It is All Hallows Eve and I am back down on the curb. There is a bite in the breeze off Humboldt bay. It is just strong enough to clear the stench of car exhaust from my chapped nostrils.
The mood of the occupation is such a volatile beast. Friday we had assurances that we would be left to our own devices free from police interaction. As darkness descended on Saturday after an amazing rally rumors of a, “Police Action” began running through the crowd. At the appointed hour a single cruiser parked across the street and turned the eye of big brother upon us recording our reactions.
Now that they have recorded our response are they plotting our eviction? Will they bring the pain or whatever other sports metaphor the ex high school football hero’s care to couch their oppression in.
My guess is they will play a waiting game. We have support in the community and these political types fear waking the pacified masses.
If we can take action and stop literally shitting on the grass I think most in local power would be content to let us freeze on the lawn. This whole farce played out against the backdrop of vibrant speeches delivered with a thoughtful passion on the courthouse steps.
Sunday morning saw the occupiers scattered to the winds, recharging or relaxing I shared the curb with a couple of our weekend supporters and kept the vigil. The darkness of Sunday descended and our diverse group drifted back to occupied territory for a chill night both in mood and temperature.
That chill had turned to bitter frost by morning and the urinating in tents and the anguish of the reality challenged created another shrill standoff. Just another moment in the revolution.
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