Earthen Revelation

Earthen, like the soil, the land we inhabit. But perhaps revelation is too strong of a word; what would be a degree less? Comprehension? Moment of awareness? I don't know... I found myself in a creek between South 7th and the railroad tracks, listening to some damn fine folk music, augmented by running water and bullfrogs. How did I get here?

Tania and I took the short scooter ride to Sunrise Market - my new favorite place to buy beer - for a sixer of Victory Prima Pils and an Almond Joy. At S 7th, we climbed over a guard rail and made our way south on the creek. We were followed by cops: "Come back here!" They wanted to know where we were going, and I explained it to them in the most pacifying way I could: we're going to see some friends play some accoustic music. "Oh, is that why all these candles are lit on the creek?" Yeah, to light the way. I don't know what to say... when my friend Phil gets a jaywalking ticket because he looks homeless, and has to pay a $100 "court fee" (as opposed to a $500 fine), what the hell am I supposed to say? We get to where the music is playing, and it takes a while to settle in, because every second we expect the cops to show up and ruin the festive atmosphere.

When they don't, we begin to have a genuinely wonderful time. Music in a creek, with an assembled group of enjoyers, surrounded by lit candles under moonlit sky... but of course! We can hardly believe the cops stay back, and Tania says, "They were actually really cool about it." I realize what this implies: they were cool, for cops. But compared to real people, they were assholes. They yelled at us to turn around and then intimidated us with the idea that we shouldn't be out here. Why shouldn't we be out here? This is public property - let we the public make use of it! I think of this assessment, spoken in 1842, found in "The Coming Insurrection:"

“The life of the police agent is painful; his position in society is as humiliating and despised as crime itself… Shame and infamy encircle him from all sides, society expels him, isolates him as a pariah, society spits out its disdain for the police agent along with his pay, without remorse, without regrets, without pity… The police badge that he carries in his pocket documents his shame.”

1842 becomes 2009. They now have power, a power consolidated by the State and Capital - Phil got a ticket because the area businesses complained of property vandalism and the like. When power consolidates, and resistance hesitates, there is no check and there is no balance.

And yet, we made it to the music. I'm tempted to out and out say, "Fuck the police," but in a way they play the same game we all play. They make a big deal out of this event because someone complains, we tuck tails between legs and sheepishly nod our heads, and everyone moves on. We pass go, collect $200, and spend it on electricity bills. And still... I'm sitting down in a creek and listening to some damn fine folk music. The Prima Pils has a distinctly American taste, but when I burp, I feel I might as well be drinking pilsener in Eastern Europe. I might as well be sitting in a creek in Karlovy Vary and listening to Uz Jsme Doma unplugged. Here as there, creek water runs and bullfrogs croak. The last song ends and then the rain comes down. Dobrou noc and good luck.

And it's merely a convention. The difference between languages, between cultures, is impotent compared to the delivery itself. Not just a language, but how a culture carries itself. So it's no surprise that my night ends, not simply with gumdrops and jellyfish, but with Gummi Lifesavers at 7-11 on South Congress Avenue in Austin, TX. This is where I'm at, where I belong at this moment. And in the parking lot of the all-night diner, three cop cars, perhaps asking for the bravado of a rock thrown deftly through the window.... Everyone belongs somewhere, right now, whether it's crossing an empty street or listening to music in a creek, and why must you tell me where I don't belong?