Mayday Gallery

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This is a collection of all the photos I took out at Mayday in Seattle. We came upon a collection of Alt-Righters, Eco-Fems, Communists, Anarchists, and all manner of disagreeing people. This is some of the day.

humanity collective
This was pretty much the theme of the day.
bezos says
And so was this one.
darkest of frames
This framing was some of the strangest I’ve ever seen,
anticapitalism
Anticapitalism at its finest.
the rumblings
On the hunt for Joseph Seed.
captain neutral
‘Captain Neutral’, and some guy wearing an obnoxiously orange hoodie in the background.
on their backs
I don’t know about this one. But the framing still was pretty cool.
american values
American Renaissance
proud boy congregation
Some of the “Proud Boys” wearing GoPros and also generally acting how they look.
strapped 2
Pro Communists.
strapped
Strapped for a fight that never came.
captain neutral again
Captain Neutral among the photography convention.
ayyl mao
A man carrying the Little Red Book and flag of Chinese Communism. Also more photographers.
immigrations enforcement
This guy has a great sense of humor.
the fourth estate
This man not only knows what the hell he’s doing, but also recommended I get a bulletproof vest. He’s wearing a level 3 trauma plate there underneath the PRESS patch.
as you were
As you were.
definitely not a deputy
First time I’ve ever seen this patch in the wild.
cycle wall
Stellar line-up.

All in all, it was a very strange day. I have many more photographs to pick through and edit, and that video I posted this morning that documents more of the actual action. I’m sure to write more poetry about the day, but as far as a photograph set goes, I’m actually pretty happy with the take. I need to make it out to another one of these.

Also will still possibly post these individually. Normally don’t do these gallery thingies.

Securities

Like a pair of wings
You unfurl words
That mean these things

Flying in the air
Seeming so free
‘Till it lands

Words walk among
Teeming masses
As part of it

Every crowded sidewalk
Every clogged hall
By hearts and minds

They are a security
You can use them as batons
And as riot shields

There is nothing more
Glamorous than heroes
Toting only their voices

No thrown fist
Or super power
Just quick wit

It is a shield
And a baton
It is an entity

It’s a thing you
Can hold so dear
And be ripped from

So don’t shout
Too much or you’ll
Lose your larynx

Lose your security
Baton and shield
An entity

It’s your last
Bastion to
Those so unrefined

Words better than weapons
News better than broadswords
Hearts no better than minds

Hearts no better than mine
If I find my opponent
Shuns the words I say

If all else is lost
Then we can use swords
But nothing is yet gone

We still have voiceboxes
Hearts beat in our chest
Minds quake in our head

“So until then,
No swords.
We use our larynx.”

Grand Theft Blackout – Journal 7/12/17

Today is a day of protest, allegedly against an administration aiming to attack an ample guardian of the internet. Which means there’s a thing in the US government stopping big corporations from making exclusivity a thing on the internet. For me and Radio Reality City, this would mean I could get crossed out of the internet as a whole thanks to me supporting my own website. If I’m not big enough or cozy enough to get in with an ISP, this site is history.

All that means is that I get to participate in what meager slacktivism I can by calling the FCC and putting what I did on the front page today. Hopefully I’ll remember to post a screenshot of that here.

IMG_0874

So it might be back to printing after all if this adorable president who thinks he’s hiding all this business with the Russians can’t wrangle a reason as to why this whole internet thing is a big deal. A lot of people seem to think he did it. He denies it. There is evidence that he did it. Lots of it. Being tweeted by his son. And there’s a chance net neutrality will die because of this man. Fucking excellent. The only thing that’ll change is that more people will be mad. I love it, and I’ll love it even more when our president and his brood can’t tweet anymore because a different ISP has the rights to it.

So slacktivism it is for me, because I can’t do anything on my own. At least I’m not holding a sign up in the middle of traffic, blocking the infrastructure.

I feel like I’m edging closer and closer to contacting someone I really really don’t want to get into contact with. Do you as an artist ever put yourself in a situation for the sole purpose of knowing there will be something made from the moment? That is basically what drives me. It really really bites to sit and slow down, only to wallow in memories long dead and long made. What use is in remembering if not immortalization? Why do we create if not to cement something with meaning?

How many times must I make art of the same moment for it to have more meaning with everything combined? There might be something to that. Create so much that the creations themselves make memories. How incredibly flowery of a way to put it. Man, it’s like I’m a writer or something.

That’s fucking meta.

Off of that thought, I’ve REALLY slowed down on the poetry. This happens every summer and it really sucks. As I said in the last journal, it’s so much easier to write in an environment where the only other stimuli are slightly less interesting than the notebook I’m writing in. That doesn’t happen in the summer.

Once again, Skyrim is making that difficult. Now Overwatch is, as well.

Point is, in the summer it seems as if I’m surrounded by things that are all barely more interesting than my own thoughts. Like popcorn movies, I just sit back and tune out of myself and focus on things that don’t matter, like why that Genji keeps running away from me shouting “I need healing” while I’m Lucio and trying to track him down.

I tend to binge on games, but I don’t own any that are low stress. Rainbow Six, For Honor, Skyrim, Overwatch, and to an extent Mirror’s Edge are all pretty damn high stress experiences. You have to pay attention more to the game than be concerned about a notebook sitting beside you. It sucks because that means it becomes more interesting, and you’re focusing too much on the macro of the game and nothing else.

If I had to pick an ideal environment to write in, it would have to be my own room. I’d have to set the scene: incense burning, lights that react to the music playing on my stereo, window slightly open to let a breeze in.

In practice, my ideal environment has been a classroom where other (argueably more important yet less interesting) things are going on. That’s where I’ve done a bulk of my stuff.

At least for poetry, that’s how it goes.

For fiction, I’m on my laptop typing away like I am now. Usually bursts of pages at a time, but not much more than 10 if I can help it. I do more pages per hour if I’m working on a non-fiction essay or something similar.

I think for Labels and War Pigeons, it took me a good two hours to crank that out from start to finish. Interviewey/journalistic type stuff has never been my strong suit. I’m good at expressing myself, but I feel like expressing others is a little tacky. Even if it is in quotes.

Would you rather speak or be spoken for? This circles me back around to net neutrality. It’s much better to do something in your own words than to copy/paste or not say it at all because someone has “said it better”.

A lot of people really need to see that they should be proud of the things that they do because they do them. It’s something. It’s better to wake up every day sucking in harsh breaths but being happy to be alive than to be all depressed and mope like there’s no tomorrow.

Back in middle and high school, being depressed was in fashion. All the RAWR :3 gurls definitely had something to do with that. It was meant to be a character flaw, relatable, that anyone could come up and be asked “you okay?” It evoked sympathy for the sake of it, not because there was actually something up or something of substance behind it.

We were born depressed because it’s what made us want to talk to each other. Now it’s even more in fashion as the reality of life summits and there really is a reason to be depressed with the horrible state of the world and all that.

Take after the Comedian from Watchmen! Have some fun with your grief and your sadness, take your tiredness and your ire and smile, not because you have to, but because it’s all just a big joke when you get down to it. Not even a giant meteor wants to touch this planet, and I wouldn’t blame it.

This journal’s excerpt is from an as of yet untitled poem:

“A choking sawdust

Mixed together

With the rust

Of negligence

 

Bitter taste

Of blood iron”

This one is about a certain aura in the air that evokes something most sinister. That something sinister is a very tangible thing, but my metaphors aren’t just in poems. This frustrates the candid.

Lately I’ve been listening to feelgood music to curb this very real summer depression that I’m encountering again. Pink Guy’s “Kill Yourself” and “STFU” work wonders to bring my mood up!

So enjoy this blackout. This greenout of summer blues that infects the idle with fatigue. Slacktivism, unproductivity, wasted time.

Wasted time enjoyed is not wasted time, says John Lennon. I tend to agree.

If you’re reading this, you know who you are when I say I miss you.

Get out there! You’ll be depressed and like it!

Miserable Witch

I’m a bitch
I’m a lich
Or a miserable
Witch

Existential
Spiritual
Malicious
Little bitch

Who’s got a twitch
In the wrist
Who can curse you
If I wish

With a stroke
Of my hand

Yes I can
Though it isn’t
Really magic

You wouldn’t
Understand

‘Cause I’m a bitch
I’m a lich
Or a miserable
Witch

Bubbling boil
Toil
And trouble

I put my soul
In something else
And let it go cold

Fuck you regardless
Of a spell
Or my wish

Whatever I
Want goes off
Without a hitch

It must be easy
To demonstrate like this

‘Cause I’m a bitch
I’m a lich
I’m a wicked little
Witch

You’ll be remembered
By my curse
In a verbal casket
If you want to chance it

Zombies

Black boots stomp
And penetrate
Pavement

Digging deep down
And cracking
Concrete

Red wax leaks
And darkness
Drips

Breaking through rifts
Underneath
Their feet

Call them
The risen soldiers
Call them the undead
Call them
A mob of zombies
Call them
Running riot red

Trigger Warning

Fuck you.
Now that you’ve stopped reading
How dare you oppress me
While you’re ignoring

All the things outside that really
Matter. Beyond a keyboard
Or protest would you really
Take a dagger to

Defend yourself? The Sikhs
Believe in community, but after
9/11 dozens were killed for
Looking like Muslims in America.

So we can have our weed and
Transgender rights, but as soon
As you step on my internet toes
I’ll add to the tears of Zoe Quinn’s

Cultists. Every protest on the
Freeway that stops an ambulance
From getting a dying man to
The emergency room had better

Be for a good reason other than:
Sticks and stones that
Break your bones and the words
That never hurt me.

I’m PC as fuck, broh.
I shaved my head and
Dyed what was left
To look like a rainbow.

I’m bisexual even though I don’t
Like hugging [girls/guys].
Did you just assume my gender
With your cis-scum lies?

Because it doesn’t matter whether
I have eggs in my ovaries
Or cum under my jeans.
When I go to the doctor,

My sexual history is
“Very active” because I
Masturbate so much
To cartoons as

I identify as pony-kin.
Make fun of me one more time
And I’ll skullfuck your eye
And bash your fuckin brains in.

I’m like Jack from The Shining
While Shelly Duvall keeps whining
Over how wrong I am
Or how “hateful” my tumblr is

And I’m brigading everyone else
With the iPad my parents
Bought for me because I can’t
Get hired while having a slant

In my hair that’s half dreadlocks.
Fuck the cops
I see on YouTube and Reddit
Killing only black people ever.

How dare you think I’d listen
To you while I’m so busy
Blogging for everyone
Else to see.

Aren’t I so trendy?

I go to protests and
Post less about how we can
Come together and more
On how I’m better than you.

Sticks and stones
Break my bones
And your words might as well
Kill me.