"Hello," you say, looking up from this page. Notice the typed script in the young man's hand. Smile.A third man, blond, early 30s, approaches the table. "Excuse me..." he asks the Emperor Robert C'zar, "are you the next speaker?""Hi," he answers, "I'm the next speaker."
"Oh - could you sign in, please?"
"Sure."
You glance at the schedule. Ask him, "You're... the Emperor?"
"That's right. What should I write down?"
"Mmmm, your group name, your name, and the time you start speaking."
"Okay. But my group is just me."
The Emperor sets his pages onto the table. Reading upside-down, you notice references to Dante and Shakespeare. Ah, a literary type. Scribble scribble, eh, Mr. Gibbon?
"That's it? I can just go up onto the stage?"
"Yes. We're in the break, now. Um... maybe thirteen minutes left before the green light - and the microphones - come back on."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
C'zar nods."I'm from the San Diego Union-Tribune - can you talk for a minute before you go on?"
His imperial highness smiles. Nods gracefully. How numinous of him!
The two men walk off under a tree.
You write all of this down. It's quiet in the zone, with the P.A. shut off. Trucks and cars rumble somewhere. You listen to the hum of ventilation, and footsteps passing on the sidewalk outside the fence behind your shoulders. K Street & 4th Avenue.
Raise your eyes from the paper. Look forward into the distance, toward the southeast corner of the parking lot, by 5th Avenue & L Street. Out there, beyond the farthest security fence, tiny figures pass slowly through the checkpoint at the trolley stop, making their loyalist way toward Embarcadero Park South - another piece of public land shut down for private pachyderm use. In a couple of hours, Bob Dole and Jack Kemp will arrive by boat and be officially welcomed to San Diego.
It will probably be damn hot in the sun. Perhaps five, ten, a dozen or more in the crowd will faint from the heat. The fire marshal shall shut down access to the event.
Hundreds of Harley Davidsons, bearing conservative stars and VIPs, will roar in from Mission Bay to welcome the elephantine heir presumptive, in that sweating moment when himself arrives at Nixon's "lucky city..."
Then, at last, after twenty-four years of shame, San Diego shall no longer be "the Un-Conventional City." Let the games begin. Hail Caesar, those about to die salute you.
HELLO... CAN YOU HEAR ME? YES? ALL RIGHT. WELL....
"Oh man, I tell you...." The Union Tribune writer breaks your reverie."Mmmmm?"
"I just pulled off a coup. Told the Emperor I want his job."
"What is he Emperor of?"
"Of everything, he says. The whole world." This other writer - with a real writer's job - now plops down onto an empty chair. "It's going to be hot all week. Good thing you have shade."
"Yeah."
AMONG ALL MY IMPERIAL ACTIONS....
"How long will you be here?" The reporter asks you."All day, for five days."
"Hmmm... seven a.m. til ten at night? That's a long day."
"How long are you here for?"
"I'll cover the first half of each day, and another reporter will take the late afternoon and evening."
"That's a better deal than I got."
THE UNITED NATIONS AND UNESCO....
"You don't look like a cop. You're not plainclothes, maybe?""No."
"They paying you? Overtime, at least?"
"No. I'm a volunteer."
"What? Fifteen hours a day for nothing?"
"Yep."
Shakes his head. "Why are you doing it?"
"Well... I've worked ten years for the City. I wanted to do something around the convention. The protest zone was way more attractive than driving Republicans around, or manning the magnetometers - the metal detectors."
"But... on the mags at least you'd be closer. Get to see some important people."
"This is more to my taste."
"Oh? Well... yes, if you know what you want, that's good." He looks at you more closely. Smiles. "If it stays this quiet, the networks will have nothing to do here but interview you."
CELEBRATIES ARE THE COIN OF THE REALM! REAL SPIRITUAL VALUE MEANS NOTHING ANY MORE! I HAVE STRUGGLED AGAINST THIS DEGENERATION OF CULTURE, BUT THE U.S. GOVERNMENT AND THE MEDIA HAVE CORRUPTED MY IMPERIAL COMMISSIONS UNTIL....
"You're writing?""Yes. Keeping a journal."
"Oh. You're a... writer?"
"Yeah. Or artist. I've got a studio a couple blocks from here."
"Well, that's convenient. What's your medium?"
"I paint with my typewriter. But I think this piece will go up on the intenet."
"Heh heh. What do you usually write?"
"Poetry. Prose. I do a lot of visual collage, too. Rearranging pictures from my National Geographic collection. Some photography, and video, when I can - but that's way more expensive."
"So you work for the City to support your art habit?"
"Yes... but actually, I left my job earlier this year."
"You quite the City? Left behind benefits and all? Why in hell would you do that?"
"I can't get any promotions without a degree. And I had just separated from my wife. Needed to do something radical. Decided to go back to school."
"Oh... well. Uh... how you gonna get your writing onto the internet?"
"Some friends and I have a web page. We call it our gallery of writing. I'm going to post my journal up there."
"Hmmm. You copying down some of the speeches?"
"Yes. I only try to get a little of it. When a line strikes me. No one can write as fast as people talk - but you know that. I figure I'll just let most of it go by, but... I try to catch complete sentences if I can."
THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR HEARING MY IMPERIAL WORDS. IT IS NOW MY WILL TO RENDER UP THE REMAINDER OF MY TIME TO MY FRIENDS FROM SAN DIEGANS FOR HONEST GOVERNMENT, AND THEN TO ANYONE HERE WHO WANTS TO SPEAK.
"Ah. This might be interesting. Think I'll go a little closer and watch what happens."
Reporter gets up, walks down the disabled access path, heading slowly toward the stage, passing along low fences that guard the wheelchair route. You watch his silhouette progress through thin shade of short trees that partially block your view.
HE IS A LUNATIC! HE BELIEVES IN WITCHES!
You reach for the newspaper; gritty pages speak to your eyes with the myth of normal, objective reality. What are words? What is speaking? What is writing? What is real? What is normal? What is black and white and read all over? What is "objective?" What is the "subject?"
Special sections tell special visitors to San Diego about special sights and special events. Places to go and things to see. Is anyone listening? You are reading when angry voice echoes into your ears and grabs up your pen:
I SPENT TWELVE YEARS IN THE MILITARY, GOD BLESS AMERICA! I'M PROUD TO HAVE PARTICIPATED IN THE DESTRUCTION OF COMMUNISM! I LOVED PRESIDENTS REAGAN AND BUSH - THEY SENT ME BIRTHDAY CARDS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE. BUT I'M NOT FUCKING HERE FOR THEM, I'M HERE FOR YOU, THE PEOPLE! GOD BLESS YOU, AND GOD BLESS AMERICA!
Scribble scribble this guy's evidently NOT from the first group. The Emperor's grace extends to many diverse recipients. Well, he did say "anyone who wants to speak...."
THANK YOU, GOD BLESS YOU, AND NOW I GIVE UP THE MICROPHONE TO THIS LADY HERE....
The morning clouds are burning off from the sky. Sun begins to shine more heat across downtown.
Boom boom boom boom! THANK YOU. GOOD MORNING, SAN DIEGO!
It's not quite nine o'clock. Going to be warm today. Yes.
I WAS NOT AWARE THAT I WAS THE VICTIM OF FRAUD... TRANSAMERICA... BANK OF AMERICA... BUT I KEEP ON GOING, BECAUSE I AM BLESSED OF THE LORD!
"Hello, is this where we sign in?""Yes. Welcome."
"Thank you. We're the Escondido Democratic Club, and we'll be using some of the Cowles Mountain Democratic time. They're up next."
"Ah."
NOW WE'VE HAD TWO, THREE, FOUR PLANES THAT HAVE GONE DOWN UNDER SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. BUT THANK YOU EMPEROR, AND THANK YOU SAN DIEGO, FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO SPEAK!
A lady in red hurries up to your table. Her lapel is lined with buttons that say "Dedicated & Democratic." Little red jackasses are jumping around. She takes the Escondido Democrat by his arm, leads him a few steps away. They begin an intense discussion which you cannot quite hear. You glance at your watch. Imperial time's almost up.
Sure enough, the Emperor returns to the stage.
"I WISH TO THANK CHIEF OF POLICE JERRY SANDERS FOR PROVIDING THE FREE SPEECH AREA.... AND I NOW DECLARE THIS SECTION OF THE PROTEST CONCLUDED!"