and wandered back out into the street around the Circle Monument, now more curious about crowd watching. Those up front and swarmed together to hear Sanders were in for the long haul, listening with intent. Gathered on the outskirt perimeter of the crowd were a mixture of Conservative and Progressive attendees. Trump people and Sanders people, however, the Trump people were under-represented…not many Trump folks there. I went over to talk to some of them, including the guy I met at the anti-Sharia demonstration at the State Capital not too long ago, the man who was from the group called Identity Evropa, sometimes called the Dragons. I wasn’t imagining him getting too radical in this surrounding; just there to show a presence. A few hardliner Right-Wing, or Alt-Right supporters stood around too, but no sign of dudes in paramilitary outfits brandishing weapons, like the Sharia law gathering.

I wandered over toward two ladies carrying a big sign promoting Trump and began to snap some shots of them and their big sign. They asked if I would mind taking some shots of them positioned in front of the Sanders crowd with their big ass sign. I had no problem with that-I was there to document what was happening. Sure, I told them, stand there in the street and I’ll snap some pictures. While I tried to take pics, various individuals would wander over to where me and the ladies were, peel off from the Sanders speech and sort of get in the way of my shot, or accidentally run into the sign. They wanted to make the picture difficult to take. I did manage to get a couple of shots and the ladies thanked me, then one of them casually, yet kind of under her breath, asked if I could email them a copy of the pictures. Sure, still, no problem with me. Then she asked if I would send them some images of the Sanders crowd I took, but could I do a little manipulation of the image to make the crowd appear to be sad.
That was a problem with me.

(contd.)




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