September 23, 2017:
My role is to distract the security guard.
In a perfect world I'll also remove the Vice Principal from play. The guard though is my primary target.
Easy-peasy. He's a dumbfuck, easily infuriated when humiliated or when his god-given adult power over teenagers is threatened — a skill I've mastered over multiple verbal encounters which have left him red-faced with embarrassment and rage. This time I want him removed from the lunch court — the about-to-be scene of action — and I don't want to be marched to detention. 'Cos I do want to be present at that scene when the moment comes.
Right now as classes change he'll be watching the girls emerge from gym. He likes the ones with wet hair the best. It's his thing. I climb onto a roof two dozen yards away where he'll never suspect me, and with the excellent arm I've inherited from my dad the minor league pitcher I bean him in the back of the head hard with a raw egg, which splatters on his thick skull and drips down his collar. You can hear his sputtering, "Who did that!" echo through the halls as he runs around in circles grabbing innocent students one or two at a time. The egg was well-calculated: it'll keep him glued to the spot until his rage cools; then he'll be too embarrassed to be seen in public until he's washed himself and changed clothes. He's neutralized.
I grab my camera, run to the lunch court, sit down on the grass to wait. The action goes like this:
The newly-elected student body President, a really nice guy but a squarepants Young Republican who could not possibly have commanded the necessary votes on that campus at that moment in history, is waylaid by a posse of students in Groucho glasses and long coats, who tie him securely to the flagpole. We're Groucho Marxists — see what we did there? We like Lennon a lot, too. A sign reading "FASCIST TOOL" is hung around his neck. A speech is declaimed: The election was stolen! This politician is fraudulent! We, the Revolutionary Committee for the Liberation of Student Government, hereby execute justice upon him! May God or Groucho have mercy on his soul, whoever meets him first!. His face is then covered with whipped cream. I snap the photo below. The squad of people's soldiers marches off just as the Vice Principal reaches the back of the watching crowd, hands in pockets, looking very defensive and Republican in his educator's uniform of on-sale jacket and tie from JC Penny's. Leaflets, actually serious, are distributed among the crowd by students who are not in Groucho glasses. A few minutes later the local FM radio station dedicates "Street Fighting Man" to the now-notorious RCLSG.
My first and only experience of Italian-style direct action, modeled on the Red Brigades. It was the '70s and all. The film is here.
September 22, 2017:
Multiple trips to the laundry room. Dryers unavailable, dryers broken down. The repair crew arrives in the nick of time. "Let's go home and bake a little," says a girl you know. You're joined by friends as you walk across the complex.
September 21, 2017:
He fucked her twice and she blew him twice, over about two hours, on a leather couch in the empty top floor lounge of a high-rise dormitory on a major university campus. He was very much in love.
He wanted to get back together. She didn't. She put up with it from drift, passivity, nothing better on the horizon. She later told me, and him, that she was waiting for someone new to come along.
They broke up, they got back together, they broke up, they got back together, he hurt her, she hurt him, he loved her for twenty years, she was already over him before those two hours in the dormitory lounge which she later told me, and him, that she did not remember.
- September 20, 2017: "Owwww!"
- September 19, 2017: Dayglo.
- September 18, 2017: Scream of the warrior girl.
- September 17, 2017: Cave walls grow arms.
- September 16, 2017: Who keeps a dead tree?
- September 15, 2017: Footprints of the little ghost.
- September 14, 2017: Very buxom, very blonde...
- September 13, 2017: "But it's so hard — lovin' you..."
- September 12, 2017: Once you return to life you start learning things.
- September 11, 2017: The red light district in bright daytime...
- September 10, 2017: Beginnings of jealousy.
- September 9, 2017: I know these feelings.
- September 8, 2017: I was booted from the Boy Scouts...
- September 7, 2017: I no longer dream of you.
- September 6, 2017: You can walk uphill through the crowded plaza...
- September 5, 2017: Military academies; Eagle Scouts.
- September 4, 2017: You're strong enough now to fly to school.
- September 3, 2017: Stood up for lunch.
- September 2, 2017: You're running strong now.
- September 1, 2017: Him:
- August 31, 2017: That's an astronaut at the rodeo.
- August 30, 2017: His hair went white...
- August 29, 2017: Moonlight on the Sunless Sea.
- August 28, 2017: She was cute, but the truth is, he never cared about her that much.
- August 27, 2017: She was sad when he broke it off.
- August 26, 2017: She liked his leather jacket, so he bought her an identical one.
- August 25, 2017: That one, the little blonde mooch.
- August 24, 2017: Hot and cold.
- August 23, 2017: Still life: bathtub with iPad and Raymond Chandler.
- August 22, 2017: I'm perfect for you.
- August 21, 2017: I know you're not as effusive as I am.
- August 20, 2017: I know now what I wanted.
- August 19, 2017: set the sea on fire
- August 18, 2017: Californication.
- August 17, 2017: Silence and dependency.
- August 16, 2017: Civilians crowd into a large open pasture to the southeast of the battlefield.
- August 15, 2017: Elated, on the crowded city street...
- August 14, 2017: Drunk.
- August 13, 2017: Nineteen.
- August 12, 2017: I had no conceivable notion what that song meant...
- August 11, 2017: People say beee-ware doll
- August 10, 2017: Temporary absence from the world.
- August 9, 2017: Work — home — family.
- August 8, 2017: Pith and vinegar.
- August 7, 2017: Man whores of Montreal.
- August 6, 2017: Werewolf season.
- August 5, 2017: Christiane and Katharina on the wall.
- August 4, 2017: Nothing rings a bell?
- August 3, 2017: In the light, beneath the table, silhouettes.
- August 2, 2017: Three golden apples, and a shotgun on the pond.
- August 1, 2017: Modes of anger.
- July 31, 2017: What the fucking fuck do they fucking want?
- July 30, 2017: There’s something childlike in her self-presentation:
- July 29, 2017: Ungenerous:
- July 28, 2017: She was raped as a child.
- July 27, 2017: Champagne, with just a splash of orange juice.
- July 26, 2017: Technicolor expert. Man of clay.
- July 25, 2017: 20C lies to his wife.
- July 24, 2017: 5′9″ and probably will call you daddy if you buy me alcohol 🤷♀️
- July 23, 2017: "Ha ha ha ha ha," guffaws the drunken sailor.
- July 22, 2017: she changes her pics 'cause she still loves her ex
- July 21, 2017: He was the all-purpose one-armed guy.
- July 20, 2017: "Daily flights to China!"
- July 19, 2017: Lew-wee the now pubescent with voice breaking...
- July 18, 2017: There was a second neighbor who was unjust to me.
- July 17, 2017: There was a neighbor...
- July 16, 2017: He was so kind.
- July 15, 2017: An aesthetic without charm...
- July 14, 2017: Ladies on the lions; milk and pearls.
- July 13, 2017: Orange light of fall...
- July 12, 2017: Golf club. Eiffel Tower painted green.
- July 11, 2017: Restless Missus Tubbaguts changes seats...
- July 10, 2017: By all means!
- July 9, 2017: Whisper to the thunder.
- July 8, 2017: Is he still alive if I can't remember his name?
- July 7, 2017: Trust no man with a tidy haircut.
- July 6, 2017: Good boys, that lot.
- July 5, 2017: The "nobles" fight on horseback.
- July 4, 2017: I was born twenty minutes from the border of a third-world country.
- July 3, 2017: I was smitten with a certain vision of analog technology.
- July 2, 2017: I thought we were close. Me and that girl I've never met.
- July 1, 2017: After 15 years of silence my ex contacted me to complain of the difficulty of being a single parent.