photos by pennyred
New York is mad cool right now and I bet your cities are too. Of course, if you aren’t in the part of the city where the action is, it’s just regular life.
I go to where the action is. But I don’t do active civil disobedience, like lying down in the middle of the street, because I’m a fraidy cat. Also, I am not an Occupy Writer. I definitely don’t go read poems or Bartleby. Instead, I observe.
It feels good to just be a witness at Occupy, a vessel. What a relief, for once, to not feel compelled to foist words on the world. How empty can I let myself be? Can you ever truly be bare?
Susan Sontag says: “I discovered that I am tired of being a person. Not just tired of being the person I was, but any person at all.”
I am tired of being a person too. But I haven’t figured out how to give it up yet.
I go to Occupy in my usual lip gloss and leather. Sometimes I feel out of place; too much Wall Street, not enough hooded sweatshirt.
Naomi Wolff says: “Most urgently, women’s identity must be premised upon our ‘beauty’ so that we will remain vulnerable to outside approval, carrying the vital sensitive organ of self-esteem exposed to the air.”
Maybe Occupy will find a use for a woman with exposed self-esteem. We do get into buildings very easily. Maybe I will become a spy.
Usually, I’m bored by people who think they’re always right. But rabblerousing, a lil ol’ G.G. Allin fuck it all, 60s nostalgia, cute activist boys, and pure potentiality–yeah–that’s fun. These Occupy kids have balls. They’ve awakened a spirit and curiosity that I thought was dead in me.
So is it wrong to treat Occupy like a grand party?
Is it wrong to go for the sensation?
Everyone has reasons reasons reasons.
I enjoy mine.