We get to the tent. Dave the observer says, "Did you see Pat Paulson?"
"Huh?""Pat Paulson is up on the media platform."
Sure enough. There he is, made up and shining in the afternoon sun.
"Who is Pat Paulson?""Oh, your dad will remember him. Danial?"
"Yeah. Smothers Brothers' candidate for president, 1968?
"Uh-huh."
"Oh, well, whatever. I've seen the Smothers Brothers."
WE ARE KAPOW, THE CHURCH OF PRESUMPTIOUS ASSUMPTIONS! CHECK OUT OUR WEB SITE AT WWW.KAPOW.COM.
Oh shit, these guys are definitely a stiff breeze! where is Paul the photographer/writer now? Met him yesterday. His assignment: write about weird-o free speechers... this one should fit the bill.
A blast of music emanates from in front of the Convention Center, across the tracks. Then it mades away. For some strange reason it makes me think of the old Moody Blues melotron tracks.... THE APOSTLE KEROUAC, WHO WROTE THE BOOK OF CONTUSIONS, EXCLUSIONS, CONFUSIONS, NUCLEAR FUSIONS, EXECUTIONS, AND, I THINK, CORINTHIANS....
Helicopters clatter overhead. Again the wave of music rises up from across the tracks. Strange. Is that what Bob network-tech said they had over there - "White Noise" he called it. Hey, there's a pun. White noise - heh heh, kind of a generic term for all the stuff they are preaching over there. Except that I'm mostly white and I don't agree with most of what they are platforming....
Can you define "mostly" white?
Go to hell.
Why this is hell, nor am I out of it....
Yeah, yeh, you and Mr. Marlowe. But I know it is only the sun that burns.
The music comes up again, waves of noise from the other side of the tracks... only a few moments of orchestral sound, then it fades. Strange. Is it possible? Are the elephants actually thundering musical salvos against the Church of Presumptious Assumption? Or is that a presumptious assumption? Yes they are. And yes it is.
My son is out in the zone, under a tree, sensibly sitting in the shade. Says he'll be leaving soon. I wish he would at least stick around for one of the larger protests, get a feeling of what it's like here when we're busy. Still, there are a good thirty people here now. The abomination of boredom is over. Day is heating up, just in time for our cooling afternoon breeze. Maybe... maybe when he leaves I'll walk with him for a while. Go up to the other end, see if anyone's still demonstrating up there.
One of the benefits of being a volunteer is the absolute liberty of it. My main duty is making sure everyone signs the sign-in sheet. Everything else... talk to media, give information, give directions to places to eat and drink... everything else is pretty much a casual as-is thing... but... the pay sucks.
How can nothing suck?
Oh, you just won't quit, will you? Well, nothing = vacuum = suck. Heh heh.
THEY ARRESTED EDDY, THEY ARRESTED MY BUDDY, GOT THE CRAP BEAT OUTA HIM....
In the tent, a radio squawks on an officer's belt. The mediators will be walking the Chicano Federation in from their conference hall... leaving for here in maybe half an hour. I wonder if I will see my literature professor and her husband the producer....
Or, if I will have another chance to talk with Mister Mumble, the Department of Justice mediator whose ice I decided to melt. Yesterday he really made me think he didn't trust me. Now he is the shadowy figure par excellance on whom I wish to shine the light of cameraderie. Get him to lighten up, smile, and talk with me.
Now, Danial, he's probably just tired, and probably just shy. Ah, look, the little daimon is definately sounding a little more reasonable now that he's been fed. (Or is it she?) Maybe it's my conscience. Her words are cautious now. "Just tired. Just shy." Heh heh. Just ice I want to melt. Just-ice. Justice department mediator. Maybe I should be gentle. After all, the poor devil's out there walking in the heat with the crowds. I get to sit in the shady tent.
Poor devil?
No, not you.
Or, as always, the "Table" of Contents is available for your further dining pleasure.