3:00AM ACROSS FROM ZUCCOTTI
I wake up as the 2 train rumbles into Penn Station. 34th St. Next stop Times Square. Shit, I missed it. I stand and stretch, then reach for my navy blue Titan’s duffle. I mutter something to a fellow occupier about being at the McDonald’s across from the park and exit at 42nd St. It’s half past three on a Monday morning and for some reason I feel compelled to get back to lower Manhattan.
As if I had a job there.
As if I lived there.
Maybe I left something there?
Naw, we all found something there. Something addictive. Let’s see, I came straight off the plane from JFK Nov. 1st, cross country flight. That morning I arrived around 6:30am. Climbed up out of the subway and asked the nearest cop which way to Zuccotti. What did it first look like? Real, I guess. Like, people living here real. The small details of a village rubbing the sleep from its eyes. Me walking through bright-eyed and cheerful like Belle from some Disney movie; bonjour anarchist at the info desk, bonjour kitchen starting to prep for breakfast, bonjour free cigarette table, bonjour occupier I just stepped on.
Bonjour bonjour bonjour. A cartoon world.
Two and a half months ago. A beating and arrest ago. A couple of working groups ago, more bad meetings than good ago, waaay too many cigarettes ago, various drugs and an art model ago, an occupied farm ago, an occupied office ago. Train rides ago. A lifetime ago. And now I’m in McDonald’s. Because I registered this domain the 1st week of November and it’s still all lorum ipsum. What’s going on here, I thought to myself a couple months ago. Maybe it would be good to document my fact finding, self-improvement journey. But as most people can attest, keeping a regular journal is near impossible in the real world. In the revolution…well yeah, 1st post 70 days later. Sparkles for getting shit done…eventually.
Don’t get me wrong. I have tons of notes which I’ll try to unload in later posts. In which Shazz joins archives. In which Shazz uncovers spies. In which Shazz is uncovered as a spy. In which Shazz accuses Jackson Browne of being a spy. In which Shazz encounters mind-altering drugs and mind-altered women. In which Shazz finds and loses a Woodstock Farm. In which Shazz proposes that the general assembly divide up all funds out among occupiers.
That last one was actually last night. That’s probably as good a place as any to start this story, from the present. Let’s see, resource management has been a problem since the beginning of this occupation it seems. Supply, kitchen, the Occupied Office (who kindly told me to shut the fuck up and leave Sunday morning because I was no longer ‘on the list.’ No one seemed to appreciate my comment about that being how they got the Jews). Money being the mother of all resources, I came up with the genius idea of doing flash reform in one shot: divide that mother up.
Granted, this epiphany came to me while walking through Zuccotti stoned on Thanksgiving. But I hope in the end this can turn out to be a positive drug story. Like, the Beatles altered their state of consciousness and in doing so altered the course of pop music. Or maybe I’m just the guy who leaps from the roof thinking he can fly.
What did Bill Hicks say? Why didn’t that asshole try it from the ground first? One more idiot’s dead. Good. I just felt the earth get lighter.
They’ve tabled my proposal until Tuesday, so I’ve been granted a reprieve. The ‘Buy Out Buy In’ proposal survives in agenda limbo for a couple more days, which gives me a couple more days to try and garner some online support, if I can find a computer to type these paper ramblings into a coherent blog post.
Yeah, occupied Zuccotti was also a functional laptop ago. Thank you New York’s finest. I think that I’ve found my reason for coming back: my addiction to the NYPD’s tough love. My God, I’ve become a battered housewife.
And a frequenter of McDonald’s.
Somebody, anybody, click on the donation button. Or at least put me out of my misery. I see canvassing for Obama in my near future…