1

Occupational Hazards From the moment I stepped off of my flight, what stood out the most about Des Moines is how damn empty it is. As I paced up and down Grand Avenue at night, looking for a place to eat, I encountered no man, woman or child. Occasionally, a car or two would drive past me. The loneliness was oppressive.

Many buildings glowed with the baptismal lights of civilization, only to be empty. There was a utilitarian simplicity to all of the buildings.

Grotesque statues lined the parks, certainly reflections of the Midwesterners inner psyche. Surely, this was one of the few ways the kind Midwestern people could display their morbid dark side to the world. They were too proud and too reserved to communicate emotions such as hatred and anger through speech.

Two strange statues, three meters tall each, resided within the city's tallest skyscraper, The Principal Building, multicolored and standing next a globe on a pedestal, a seemingly sinister warning of future conquests for the strange Midwestern people, one which will be proudly displayed next to the widespread assimilation of the television accent in American Society.

Even the Skywalk was eerily empty. This seemed strange to me. One of my first thoughts was, Where are all of the homeless? I hadn't seen any outside. The Skywalk seemed like a prime candidate for a homeless incursion, being a warmed, enclosed area which was easily accessible.

And yet, there were none.

***

The desolation of Iowa was the perfect place for the official start of the Republican primaries. If it wasnt for the glut of political media, the Republicans could get away with saying practically anything. This is where campaigns would be born and murdered, according to the media. Political ads, America's longest running comedy series, had its way with cable television and Occupy Wall Street made its way to the caucus. ***

The first event I decided to attend was Ron Paul's seminar given on December 28th, at the Knapp learning center. The seemingly meek gynecologist from Texas had my interest since 2008, and I wanted to see the man in person.

According to Newt Gingrich, the good doctor was outside the boundaries of any decent Americans political sphere; it was precisely this reason which made Paul my favorite candidate. Paul, one of the few Republicans to dare speak against Israel, the war against drugs, America's hegemony over the world, among many other controversial beliefs.

One of the few congressmen to vote against the patriot act, Paul shows a blatant dislike for quasiauthoritarianism. He also showed a blatant dislike for ever voting yes on the floor, for mostly everything.

To top this all off, he's one of the few mainstream politicians with direct ties to Alex Jones, a voice of underground politics who is part time conspiracy loon, part time freedom lover.

In a world where the 112th congress, supposedly freedom loving tea party enthusiasts, passes the Military Detention Act, perhaps the Gynecologist was just the man we needed in mainstream politics? Many Iowa Republicans felt that way; according to the polls, Paul was in first place at the time. A leftover from the Birch society, Paul still has an unusually strong pull among college crowds.

Looking back, perhaps it was just a fluke; many people deny his general electability and reasoned that his healthy campaign was a temporary benefit from still having a well-oiled publicity machine from 2008 still running in the state. ***

I left my hotel at 6:00 PM, taking the hotel's shuttle. The driver's name was Mark, a very sociable Des Moines native. The two of us talked about the volatile nature of the upcoming caucus. It was recently announced that Santorum climbed his way past Gingrich, into third place.

Although, the gap was extremely wide between third and second place, it was still an impressive feat. The media circus that took place every four years was quite enjoyable for some residents in Des Moines. Mark the driver felt no different.

Well, I'm pretty interested in politics, so I enjoy this sort of thing, Mark explained. I told him this would be my first caucus.

You should've been here in 2008. It was insane, Mark went on to say.

Mark and I had a discussion regarding Ron Paul's age becoming a possible issue for his career in the future. If he won the Presidency, Mr. Magoo would reach 80 years old by the end of his first term. For such a meek old man, this could become a serious point of contention. Although that is way too far off in the future to determine.

The only reason why age became an issue with the Maverick in the 2008 election was because of how frightening the prospect of Sarah Palin as Leader of the Free World was. I mean, holy shit. Have you seen that woman?

I've always felt that she was destined to become a political pundit. It's where she feels most comfortable, taking potshots at career politicians and making intellectually emaciated viewers clap their hands in gullible support. Because of this, her lack of involvement in the 2012 race came as no surprise to me.

The recent New Hampshire primary made it appear obvious that Romney was to be the Republican candidate. However, uncertainty loomed before the fateful night of the Iowa caucus.

***

When I arrived at the fairgrounds, the place was desolate. Being my first event, I had no idea if this was normal before an event, or if Ron Paul's following was really smaller than polls would indicate.

As I waited for the doors to open at 6:30 pm, I noticed an elderly man in a discussion with a younger person not too much older than myself, talking about the Chemtrail conspiracy theory. Ah, that good old Alex Jones crowd hard at work, spreading the word to the people. Warms my heart, it does. Whether or not you are an ally of Mr. Jones, one can't deny the hard work being done by his multitude of zealous fans.

***

Eventually, the doors were opened for the general public. I made my way inside, walking around the event for a little while before sitting down. The crowd grew over time, becoming over 500 people. As seconds turned to minutes, the ever patient people of Iowa looked as though they were about to implode in their seats, in a polite fashion, of course.

The crowd caught a momentary glimpse of the Gynecologist behind the scenes, and preemptively applauded with reckless adoration. I couldn't help but join them in their fervor as everyone stood. The awkwardness set in as everyone realized that he wasn't coming out to speak yet. Everyone took their seats again.

***

The presentation began when a Vietnam veteran named Drew stood up onto the stage. He started by reminding the audience that Iowa became a state in 1846, December 28th. He drew parallels to that historic date and the final day of the Iowa caucus, January 3rd, which could become an historic moment of victory of Ron Paul supporters. The crowd cheered passionately as only Ron Paul supporters could. A menagerie of veterans guided the audience through prayer and patriotic song.

*** What is interesting to note is Pauls popularity with military veterans. He has raised more money from veteran groups than any other Republican candidate. This was slightly funny to me, considering Gingrichs comments about Paul and decent Americans.

***

Glen Massie, an Iowan state Representative, recited the military oath in similar fashion to the oath of office. Both are affirmations proclaiming dedication to the protection of the constitution. For Ron Paul, a man who has served his country in the military and legislature, the analogy seemed to be tailor made. Massie's voice led the crowd into a crescendo, and vice versa. The excitement was palpable.

Suddenly, a pudgy bald man made his way to the stage. He was Kent Sorenson, member of the Iowa state Senate, as well as the chair of state for Michele Bachmann's campaign. He arrived with good tidings: an endorsement for Ron Paul. An image came to my head of Bachmann herself castrating this poor fellow. The image was clear as day.

What an upset for her campaign! An elderly man sitting in front of me, who had trouble keeping up with the standing up and sitting down for every outburst of applause said, I'm not getting up anymore.

I thought it was an appropriate metaphor for Bachmann's campaign in Iowa. With her numbers slipping and once ardent supporters leaving, perhaps it was time to just sit down. Although, I had to wonder about Sorenson's endorsement: Why now, so late into the campaign? The caucus was less than a week away.

***

I coincidentally ran into the majority leader of the Iowa state Senate at a Romney rally later in the week. He was playing the field, getting a feel for each candidate before the caucus night. I started to ask him some basic questions regarding his opinion on the candidates. Then I asked him about Sorenson. His jovial attitude suddenly changed, and he refused to say anything regarding the affair.

***

The cynic in me immediately believed this to be last minute preservation on his part. He had been just recently elected. Why risk losing popularity with your constituency by teaming up with a loser? Perhaps it's as he said it is. Perhaps he's just loyal to Paul.

Regardless, it was quite the scandal. Nobody knew until this point. This was one of the most dramatic moments of the Iowa caucus. I spoke to a journalist the next day about it. I think people prefer loyalty to political calculations. This might come back to bite him in the ass.

***

Afterward, a short video began to play. It was a celebration of our veterans, and Ron Paul's benign relationship with them.

It was a statement that made sense. Paul had raised more money from veterans than any other candidate, by a long shot. Perhaps the message of peace in our time resonated well with people who had seen the nasty and brutish side to life.

A far cry from what the Chicken Hawks call for.

***

Eventually the man himself, Ron Paul, came out and stepped to the podium. He introduced two of his granddaughters, only a small part of his large family, and began to speak. It was not long after his introduction when three people marched up the right aisle towards the podium and began shouting. It took only one glance at them to correctly identify these unknown people. They were Occupiers.

***

Earlier in the day, an Occupy Des Moines Representative, and I put that in quotes because it's an odd thing to say, told the local news channel all about Occupy the Caucus, an offshoot of Occupy Wall Street, whose headquarters was located on Locust and East 6th street.

According to the representative, members of ODS would occupy specific candidates and try to bring up issues that they thought needed addressing.

***

There were many factors that helped me to deduce who they were immediately: Their age and clothing among them. They shouted something that I couldn't hear, being on the other side of the room, and Ron Paul paused for a moment letting them speak. After they spoke, primarily about Pauls views on abortion, the entire crowd poured their jeers and hisses towards the young activists.

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Ron Paul interrupted the yells, shouting out freedom of speech! The crowd suddenly went wild with cheer. The occupiers moved to the back of the room, and the media swarmed around them. A gang bang, as I learned from a media friend later.

Four occupiers remained, standing side-by-side, facing the cameras and angry Ron Paul supporters. A shouting match ensued. However, something magical happened over time. The occupiers and supporters eventually came to the conclusion that they agreed on certain issues.

One of the occupiers, who I came to know as Clark, held up an End the Fed sign between his hands. An elderly man stood behind the occupiers, proclaiming Ron Paul supporters are the 99%.

Eventually the occupiers and Ron Paul supporters fell into a kind of begrudging, yet friendly chat. It is difficult to describe. I asked Clark why he was occupying Ron Paul.

As it turned out, he and the other occupiers disagreed with Paul's views on abortion despite agreeing on the Federal Reserve. There was one Paul supporter who was rather ardent and confrontational. I left the gang bang in order to get back to the speech.

***

Paul spoke of freedom being in danger. He spoke of SOPA, the NDAA, and the 1998 act on allowing violent changes to Iraq's regime.

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He saluted students and old people alike who knew freedom.

Young people and old men, Pauls eclectic constituency.

The internet is working! The golden rule, but for international relations. Changing the status quo. After the speech he had a photograph session.

***

I stepped outside. I ran into Clark and two others. Good show out there, I told him, trying to encourage the young man. He shook like a crack fiend without a pipe in there, probably due to being nervous from all the media attention. He thanked me and we spoke for a short while. Soon he walked off leaving a female acquaintance, Karen to speak with me.

Karen and I talked about Paul, discussing what we liked and disliked about Paul. She was from Wyoming. An interesting looking man who looked like a Frenchman spoke with us. His name was Jaral Crossroad. He was a peculiar man from Wyoming who always seemed to have a corncob pipe in his mouth. He and Karen had been friends.

As it turned out, most of the people that I spoke with held no ill will for Paul. The only issue Karen had with Ron Paul was his stance on abortion.

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Well, he's all for state's rights. I offered. Yeah, but if you're living in a state like Wyoming, fuck that. She responded. I nodded my head with a shit eating grin.

Right, right, tyranny of the majority and all that. Hamilton would be upset.

The Frenchman Jaral felt unsure of whether he should give Paul his vote or not.

I like the man, and it seemed like he had good points. Although, you could leave from any political rally and feel good about the candidate. They're all liars. Jaral later told me. I could probably walk out of a Bachmann rally, screaming 'kill the gays!' We both laughed. We were good people.

*** The Non-existent Perry Rally

Over the course of the Iowa caucus, I decided to familiarize myself with the people working full time at the Locust street headquarters of ODM. The reasons were plentiful; there was a surprising gap in Occupy coverage from most media outlets, I wanted to know more about them and wherever they went there was sure to be an interesting happening. On the night of December

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30th, 2011, one such happening took place. However, this happening revealed how informal and ad hoc Occupy is.

A meeting was called at the political headquarters of ODM, and I decided to attend. I spoke with two Occupiers on my way up the stairs to the meeting room and told them that I was a writer. Never have I seen a mans facial expression change so quickly. They went from smiling, to a cautious blank stare in an instant.

You know, one of them spoke up, we arent going to occupy the actual caucus.

Then your groups name is quite the misnomer, I replied jokingly, chuckling at my own lame quip. Apparently, they did not appreciate my joke as much as I did; they didnt even smile.

*** The Occupiers upstairs were in the middle of practicing their protest techniques. They were being led by Frank Cordaro, an elderly gentleman and ex-Catholic worker and veteran of protests. The power players of ODM could be broken up into two groups, the first of which would be the collegiate kids. Young students who devoted their politically aware existence to making the Iowa Caucus the Superbowl for OWS. The second group would be the old guard. People like Frank who has been in this setting before during the 60s and 70s.

Eventually the practice subsided for planning. They were going to hit Rick Perry.

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*** Rick Perry was supposedly holding a political rally on the fairgrounds at 8:30 pm. Having done nothing for the day, the entire group was energized and ready to have at him. The plan was to modify Perrys words from his now infamous not ashamed, political ad and interrupt his rally. The words were as follows;

Were not ashamed to admit were occupiers. But you dont need to be in a tent every night to know theres something wrong when Wall Street can openly buy politicians but Americans cant openly protest corruption or make ends meet. As occupiers, well end Wall Streets war on the 99% and well fight against corporate attacks on our democratic heritage. People made America strong. We can make her strong again. Were Occupy Des Moines, and we approve this message.

The plan was set. The only thing left was to act.

*** After the meeting I met a very helpful couple from Iowa who had come to show their support for Occupy, Elaine and David. They offered to drive Jaral and I, as well as an American Muslim convert who was a fan of the Hawkeyes named Elaine, to the rally.

They were average middle class Americans. Not simple in regards to intellect, but simple in regards to living. Elaine and David are the mistreated remnant of the middle class American dream. They were in Des Moines to get their opinion heard, to force politicians to listen.

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Elaine was about to explode with unbridled excitement.

I hope the cops dont show up, she said on the ride there. But I knew differently. She wanted adventure. She wanted something to break up the monotony of Midwestern life. It would be an adventure worth recording for the books.

We eventually made it to the fairgrounds, but something was off. It was completely empty. No rally. No Perry. The Occupy caravan stopped in order to converse.

*** Somebody botched it. Nobody knew who, but someone messed up. There was never supposed to be a Perry rally at the fairgrounds that night. We all stood around in a circle, a little quiet at first. Awkward looks were exchanged. But that was only for the first few seconds.

Well, lets hit a Romney event, one of the Occupiers said.

Half of the group was ready to move on and hit another candidate. Yeah, they fucked up, but that didnt matter. Yeah, they had a nice press release typed up, but that didnt matter. As we left the fairgrounds, half of the group decided to look for another event to crash and the other half returned to the Locust street headquarters.

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I eventually learned that this was the way of things within Occupy. There was a semblance of order with the nicely written press releases and planning board, but there was always a roguish faction within the group that did what they wanted to, when they wanted to.

***

Im Mike Neil from Occupy Columbia and when someone drives by screaming to get a job. I tell them I dont need a job, I am the American dream. When I was twelve I had a paper up, when I was fifteen I was washing dishes in a restaurant. By the time I was in my twenties I was working in a factory house making eleven dollars an hour. When the factory was closed down I got a job in making toasters at a factory, until that closed down. When I was eighteen I didnt get along with my step dad so I bought a little trailer on a lot. A few years later I bought a house with a garage and empty lot. I rented the garage out and put a trailer on the empty lot.

I dont need a job. I pay taxes and pay my bills. I live the American dream. Now my tenants are having trouble raising their families, working through these hard times. Jobs are not making ends meet. At presents all my tenants have a job.

We need to take back our government.

So thats what brought you to the movement? Disparity in wealth?

I see the American dream disappearing from your generation.

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*** The Encampment and Elements of Occupy

The Occupiers had planned a day long bus tour to every Republican candidates office. The action started at 11:00 AM, when a crowd of over 100 assembled outside of the Locust Street headquarters. First they would march through the Capitol building towards their outside camp. As men and women of every age assembled for the trek, a minivan passed by and gave everyone the middle finger while driving.

We love you! one Occupier yelled out in response.

I'll occupy your mom, dude! another shouted.

There were Guy Fawkes masks, signs of anger and bile, and drums. The drummers began a slow steady beat, and the Occupiers began to chant We are the 99%, as they started to make their way down the street and towards the Capitol building. The building, which was merely two blocks down the road, was massive and looming, situated on its own hill.

Tell me what Democracy looks like? This is what Democracy looks like!

Banks get bailed out, we get sold out!

Media outlets, ranging from NHK to BBC, were following the march setting up their cameras for

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intense low angle shots. When we reached the state emblem on the court yard, the crowd stopped. A man name Dutch, one of the original Occupiers to show up at the same location on October 9th, the birth of Occupy Des Moines, began to speak.

On October 9th, 2011, 400 Iowans, inspired by Occupy Wall Street, marched up to the Capitol building. When they reached the state emblem, they refused to move, despite police warnings. It was their state, and they expected the state assembly to listen to their cries. Over 40 men and women were arrested that day. Occupy Des Moines was born that day.

It was a time of reflection for the group. They stood on hallowed ground, the ground on which they were given purpose, merely a few days away from the New Year. They reflected on their possible future, and the growth of the movement, the hope that Occupy would not subside over the coming year, the hope that it would bloom gloriously. In retrospect, their grim clairvoyance of such a hopeless and fruitless future seems spot on.

The Occupiers made their way to the statue of Lincoln and Tad.

Dutch repeated one of Lincoln's most famous utterances. I have two enemies, the Southern army before me, and the bankers behind me- of those two, I fear the enemy at my back the most. Americas second favorite President being echoed by a group which seems to be phobic of patriotism and American flags.

We demand the puppets! someone called out. The Occupiers stood there, as the drummers

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continued their rhythm. Two of the occupiers, still walking up Locust, carried with them two, large hoisted puppets. Both were half red and half blue. One was labeled REPUBLICRAT, the other DEMOCAN.

We have the freedom of speech; you have the duty to listen!

The Sheriff arrived, and stood by the front door of the Capitol building. We circled the building, and went towards the back of it. Clark danced around on the yard, wearing a stupid Dr. Seuss hat, doing cartwheels, holding his End the Fed sign.

The war on terror is a lie, the NDAA has to die!

The group eventually made its way to the Occupy Des Moines encampment on East 14th street, which was a far different animal from the Political Headquarters, as I came to find out.

Various tents littered the park, one being large enough to even fit a kitchen. There was an interesting contrast between the encampment, primarily meant to take care of the downtrodden and the politically aware Locust HQ armed by Collegiate Kids with an interest in politics.

Many different types assembled at the encampment, the homeless, the earth children, the altruists, the old guard of American liberalism, the Average Americans, and the college kids. It was a smorgasbord of liberalism, mashed together into an unholy chimera of hurt feelings, poverty and anger.

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There was the like of Frank Cordaro, the charismatic ex-Catholic priest and Catholic worker. The man had a profound sense of right and wrong and was the master strategist of civil disobedience and activism within the group.

Cordaro, a lifelong activist, was attracted to the movement when one of his friends was arrested on the October 9th protest. To be sure there were many important young members within the group, such as Shannon, a fiery 15 year old who would be arrested at various protests, but Cordaros unique background for an Occupier and his devotion to protest catapulted him into the spotlight. He was the mentor, showing all the young people how to sit their way to social distortion.

Another shot caller in the coven was a man named David Deturris, a former stringer for the Associated Press and the Boston Press, a resident of Des Moines. He could often be found at the political headquarters, giving protest lessons.

He was a curious looking man, in his forties, overweight, wearing thick rim glasses and dressed in what I can only refer to as protest gear. He looked like the stereotypical image of a rebel wearing a skullcap, fingerless gloves, and messenger bag.

I approached him at the encampment and the man was curt and did not care for small talk. Whore you with, whats your agenda, baby? He wouldnt give much information about himself, or the movement.

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I made my way to the kitchen tent. It was full of homeless who couldnt give a shit about what those loud, drum banging kids were doing by the Capitol building. They were just glad to have a meal.

There I made acquaintance with a man named Ben Anderson, a man who looked to be about 50 with greying hair, a sad drooping face, wearing overalls. He was soft spoken, polite and a pleasure to speak with. I told him that I was interested in the contrasts between the different people attracted to Occupy.

Its really full of different people, all fulfilling different roles of past liberal movements, Ben said.

He compared the homeless aiding altruists to the Catholic workers and the college aged protesters to Vietnam protesters and black rights groups. It seemed as though Occupy was an incidental evolution of American liberalism, but combined with the inherently anarchist nature of the movement, this created problems.

To vote, or not to vote, that is the question. Should Occupy endorse rapacious rebellion from the outside, or changing the system for the better from the inside? Allocate resources towards caring for the homeless or political actions? After all, the group only had a limited pot of cash to fund themselves. The Locust street headquarters wasnt free. That rent was expensive.

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All of this and more were existential questions the group faced.

One person would scream out that capitalism was an inherently wicked institution, thought up by that rabid Scotsman Adam Smith to destroy the planet, while another would be live streaming the protests using the very fruits of capitalism, entrepreneurship and sweet, cheap overseas labor, the iPhone.

It created a confusing mess. A Romney supporter and friend of mine would often ask me, What the hell does Occupy want? To which I would always respond with a light shrug and Its complicated.

But its really not. The core of the Occupy movement is anti-corporate, anti-lobbyist and propeople. It shouldnt be hard to explain this to outsiders, but for some reason it is. Occupy is the Swiss army knife of political movements.

*** Wild Stripper Bus Tour

Sometime around noon, the rented buses finally arrived at the encampment. There were four multicolored, beat down school buses. They were obviously not intended to transport students. Once I entered one of the buses with the Occupiers, I realized where exactly they had rented

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them from; there was a stripper pole in the middle of the bus.

It was a party bus. One of the young girls in the press committee of ODM jokingly twirled around on the pole. A man in the back of the truck beat on a set of bongos while the entire bus chanted. The insanity of the situation was a perfect opposite of where we were heading, Michele Bachmanns campaign headquarters.

Despite her almost fascistic bloodlust, Bachmann was the most straight laced out of all the candidates, in my humble opinion. When she wasnt spouting off incorrect information she had read on an internet blog, she was quite a tolerable person. Not scummy, like Gingrich, and not glib, like Romney. She was just an annoyingly quaint fellow.

I could only imagine her horrified face if she were on that bus. Im sure the Occupier with the Bad Religion shirt would have offended her greatly, considering her educational background. I could imagine her refusing to sit down in the party bus, too afraid to sit down. After all, someone might have received a lap dance on any of the seats. Or fucked.

There were other journalists on the bus, some fashionable, young freelancers.

The buses pulled into the outdoors shopping complex where Bachmanns headquarters was located. The Occupiers quickly exited their bus and surrounded the complex, marching up to the windows to the beat of drums.

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Bachmann interns and volunteers locked themselves inside of the building. They stood still looking utterly horrified and appalled. Occupiers knocked on the windows and some even tried to open the door. It was like a scene from a George Romero film. The downtrodden and filthy surrounded a building packed with young, fine Christian volunteers, with magnificently combed hair.

Let us in, we just want to speak with you, members of the crowd chanted.

The young, clean cut, men within were panicked. Having no will to actually address the protesters concerns, they did the only thing they could; they called the police.

After about ten minutes of knocking on the windows, the police finally came. About three cars at first, but more came eventually. They waded their way into the crowd and began to make arrests. It didnt take long for Occupiers to stop knocking on the windows and walk away.

One of the Occupiers arrested was the 15 year old firebrand, Shannon.

Shame! called out tens of Occupiers at the police, as they handcuffed the young girl.

This is what a police state looks like! screamed one young man.

It was as if they targeted her exclusively, because she was arrested almost instantly. Perhaps arresting one of the youngest members was meant as a demoralizing act.

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However it turns out that it wasnt Shannons first arrest. Shes been scooped up by the police many times by now, for protesting. In fact, the core members of Occupy Des Moines were arrested many times. It was a tactic. Every Time before an action, they would decide who should risk arrest. The police in Des Moines were relatively friendly and knew some of the Occupiers, such as Frank, on a first name basis.

It was different from the violent images dispatched from Chicago, Seattle, and New York.

This raises a question. Did they have a right to bemoan the arrests if they themselves volunteered for and prepared for it? I suppose not. They knew they were trespassing on private property. The gangly, pale youth knew they would never be welcomed.

However, it says a lot that politicians, with their lovely thin skin, wont even acknowledge the existence of Occupy Wall Street and their concerns. A mass arrest at protests was the only way anyone would pay attention. Following Gingrich and Romney around was much more interesting to the press then whatever these kids had to say.

Regardless of whether or not their arrests would actually endear anyone to the movement was almost irrelevant, because besides helping the poor, it was their only tactic. Their only possible political weapon, since theyre still unsure whether they should actually vote. Volunteering for arrest is the message and not something you see every day. They even volunteered despite court fees.

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And so it happened again. We visited Rick Perrys office, more arrests. And again. We visited Mitt Romneys office, more arrests. Santorum, more arrests. All of these campaign headquarters were empty. In some cases, the cops were already there, with a barricade. The initial surprise from the Bachmann action wore off.

By the end of the bus tour, mostly everyone who was arrested was already processed by the police. However, the bus tour would make one final stop. President Obamas shutdown campaign headquarters in Des Moines.

The group had just read an Associated Press article, reporting that President Obama signed the NDAA.

Well, were all dead, one man said, jokingly.

The National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2012 contained sections within it which sanctioned indefinite detention of American citizens. Although the military detention provision was later removed by a federal court and in retrospect the NDAA needed to pass timely, it was still very alarming that congress tried to slip an Orwellian nightmare into an important bill. Images of police state and secret Gestapo arrests came to mind. Occupiers viewed themselves as the chief victims of such a law.

Several people cursed Obamas name. A far cry from what Bachmann claimed in a press

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statement, that Occupy is President Obamas reelection campaign. They were furious. They also did not support sanctions against Irans central bank, which were also inside the bowels of the NDAA. Some of them were of the Kucinich-Paul school of foreign policy; Iran is a sovereign and we have no right to pass such sanctions, which only serve to escalate furious rhetoric.

As we reached Obamas former Des Moines HQ, the Occupiers formed a circle. They chanted, sang and roared.

We showed the Democrat party, right here, what the people can do! We forced them out! one man screamed.

They were Visigoths, stomping around the ruins of Rome. The Romans, fools they were, once facilitated the Visigoths. Not anymore.
***

A Slow Creeping Death Washington DC, April 2012

Aaron Black, an organizer from Occupy Wall Street, made his way through empty tents in Mcpherson Square, searching for volunteers. Although the movement is proud of its almost nonexistent leadership, to me he represented the long arm of the OWS mothership, trying to bring order back to the defunct Occupy DC.

Although Mcpherson Square was populated with tents, painted with Occupy slogans and

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catchphrases, there was a sense of emptiness around the encampment. Four members of Occupy DC sat around a table, playing card games. Their library, a tent with over 100 books, was populated by flies rather than curious passersby.

Black approached a man in tattered clothing, sitting alone and half asleep, with a handout which announced an action against Mr. 1%, Mitt Romney, which was going to take place the next day at Woodley Park.

Romneys an asshole, we want to give him some shit, Black said, as handed the man a flier. If he wants to go around and talk about corporate personhood we need to do something.

The man in tattered clothing stared at Black for some time before responding in broken speech.

People want to come here and tell us how to live our life, but they aint got no land, he responded before going off on a tangent about homosexuality.

Black looked at me, exasperation painted over his face.

Land matters... Black responded, Not to throw a slogan at you, but we need to get voters in money out.

Black went on to search for other Occupiers.

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Thats the problem, Black said as we walked away, Some of these people want to make a difference but they dont know what a Super PAC is. Its an education problem.

As the empty Mcpherson Square can attest, education is not Occupy DCs only problem. On February fourth, police cleared Mcpherson Square. They cleared out Occupy DCs other camp in Freedom Plaza the next day. Ever since then, the organization has had difficulties organizing protests and actions.

The tents were allowed to stay, as signs of political protest, however the people were not. Occupiers, who used to sleep in the tents, resort to sleeping on the sidewalks at night.

The push to clear the parks supposedly came from Congressman Darrell Issa (R-CA). According to Salon and other news sources he pressured the park rangers to enforce a no camping law, restricting Occupiers from sleeping at Mcpherson.

I spoke with Georgia, a day one member of Occupy DC from Mississippi, regarding DCs current state. Despite never really looking directly at me, she was helpful and friendly, filling me in on recent actions and events.

H.R. 347 was geared towards Occupy, she said.

H.R. 347 is a recent bill that passed congress with flying colors. It was signed into law by President Obama on March 9th.

30

The bill, a revision to a 1973 trespass law, was introduced by Tom Rooney (R-FL) and has caused quite a stir in certain circles including Occupy. Its been accused as being an anti-protest bill.

The original law was aimed at trespassing into restricted areas, under Secret Service protection, willingly and knowingly. H.R. 347 removed the word willingly from the law.

I contacted Michael Mahaffey, Rooneys press coordinator, for a statement regarding fringe contempt for the bill.

Current law prohibits unlawful entries upon any restricted building or ground where the President, Vice President or other protectee is temporarily visiting. However, there is no federal law that expressly prohibits unlawful entry to the White House and its grounds or the Vice Presidents residence and its grounds, Mahaffey told me.

And thats where H.R. 347 comes into play.

Harrison, another Occupy DC member, described some of the difficulties the group faced.

With H.R. 347 we cant stand by the White House and protest. We have to keep moving. And to top it all off, the local McDonalds removed its late night dollar menu, because of Occupiers coming in for cheap food late at night.

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Black and I made our way towards Freedom Plaza. During the walk he voiced his concerns over the lack of coordination in DC. When we arrived at Freedom Plaza, I came to see the desolation that had been a thorn in the groups side here in DC. Once again, the encampment was populated with tents and signs rather than people.

Where is that piece of shit? Black asked as we looked around the camp.

We entered the only populate tent. In the very back sat an old man with a snow white beard, sitting behind a desk.

Hey asshole, Black called out, can you get together 20-30 people for an action? Were trying to get at Mr. 1%

The bearded man grunted. We dont even have 20-30 people fucking here at the camp...were getting ready to give up.

Black frowned in response, OWS is getting it back together, you guys should do the same.

Is that a writer? the bearded man asked, motioning to me with his right hand.

Yeah, hes probably wondering who are these people, why are they so disorganized, right now, Black responded.

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The two laughed.

Were actually NAMBLA, Black said.

***

The Last Huzzah New York City, June 14th, 2012

Mic check! exclaimed the ringleader.

Mic check! repeated the crowd.

Michael Avery! exclaimed the ringleader.

Michael Avery! repeated the crowd.

We love you! exclaimed the ringleader.

We love you! repeated the crowd.

The Occupiers, who gathered underneath the arch at Washington Square Park, greeted one of their much beloved bearded friends. The police presence in the park seemed nervous.

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The Occupiers suddenly broke into song. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when the skies are grey. Youll never know dear, how much I love you, so please dont take my sunshine away.

Of course, the Occupiers didnt gather to sing the great gubernatorial song of Louisiana. They would rally in order to protest President Obamas celebrity fundraiser.

Much to the chagrin of the movement, the President was visiting Sarah Jessica Parker, in her beautiful Greenwich home, on the citys least disgusting street, Charles Street. The fundraiser was already in progress. The Occupiers were 17 minutes late to their own protest. It was supposed to start at 7:00 pm. The police gathering accelerated around Washingtons arch.

In the times of the four good Emperors, the Romans would build arches and columns devoted to outstanding victories over barbarians. This arch was devoted to George Washington and sacralized his image and words.

Washington is revered as the father of our nation because of the peaceful transition of power which he helped facilitate. Horatio Greenoughs sculpture, in which a Zeus Washington figure sits on a throne and holds his sword out, benevolently with the hilt outward, points to the sky with his right hand. He relinquished his power, peacefully. This is something that many countries who had just recently deposed of their dictators cannot grasp, even today.

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In a sense, the arch at Washington Square Park can be seen as a triumphal arch dedicated to the Republics victory and not Washingtons. And so, whether they realized it or not, it was quite romantic for a group of protesters to gather beneath it. Protest, spreading knowledge, civic involvement, these are all activities that keep a Republic strong.

Were going civilian!

The goal was simple. Travel, incognito, from the park to the fundraiser. We would split up, pretending to not know each other. However, this would be hard for the group for two reasons; as past experience has shown, Occupiers are easily distinguishable in the company of high society. During a ritzy Romney event Occupy Des Moines planned on crashing, a majority of them were kicked out by security before their mic check. The second reason is that I was standing around the Occupiers, jotting down notes in a notepad.

So, when the group split up, I decided to follow the man waving a black anarchy flag. I thought it would help the others snake through the streets without discretion if the two most obvious people travelled together. This man was, simply put, a character.

Elderly, skinny and armed with a vicious tongue which spoke in a lisp, I later found out that hes referred to as Gay Tony. He was a crass man, who would yell random obscenities during an organized mic check, and hated Sarah Jessica Parker with a passion. I jokingly asked him if he was here to protest the President, or JPR.

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We left the park. Police lined 5th street with motor scooters. As we passed them, they revved their miniscule scooter engines. It was as though a miniature chain gang was on the loose. They followed us. On the way to Charles Street, I spoke briefly with a man named Timothy Rattinger, a greying gentleman and day one member of the movement.

Its been sometime since May Day and given the movements claim to be a vital force, I expected there to be a massive turnout for the protest. The turnout was much more appropriate for a small city, like Des Moines, rather than New York City, the heart of Occupy. Since Rattinger was a day one member, I wanted to hear his insights into what the fuck was going on with the groups organization. Where was the manpower?

Theyre not going to get past 6th or 7th avenue, said Rattinger, in a very depressed tone. He seemed resigned. Had enough fight to show up, but somehow he seemed resigned, tired and exhausted. I just hope these kids dont get out of control, because there might be sharpshooters around. The police down at the park was just the B squad. Right as he said that, a police helicopter flew over us.

As we spoke, we quickly came to realize that the police were already a step ahead of us. They placed barriers on every street leading directly to our destination.

Theres no way past Christopher Street! Gay Tony yelled out.

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The motor scooter cops were still escorting us. Eventually the barricades forced all of the Occupiers to travel through the same route. There was no point in acting as if they didnt know each other anymore.

I mentioned HR 347 to Rattinger, wondering if it would be invoked today.

Doesnt matter, Rattinger said, No laws matter in New York under Bloomberg.

After saying that, Rattinger walked ahead of me and didnt talk to me from then on. ***

A U-Haul truck, trying to navigate the narrow streets of Greenwich, was watching the Occupiers with morbid fascination. Because of this fatal error in judgement, the driver scraped into what appeared to be a black secret service vehicle. The parade of Occupiers cheered and jeered.

Nice job!

***

The closest police allowed us to come to the fundraiser was east 4th street, only a block away from Charles Street. Protesters, with their ragged clothes, uncouth language and general dontgive-a-fuck attitude gathered right outside a luxury restaurant, the Extra Virgin.

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The Extra Virgin housed a collection of bourgeois dolls, seemingly porcelain in their inability to enjoy civil discourse. One woman, sitting in the outside dining area, was so displeased by the crowd of protesters that she began to heckle them. Very politely of course, Civil Society couldnt handle a litany of swear words emanating from the Extra Virgin.

Mic check!

The following is a few choice excerpts from their mic check, verbatim.

Back in January at the State of the Union, President Obama created the Mortgage Fraud Task Force to Bring the Banks to Justice. This task force is co-chaired by New York Attorney General Eric Schneiderman. The Task Force was promised Fifty Five Million Dollars. To this date, theyve only been allocated Eleven Million. Where is the Money to Investigate the Bankers? Obama is very busy gathering money, but not to put bankers in jail!

What can Obama do? Obama can order Eric Holder to Reallocate DOJ (Department of Justice) resources. What is the DOJ doing instead of investigating the bankers? Theyre raiding medical marijuana facilities, theyre prosecuting John Edwards, theyre investigating BASEBALL PLAYERS. How are these the priorities when weve seen NO JUSTICE for the biggest crisis since the Great Depression?

38

I thought their emphasis on underlying medical marijuana facilities was quite humorous, but they had a point which is hard to ignore.

While the Department of Justice wastes precious resources on prosecuting Roger Clemens, in a time where Austerity Measures is the new black, what the fuck are they planning on doing with the ugly psychic repercussions of 2008?

The crisis of 2008 left a scar in the in the American psyche. Was it a necessary jolt to wake people up from our sedentary lifestyle of excess and borrowing? Perhaps it was, but the amount of people who were scathed by 2008, worldwide, is ignored. Look no further than the ranks of Occupy itself to see the death of the American Dream, caused by greed.

The Crisis really took its toll on the American public, whether or not we'd like to admit it. A morose rift has been formed between income brackets, races and generations. The GOP was among the first victims of 2008's realignment of the universe. The Republican Warhawks of the 90s, trained in the halls of The Nation University, had been replaced by the Young Guns, budget hawks with no semblance of cognitive thought. Suddenly men like Paul Ryan, who believed we should do away with the progressive income tax, held power within the 112th Congress. Such controversial figures, zealots with no interest in economics, are only causing the rift to widen. The rift will continue to widen, engulfing the have-nots and then the haves. The Fall will not discriminate. We're looking forward to a future of gridlock, symbolic votes, and vitriol which will culminate in utter desolation.

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Obamas Task Force is often regarded as a joke by more left leaning Democrats. Its a talking point for when the election rolls around, not an actual institution for the much lauded Hope and Change. So, where was their justice? Where was he justice for those who lost everything? That justice was most likely killed by a Drone.

The protesters even mentioned the fact that the Reagan administration had several executivetypes arrested for the savings and loans crisis, while Obamas administration has overseen the arrest of zero executive-types.

Reagan was a jerk, one of them screamed out, but at least he did that!

One Occupier went on a long winded tirade about social justice. He was so long winded, that nobody would follow his mic check. The bourgeois woman eating at the Extra Virgin was still furious.

Okay, we get it, leave! Stop! STOP!

And the protesters did stop. Not because of the womans plea, but because they were done. They said their piece. Mission successful. Even if the President, or King Obama as one of them said, couldnt hear them, everything was alright. Some of these West Village assholes hear their voices. Hell, there might even be a segment on WNYC about the action.

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What the protest lacked in turnout, they matched in enthusiasm. They marched throughout the village, chanting. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

This is where I decided to leave them. It was dark and the entertainment for the night was over They were likely on their way back to Washington Square. I watched them navigate their way through the bowels of Greenwich, with all of their enthusiasm.

***

The very next day the New York Times had an article about the fundraiser. There was no mention of the protest.

***

Road to Philadelphia June 30th, 2012, 2:00 pm.

The Boltbus was awfully silent for a group of people heading to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love for Americas most fraternal of occasions, Independence Day. It was the proclamation that officially introduced our Republic to the world.

41

Everyone was either sleeping, or too involved with their smartphones to speak. They were most likely ignorant of the coming storm; freaks from all over the nation would soon make Philadelphia their stomping grounds.

It would truly be a feat of organization, to gather Occupiers around the nation, inherently without order and try to impose upon them five full days of Order.

The Occupy National Gathering was set to meet at Independence Mall, from June 30th to July 5th. This is where they would decide the future of the movement. This is where they would make the case that they could survive, that their message is to be heard.

The rhetoric would focus on themes of rebirth, renewal and revolution.

George Martinez, Occupy candidate for the 7th congressional district, was only able to scrounge up 3% of the vote during the 2012 Democratic primary.

If a movement cannot vote in a representative, they are doomed. This is how the Republic functions. The populists had Huey Long. The blacks have Rangel. Who does Occupy have?

Unfortunately, there is some contention about this within the group. Some believe they should work outside the System. Far be it from me to tell them what to do, but in my honest opinion living outside the System is a solitary endeavour. Its impossible to mass exit from the System.

42

You can only bring yourself and your family to the solitude of the unknown.

These rebels want to change the world. You cant change the world by being a recluse or by being a destructive asshole. The Jacobins learned this the hard way.

I sat alongside my editor, Gordon Oldman. Oldman constantly put on a facade of indecency and childish potty humor. His moral code is so steeped in the popular fiction of comic book characters. From time to time, I would wonder if his entire personality were derived from some childhood story, long forgotten by his consciousness.

The two of us had been in some precarious situations in times past. Weve had to run from young gang members when he accidentally let the word vato, slip from his incredibly loose mouth. Weve had to fork ten bucks over to the Ghetto Poet of Penn Station, all because he looked the greasy thief in the eye.

As a brief digression, the Ghetto Poet sells psalms for ten bucks. Stay awhile from this vile menace if you see him.

Despite all this, I still trust Oldman. Hes a good man, a good, angry man. Anger is good, because its the crux of the American Spirit. Anger at ones predicament, anger at societys imperfections, makes a decent man great.

Having made the foolish decision to not eat before we entered the bus, we were starving.

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*** The Mall, Philadelphia June 30th, 5:20 pm.

Philadelphias Independence Mall is Washington DC. It has a similar setup and demographic. The visitors are usually school children, summer camps, frat brothers, and international tourists from India and East Asia. Its also the same crazy, shitty city.

There are some key differences. Its smaller and there are only a handful of attractions worth seeing.

The poor foreigners, I could only imagine them going back to their homeland and attempting to describe America, the land of opportunity, to their fellow countrymen.

What is America like? an impoverished Indian child will ask, clinging to the returning tourist with a big smile on his face. Are the streets really made of gold? Do people really eat meat every day?

The tourist can only look at the child, with a grimace, not sure if he should tell the truth and crush that childs dreams.

It didnt take much searching to find the Occupiers because of their universal signs, Guy Fawkes

44

masks and black Occupy flags. They sat around in secluded circles, socializing with the people they came into Philadelphia with. There was little over 100 of them.

A giant utilitarian looking building, painted a boring brown, with the words WELLS FARGO etched upon it overlooked the park.

Oldman and I walked around, waiting for something to happen, while mingling with the attending Occupiers.

We spoke with a man named Joe, who came into Philadelphia from Fresno. He was an overweight man with a buzzcut and scars all over his face. One could only imagine how he received those scars.

Well, I saw some interviews on the television with Occupiers and agreed with what they had to say, but I thought they were just some young dumbasses, Joe said. I decided to go see what they were all about and I had my first arrest in under 24 hours.

The Movement could be alienating, but it was impressive how much zeal it could inspire within members. A gravitational well exists within the center of Occupy, able to pull the downtrodden closer. As surely as the moon moves the tides, the call for social justice moves a specific brand of dissident. The Movement isnt too far off from a biker gang; you know when and where you belong and that would by day one.

45

The flower children refugees, the anarchists, the environmentalists, they all had one thing in common; an overbearing sense that the institutions that be are insane, that our lifestyle is insane. Unfortunately, it seems as though the well the pond they fished from is already empty, after only 10 months. Almost everyone I spoke with during my journey was a day one member of Occupy. The new members I spoke with were ambivalent and unsure as to whether anything would change. Hardliners rule over Occupy.

Mic check! a group screamed a few meters away from us. I couldnt hear exactly what they were saying, but I understood their gesticulations.

The Occupiers all pointed to the Wells Fargo building. Thats where they would march.

They gathered around the bottom of the building. There was nothing inside except construction material. A lone Wells Fargo security guard stood by the entrance. Occupiers banged on their drums at the base of the building, clanged on their trashcans and strummed their guitars. It was as though they were giving old Mr. Wells Fargo a free concert.

Families and tourists with fresh faces tried to force their way through the crowd of dirty faced activists. They tried their hardest to not care.

A group of anarchists, with their trademark black bandanas and red As line the block, holding up a paper mache guillotine.

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They screamed and wailed their chants. The solitary Wells Fargo security guard was completely in the midst of the chaos. Nobody paid the man any mind, until an Occupier took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke into the guards face.

Welcome to Philly! screamed out the master of ceremonies with a loudspeaker and everyone cheered. We got folks from all around the country!

New York! yelled one person.

Hartford, Connecticut! yelled another.

Wisconsin! yelled another.

The MC informed the passing public about Wells Fargos racist predatory lending policies, investment into private prisons and other socially subversive business techniques.

Wells Fargo is especially near and dear to our hearts in Philadelphia! They kicked more families out of their homes in our city than any other bank. They took more than $160,000.000 from our school districts!

They were furious. The anarchists took a pile of fake money, which was already cut in the middle and placed it on the guillotine.

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If we cant execute Mr. Wells Fargo, well execute his precious money! One screamed before the paper execution blade slammed down onto the monopoly cash. They ripped apart the monopoly cash and threw it towards the crowd.

The activists began to march down the street again. The scene would replay itself several times throughout the day. They would do so at the local Fox 29 building and the United States Mint, with Philadelphias special police bike squad acting as the shepherd, blocking off where they werent allowed to march.

Occupiers climbed onto light posts, chanting. One of them held aloft an orange cat named Macaroni, the Occucat.

Man, theyre just following that guy with the loudspeaker, Oldman said, They dont even know what they want.

They know what they want, they just dont know how to get it, I replied.

In truth, the most unfortunate fact about the Movement is that it employs the language of them. Its about what they, the banks and the government, do. Occupy rarely speaks about what we, the people, do.

Oldman and I decided to leave the march temporarily and reconvene with the Occupiers later. It seemed like a rather routine march, similar to the ones I witnessed in Des Moines and

48

Greenwich. It was around dinner time anyway, so we looked for something to eat. Heres the key to eating in Philadelphia; you either risk getting robbed by inner-city youths on the West side, or you get robbed financially on the East side. We decided to stick to the East side.

Theyre just a bunch of hippies yelling at a bank, Oldman said as we ate our ten dollar cheesesteaks, I dont get it.

It always comes back to this, doesnt it? I responded, They need a leader.

I began to chew very slowly as I felt something inside of my food. It was hard. I looked over to the rubenesque hispanic woman who served us, distrust glimmering in my eyes. The damn thing, whatever it was, was hard!

What the fuck man? I asked food still in my mouth. Theres something in my food. I didnt hesitate to spit it out onto my plate.

Shit, theres nothing wrong with mine, Oldman responded.

I sorted through the chewed meat to find the culprit. It was a hard, white object with jagged edges attached to the meat. I tried scraping the meat off of the object, but I couldnt.

Christ, what is that? Oldman asked, before peering into his own meal, looking for anything similar.

49

Jesus fuck, I dont know man. I continued trying to scrape the meat off of the object. Is this a fucking nail? No, that doesnt make any sense. It cant be a nail, theres meat attached to it. I tried to sound confident, but in truth I was frightened.

It could be a bone, man, Oldman said.

I nodded my head slowly and continued to eat. I leered at the waitress, hoping to whatever deity was out there that this mystery object didnt belong to her.

We sat there silently for a few moments, suspicious of our own meals. An annoying DJ yelled through the radio to us, playing cute teeny bopper songs.

This country shouldnt have any clean thoughts, I said trying to take my mind off of our disgust. So, how about that Occupy?

Well, theyve gone so far past imitating V from V for Vendetta, or Anonymous, theyve gone so far past simple imitation that theyve lost the meaning, Oldman said. They wear the masks, but they have no idea what it means.

But havent they attached their own meanings to it?

I wouldnt go as far to say that, honestly.

50

Really?

I think that these people simply use that mask to put themselves in a larger group. They hope that through the mask they can represent this larger posse.

Well, theyve appropriated the Guy Fawkes mask from V to the 99%, right?

Yeah, but I dont think they truly understand the Guy Fawkes mask or have legitimate motives for using it.

Its all part of the image.

Why do they need an image?

Everyone needs an image.

Why?

For the ladies, I replied in a joking manner, smiling at Oldman like the town ass. I opened a bottle and the cap went flying into the air.

Christ!

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***

After dinner we rendezvoused with the Occupiers at their temporary encampment. Their temporary encampment was the parking lot of the historic Quaker house on Arch Street, which the Quakers were nice enough to let them use. The religious house of silence would be rocked with Occupys rowdy populist behavior. Of course, the Friends had some rules. Respect the grounds, dont drink and dont smoke. Oddly enough, they had no problem with sexual intercourse.

Dogs and cats, with bandanas around their necks, wandered the camp.

Oldman and I immediately realized that something went wrong while we were gone. Although some Occupiers were peacefully meditating on the gravel, there was a schism forming within the group.

A small group of Occupiers wanted to gather around the local police precinct and protest the arrest of one of their allies.

Things went sour during the march. Apparently, a small group of Occupiers tried to set up camp on Independence Mall without warning any of their fellow activists. They were trying to take Radical Space, in the very heart of Philadelphias tourism industry.

52

The police, who were escorting the march, decided to step in. There was an altercation and both a policeman and an Occupier were injured. The Occupier was arrested.

Protestors began to scream out. Fuck the police!

Retired Philadelphia police captain, and Occupier, Ray Lewis was there. According to some people that were there, Lewis left shortly after people began shouting obscenities towards the police.

It was a fucking shit show, said an Occupier named Jeff who was at the scene.

I think were reaching the point of protest burnout, man.

Jeff was an Occupier visiting from Utah. Hed come to Philadelphia not to indulge in protesting, but to see their future, to see the infrastructure and support that the group had. He was, understandably, upset about what happened at the mall.

Think about it, Jeff said, Think about the repercussions. What if that guy [Lewis] decides hes not interested anymore because those idiots were screaming fuck the police? How many people did that guy know, that he could have influenced? He was a Captain, a well-respected member of the community.

Jeff strummed his acoustic guitar idly.

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We need to reach the people with the means of production. Thats what it takes, and were not doing it yet. Occupy camps are usually fed off of donations, which intensifies the Movements need to reach the average, middle-class folk.

Here we are now, entertain us! one Occupier screamed out. The division within the encampment began to intensify. Local comedian and Occupier N.A. Poe took the stage.

Look, Im a shitty person, but a better one since Ive met all of you, N.A. Poe said.

Screw you! screamed out an Occupier, Solidarity! Solidarity!

Listen man, Ill show up at that jail. After the show, N.A. Poe responded. He pointed to the rowdiest provocateur, who was holding a trumpet. Come on man, come here and play your trumpet for us.

The man holding the trumpet threw his right fist into the air, Ill play my trumpet for my fallen comrades!

John, relax, one of his friends said.

It was at this point that an obese man that Oldman and I referred to as Belushi began to scream at the dissenting rowdy ruckus boys of anarchy.

54

The comedians are just doing their jobs! He screamed, Shut the fuck up! His eyes were darting, bewildered.

We called the man Belushi because he was rotund and had a tendency to be intoxicated. Marijuana, alcohol, pills, whatever it was he took it. We had a dangerous run-in with the addict earlier in the day. He trotted towards a pile of books that an Occupier representing the Peoples Library was stacking up.

More books? How much of this shit do you guys have?

Uh oh, I muttered under my breath.

Uh oh, Oldman repeated after me.

The menace then looked directly into my eyes.

Who said uh oh? He asked in furious tones and gesticulations. His eyes were wild, his whites dark red.

Not me. Did you say that? I asked Oldman, turning to him.

Nope, Oldman replied.

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And that was the end of our altercation. The addict waltzed off as quickly as he came, most likely to yell at someone else and drink some more Bacardi.

It suddenly dawned on me that Oldman and I just wandered into the middle of an Inter-Occupy melodrama, that was months in the making. There were so many autonomously active Occupy groups around the country and every single one of them had a different agenda.

One Occupier fucks the system, while another tries to repair the system. Its tragic. A melodramatic tragedy and the stage is every major city in the United States of America.

It wouldnt take long for the Occupy National Gathering to self-destruct.

Within several seconds, two camps would form within the Quaker gravel pit. The first group, representing the Occupiers who want to sit around and watch N.A. Poe, would arm themselves with the nearest lawn chairs they could get their hands on. The second group, representing the Occupiers who want to crash through the jail walls and save their comrade, would arm themselves with the sacred Quaker gravel rocks.

The two factions would recreate the 38th parallel, fondling their chosen weapons, getting ready for all hell to break loose. It wouldnt take long for the blood to start flowing. One of the anarchists, eyes darting and wildly sweating, would throw the first stone nailing a peaceful Occupier with a volley of rocks.

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At that moment, something would snap within all of the peaceful Occupiers. After spending almost a year sleeping outside, trying to establish goodwill with the American public, the more radical elements have fucked everything up. It was time to make them pay. They would become primordial beasts, channeling the prehistoric rage of our evolutionary ancestors and busting radical skulls with their lawn chairs.

History will remember it as the Battle of Arch Street.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wells Fargo would be too busy eating orphans, African Americans and single mothers to give a damn

We have a missing persons report, NA Poe said, Someone lost their cat, Macaroni.

Jesus Christ, it just hit me. The cheese steak I ate was actually an Occucat. ***

The next morning, Occupiers gathered in Franklin Square to discuss a wide range of topics. They sat on the grass and discussed how their consensus leadership works. They sat on the grass and discussed finding alternatives to capitalism. They sat on the grass and discussed the current situation in Wisconsin.

57

The oppressive heat finally began to take its toll on my mind. Ive had enough. The most profound moment of the event, which crystallized every problem OWS faces, had already happened. All that was left in the city was masturbatory speeches and marches. It was time to leave Philadelphia.

Oldman and I waited for our bus, within a hookah bar on Penns Landing. The saccharine sweet scent of the shisha filled our nostrils and relaxed us. A television blared with images of Egyptian pop stars, yelling at us in a tongue unknown to us, rhythmically moving to detailed choreography.

It was empty, save for a young couple, the owners and us. The young couple was too busy fishing for each others tongues to pay us any mind. The owner was preparing a gyro that I ordered. An African American man, wearing a Native American headdress, wandered into the hookah lounge. Drums can be heard from outside.

We are the 99%,they chanted.

We are the 99%, and they wailed.

As the Egyptian prepared my gyro, the young couple posed for a picture with the Native American Imposter.