[Nettime-bold] going and stopping/oh alan, oh sk

[brian carroll <human@electronetwork.org>]

  until, this afternoon, when, across the street of
  this small island city of Alameda, across the bay
  waters from San Francisco, a place of 60,000, where
  my apartment overlooks the 4 block stretch of the
  'high' commercial end of the business, the cafés,
  restaurants, bars, clothing and book shops.

  there, in the afternoon, there was across the
  street, out in front of the ice cream shop, two
  young little girls. they were waving small US
  flags, and cheering in excitement. i did not
  notice them, until i kept hearing car horns
  honking over and over and looked out my window
  to see these two young ones, waving and waving
  these flags, and cars, call and responsing,
  honking, honking, and the girls, excited, and
  waving their flags in exhuberance. an extended
  moment of exhuberance. something had begun to
  change. what, i had no idea. just honking horns
  and two young people, doing something.

  it did not stop. for three hours it seemed. then,
  these girls were gone, but as dusk fell, others,
  others with bigger, larger flags showed up, at
  the opposite ends of the block i live upon. and,
  on one end, when going out to have a smoke, a
  necessary evil in the wake of the daze that
  presents itself, i see a candle, and a single
  individual holding it, with a large flag, on
  the corner, in vigil, and cars, again, honking
  lightly and loudly, as each see the flag. and
  more and more cars, moving on by, at this stop-
  light intersection, maybe pondering, honking
  at something. i burnt my last match and my
  chain smoking was stopped. i went upstairs
  to get more matches. and came back down, onto
  the street, where a group of adults, all rather
  plain looking, ordinary people, the people that
  make up a real city, real people, about seven,
  on this corner, singing the song of the flag
  in chorus: ...And our flag will still stand...

  it brought a rush of spirited charge into me,
  there was sanctity in it, a type of spirit
  about the action, it was no act, it was real.
  felt. not a statement, a question, but one
  of endurance, i can not say, i do not know,
  it is and was to be interpreted. taken in.

  i clapped. the only pedestrian nearby. two
  others, far across the intersection on the
  other side of the street also clapped. in
  appreciation. as something had lifted from
  the psyche. something was let go, and some-
  thing had changed in this moment.

  all of the sudden, i hear the counter noise,
  instead of harmony, yelling, from the cafe
  at the other end of the block. it is the
  alternative café, where those with difference
  written all over them like to hang out together.
  they had a big flag, and candles too. and also,
  honking, and more honking, yelling, shouting,
  cheering, but in a violent sort of way, it
  was not elegant, it was jubilant.

  i walked down to the other end of the block,
  to try to gauge what this was, as i did not
  understand, but unlike the chorus, this seemed
  more of a superbowl victory crowd, a call to
  arms, something else altogether. alternatives
  all around, different clothes, different hair-
  styles, and politicized in the moment of a
  simple either-or decision to choose, for -or-
  against. and, i sat, on the sidewalk, across
  the street as they roused the crowd of cars.

  honking, honking, flag waving, teens and those
  in their twenties, gathering in the dozens. as
  if ready to fight (back). i had the sense that
  this was a football game, and this was the
  'home team' cheering its troops on. maybe
  even 'the base' upon which action reenacts.

  cars with flags driving by, honking, yelling,
  shouting. a weird charge, unsettling, a sense
  of group-think where thinking was thought out
  in advance. something here was decided, it
  seemed. revenge, maybe, i am not sure. but
  i felt it. it was intimidating, as it seemed
  to be another lifestyle being born. where the
  young punk becomes the young soldier. and the
  elders, cheering on, as the team gathers up
  for the game, to go do the work (of nations).

  two harley's drove by. stopping in the crowd.
  and revved their engines, enough to cause the
  heart to beat in unison to the engines, of
  motorized independence. so too, another motor-
  cycle, a race-bike, went by, and did a pop-a-
  wheelie, and the crowd cheered. it felt odd.
  what seemed authentic down the street, with
  those young people in the early afternoon,
  and the reflective parents, singing, had
  now been turned into a spectacle of sorts.
  it felt that way at least. unnerving in
  its simplicity, no questions asked. it is
  all so predictable.

  everything has changed. the mood of this
  small city has changed. both for better
  and worse. something has lifted, but some-
  thing as dangerous as any terrorist bombing
  has also landed in the mass mediated mind.
  group mentality, without question, is here.

  and i felt apart. as to question, it seemed
  a violence. silence, suspect. the flag, a
  symbol of freedom and hope, to one of the
  tragic faults of flag waving, which has
  befallen this country before. things are
  not linear, one act, and its repercussion.
  and not to think beyond that. just in the
  transformation, not intentional, it appears,
  but natural, of gathering the forces to do
  the work ahead, has become a rallying cry
  for the annihilation of the other, that
  specter that is unnamed, unknown, until
  unearthed. that is, all that is different.
  not in dress, not in style, but in mind.

  caution, foresight, contemplation, this
  was the dusk. now it is night. the events
  now over, but more scared now than i have
  been all week, mourning, with tears flowing
  from my eyes, in agony and pain, on and off,
  and again and again, until today. there was
  the release, in the children, of hope, and
  of love, and of belief. and in the parents
  of wisdom, respect, endurance, and peace.
  and in the youth that have no future, now
  a clear future, a simple choice, belonging,
  everyone on the same page. and this is
  the page that seems will be the same, as
  much as i despair its possibility, the
  probability is all but ruled out that
  by actions larger and small, from leaders
  high and low in the chain of command, that
  the fanaticism may replace terrorism, and
  the great game, if it can still be called
  that, is no longer between nations, but
  between peoples.

  someone mentioned a hyperwar, or some such
  neologism to fit theorism. yet, it seems
  so clear that is is a civilian world war,
  people versus people, in a democracy, and
  without. and that the fight will not only
  be abroad, but at home, in the home, as
  the televised reality speaks for all from
  above, God be sure of it, fire and brimstone.

  the first civilian world war, CWW I, is now
  underway. and the fight is against terror,
  and its 'ism', that post-modernist conditioning
  of the brain to speak the same, subjectivizing
  reality into privatized worldviews. and all
  that does not fit, no longer exists, in one
  way or the other.

  a call to peace, too simple, in the old
  logic of either-or, no paradox, no lore,
  no knowledge besides that of the processor.

  then, a call to education, where the battles
  of freedom need to be waged, for our common
  good, our common future, as human beings.
  but, knowingly, that won't go over so good,
  as it is a recipe for failure. unrealistic.
  idealistic. too fuzzy, when certainty prevails.

  a message of despair, finally today, a glimmer
  and moment of hope, then total fear, once again,
  not at the invisible other, so visible, as it
  repeats in the inner sanctums of the cranium
  nation. images, over and over, the explosion
  happens not once, but for eternity, in the mind.

  what is at stake, what is possibly to become
  the new unbalancing act on this see-sawing of
  language-engagement, is that truth disappears,
  as the disneyland of the mind matches that
  of the surreality of the flesh in this epoch.

  something undone, is reborn, for better and
  for worse, in this marriage. beyond nations,
  yes, but minds? all is quite on the western
  front, except the rallying cries, both those
  of pain, and hope, and possibly violence.

  the television guides says 'war on tv...',
  but no body yet knows the day, the time,
  but all channels will be playing it out,
  24/7. and where will we be, those of us
  whom may disagree. but in silence, for our
  own safety, to keep things simple in the
  reality of complex doings.

  there is nothing more to say, to do. but
  die waiting. if only we could work together
  for change, peaceful, through education,
  through public policy, through thought...
  but that is either a misnomer, -or- mis-
  information. no knowledge need apply, as
  there is no knowing on this ledge of lies.
-- 


_______________________________________________
Nettime-bold mailing list
Nettime-bold@nettime.org
http://www.nettime.org/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/nettime-bold