Original title on Indymedia report: X-country Crucial Arts Direct Actionist Blasts Grand Rapids three times
by Carlos rare bird, o.O.

intro:
With over 12 cities and towns under his belt, starting at a pow wow in Portland, Oregon, a lone x-country direct actionist has found a way to meaningfully blast coerced "reality" by daring past his/others' fears and general feelings of powerlessness and apathy. Informally derailing and "depth charging" the public with a creative technique of reaching out, he made "a radical statement" beyond "The Same Old Again" of Generica and Mundania, outside the experience of the war-stuck imagination of strategic social controllers (and their formalized implimenters), and inside the private or partly-daring desires of suffering people everywhere!

intro to general method and style
speakin and sharing (includes signs used)
daring to be poetree

the depth charge

first action
past fear
memorable connections

second action: GR Art Fest
soldiers called cops
someone i knew
video crew

third action: Three Fires Pow Wow
intro to why i dared
regalia
the action
sobriety march
entrance
first champion
second champion, gifts, and dance
into more depth
teepee dweller
second gifting
someone i knew
after

notes

images of my masque and signs and general style:

Two more photos:
Another shot
and one of the day-glo signs (with a John Trudell quote)

Full Story:

Grand Rapids, a normally quite dismal Michigan city of maybe 300,000 where truly liberatory ideas have long been driven underground, alternative media blocked, and public access to ideas beyond the religious and corporate networks highly controlled (1). So it was that a lone "crucial artist" dared beyond conditioned fears to hike *THREE different times* in this city in order to seed, spread, and blaze a trail of the kind of creativity and excellence that only a handful of radicals seem capable of comprehending the value of so far (outside of traditinal indigenous communities, anyways). In the tradition of the African griot, the Native American cocapelli or Heyoka, the religious prophet Johnny Appleseed, or even eccentric street interactors like Grandpa Woodstock, this half-crazed "weirdo champion" art-doer has worked overtime, through more than twelve cities and towns and other communities across the u.s.a. to get his quite provocative statements out!

The first action spanned more than six hours and a walking distance of at least 12 miles! The second, a few weeks later, for about 4 hours on the last day of the city's annual 3-day "Arts Festival" downtown. The third, a week after that, of a total distance of about 7 walking miles, with a main focus on the annual "Three Fires Pow Wow" held at Riverside Park.

intro to general method and style My art/arting consisted of decking myself out in a kind of mobile spectacle that promised to not only catch attention, but as well "trip out" people because they would have little or no preconceived idea of what i was up to; thus, reading my signs, seeking clues, only to let the depth of those messages into their usually well-armored social psyches (see sign text below).

My clothing is an independently designed, WILD, "phancy dance" outfit i call my regalia, is the principle part of my mobile spectacle (here i use 'spectacle' as a tool to enhance my depth messages, not as an ends to reduce depth as mainline spectacle so often does). It is made up of two main styles centered around a hand-made mask/masque which is very tripped-out in appearance, right down to the style of eyes i came up with via spiritual artseeking over many years--originally inspired by Tlingit/Kwakiutl/Haida art of the NW Coast, and added to. The latest incarnation of this masque (the first one was stolen by an acquaintance) is of what i call a "Moofiecoyote-wolfdog" spirit (which is a spiritual tribute to several dogpeople, including a half-coyote/half-pomeranian (!) dog--named Moofie--who once healed my Eczema, and a wild wolf i met in AZ who i called Beautiful Friend after getting to know her over 6 days).

Other than the masque, i have worn either black n'white-striped pants pulled over my shoes (someone by the name of Jombi gave me that ideah!) and no shirt (only a polkadotted sash over my front), or intensely colorful clothing discussed below.

speakin and sharing
My mobile arting also consists of how i interact with the public, both by daring "abnormal" ways of speaking, and passing out "depth charge" flyers to all who dare not flee or put up armor and ignore me (see the entire depth charge flyer below). As well, i carry or wear multiple day-glo signs of many sizes and shapes with phrases like:

daring to be poetree:::

Prancing and strolling, defying categorical-isms 
and expec-tations, 
passing out my depth charge flyers, 
jiu-jitsuing the spectacle to most 
--"What, you're really not selling anything?" 
--"What, you're REALLY not some religious fundamentalist?" 
--"What, you're really not representing some fishy organization?" 

*Everyday Or* 
towards at least erstwhile soar 
and to the core of bore and poor
and doing ju-jitsu!

WILDLY arting oneself as a way to 

Love Living on this planet!!!! 

dressed untamedly, so S T R A N G E L Y, 
doin my art(e) babe-ee!
Reflecting the depth reflected in my daring to mix 
a broad magix 
of depth cultures--American indigenous, 
African, maybe Euro,
and Eolithic (a time being realized as yOu dare beyondGiven/spoonfed coercions of 'Is' cult-ure 
and into
a truly becoming process of perfectly imperfect iz)!

Depth charge flyer passed out to hundreds (feel free to pass this on, or edit it with your own excellence) :

Past Fear
Soldiers called cops didn't know What/How To Think, and just stared. Didn't have no mandate, no idea put into their heads from their "superiors". Conditioned sheeple had voiced their fears that i'd be arrested or worse, a reflection of the grip of the Cops/Fear In Their Heads, when in fact, there was no real need to fear! Carrying signs and voicing ideas promoting *mutual* liberation and general beautifulness can do that!

A very few reflected out what i'd call knee-jerk hysteria orientations, which i find surprising only in that there were only *three* altogether and in very separate circumstances between hundreds of others who slowed down and gawked, or whooped in wild joy: Two in separate cars, one calling me a "fucking hippie", another saying that I was "dead" (tho i wasn't sure that was directed at me, i just overheard it from the busy traffic); another one--a cocky youth-- ripping the flyer i'd given him, in half, perhaps already well-poisoned with the notion that a peice of paper can never offer excellence, much less anything even remotely so.

All in all i'd learned, via such self-inquiry luminaries as don Miguel Ruiz, not to take such highly-tooled dreamers of hell personally (2). What *would* one expect given the context of this suiciety (suicidal society)? It was as if they were giving *themselves* a kind of *permission* (a radical notion in itself!) to vent a little bit of their suffering in the only ways they'd learned--from the standpoint of a war-rior! Seemingly negative and worthy of suppression (to the standardized educated mind), yet crucially *symptomatic* as Aldous Huxley and Erich Fromm would point out (see: www.intheheart.net/huxley.html ) and beckoning me to think of the one who had engaged me directly as an off-shoot of a kind of "Little John" in the story of Robin Hood.

Most were pleasantly surprised, even impressed, when i proved to not only be completely outside their classically-conditioned expectations (i.e. quotes above), but continued arting in a way that had undertones of magicking! Just the way in which i usually delivered "arted" *depth charges* spoke volumes to even the most basically streetwise!

Memorable connections
the totally enthusiastic teenage dude who wanted to walk with me til i told him how far i was going; the people at Kendall who took the time to read my signs; the kids in the bus depot who mischeivously flipped me a bird; the always slowing down car drivers; the yells of enthusiasm from construction and other workers; the young man and his fam speaking near Coit st.; the elder gentleman on a stoop challenging me with the concept of "offensive" due to fear (me replying that being offensive can be valuable); the street gang openly interested in taking my flyers; the enthusiastic thumbs-up/honking from passerby/drivers after reading my signs; the tenement occupant yelling after me to come closer and see what i was up to; the crossing guard's friendliness (and my mentioning Matt Groening's "Childhood is Hell" book to several young crossing guard aides); the group of pot smokers coming out of their house; the cup of cold water given at one house; the badass lady and adult sons on Fulton; the goth girl who came out of a store and congradulated me; the small group that questioned me at length; the group of gangdudes who eyed me enthusiastically; the little kids who could've easily shown me what WILD is all about had their mothers not intervened...
--------------------------------

Second action: GR Art Festival

The last day of this annual festival, Sunday, June 6 (?), i biked in full regalia downtown via 28th St (in heavy traffic), then Division Ave. Not deeply inspired to do that action, but wanting to have some sort of presence at this major event which a friend had thought i should appear at.

Walking into an entrance of the free festival, i noted a phalanx of soldiers called cops and mentioned them noting me to some lounging teenagers all punked out; i did this as a way to not only engage the teens and pass my info out, but as a way to direct their attention/witness to if/when the cops might not let me in (and in what mode of force). It was an intuitive way for me to bridge with them as fellow social targets, or something like that.

soldiers called cops
The soldiers were waiting behind the corner of a building when i entered, and seemed to be standing there as method, as a kind of surprise technique; but they let me pass unmolested, only to approach me after following me for awhile, radios turned up. Four of them, tall, "wanting to know" what i was doing, and being perhaps surprised by my style and method (i opted not to tell them i would remain silent, tho i want to practice that sometime). This was when people began taking more notice themselves (if he's getting hassled by the cops, then he might just be interesting)crowding around and asking for my flyers, and acting to inadverdantly assist me in escaping the expected authoritarian mindset of soldiers "with a job to do" (i.e. make sure that capitalist spectacles run "smoothly" and keep all "political" dissent suppressed).

i've experienced that method enough to know. Despite years of icey experience (including before 9-11), i stayed with my method--seeking to give excellent info *even to cops*--and told them that the flyer included a book by an ex-l.a.p.d. cop who "had major problems from her own precinct when she tried to expose internal sexism" (i forgot that i don't have that on my flyer anymore. It's Norma Jean Almodovar's book _Cop To Call Girl_).

The soldiers called cops seemed authentically miffed, and let me keep wending my way through the mix of extremely conservative and working class crowds, back and forth down the main drag a few times for a few hours. On my second return, at least three soldiers called cops, of obviously higher rank (stripes on shoulders) engaged me and went away similarly miffed, apparently. No camera carryers were with them, openly. i figured that i definitely was not the expected radical they may've gotten used to around there (i definitely had the feeling that had i been the usual IMC activist or puppeteer, i would've been told to leave). One wanted to return a flyer i arted to him, but i eagerly said he should keep it for "the file"--anyway, there might be something liberating for the individual beneath their uniforms!

i say why not? Despite too much hated experience with soldiers called cops, i still hold non-ideologically to the idea that beneath all the soldier training, ego and pomp of the uniform, there lies individuality that is being beaten-down and exploited like every other job. To escape Left-wing fundamentalism is to engage people as people, and not allow uniforms and soldier training to tool us! So i keep a thought-through door open to all! Only vanguardists don't like it when the lowly street radicals take it upon themselves to pioneer new terrain!

drunken acquaintance
One of a friend's new employees (whom i'd partied with once) found me more than once during the day and hooped and hollered and let his permitted weekend wildness hang out. i started getting a bit beleagured (what with he *and* the video crew below, constantly seeking my attention, but i did let him don my masque for awhile while i danced to the Highland Pipes group.

video crew
i actually ran out of flyers (even tho i was giving them out only to people who asked, generally), had much interesting interaction (more deep than all the other cities i've engaged combined!), and near the end, began being followed by two young men carrying a video camera.

i made "sure" they were not of the mainscream or college media (as a rule i do not talk to the networks or their wannabe affiliates, preferring to promote the more independent media of Indy Media and the like), and uneagerly accepted their taping and interviewing of me (nothing like the tool of video to manuver under the guard of seasoned direct actionists and into their EGO). Well, they stuck with me for at least an hour, claiming they had already "gone home" (allegedly in the suburbs of Jenison) and checked several websites on my flyer, and were enthused with what they saw. They said they wanted to take me out to eat, and do an interview there as well... One who said he was 19 and a college student in film school called himself "Fred" (didn't fit him), the other was "Louis" who looked older than 20.

It may've all been true, but i've learned to be on my guard when it comes to people who are so subordinated to the idea of capturing ideas/wanting to make "a film" *while engaged in mainstream education*--which usually means subordination to that entire value system as well, where people are reduced to the meta games of "professional" and "entertainment" warfare. Anyway, i asked them to send me a few jpgs and they followed through, as well as asking to interview me more for a local peice they want to do about "people who are passionate" in Michigan. i followed through in doing that as well, and it turned out to be a pretty nice time, and we're still in touch. Tho i haven't heard of anything about the little documentary, i'm not on my guard as much after spending some quality time with them more.
---------------------------

Three Fires Pow Wow, June 12, 2004

intro
My original first action in this tour began at a Pow Wow near Portland, Oregon (when i created my first ceremonial masque and regalia with spiritual path intentions--unlike previously, which were more experimental), and i saw my desired interaction at the Three Fires Pow Wow as a potentially *very powerful* compliment to the origins of these x-country actions. After all, they are plunges into the Unknown/my Fear in a large way, and very spiritually powerful on an individual way. And, as both Ward Churchill and Trudell John have spoken, we *ARE ALL* descendants of indigenous cultures (European included)! And part of my task, i see, is to promote a return to trusting the general excellent potential of imaginations created beyond the pale of so-called "civilization" and the perpetual warfare model seemingly inherent within that entire value system.

Thus i saw/see my going into the realms of Pow Wows as quite appropriate, even tho i am no "American Indian" (but a Euro mutt); bringing the depth of my experience and reflections into spaces which *could use* authentic depth from other angles...and perhaps evolving *my own* largely negative beliefs about the apparent superficiality of publicly-held pow wows and the politricks that seem to plague them and Indian/"minority" communities in general.

So where i'd only gone superficially in the original pow wow--which i'd been invited to by a native (daring only into one main depth with an elder lady who spoke of my being "Trickster", and retreating in fear by her warning, preferring supposedly more-safe spaces in non-Indian areas), i dared after all my experiences across the country and in diverse communities, to go fully into my fear of this Unknown.

Oh, i've danced at pow wows before, and have worked and played as the only white non-professional with Northern Cheyenne in Montana, not to mention having experience with the GR Inter-Tribal Assoc. through informal connections; and much diverse connections with part-natives as close and semi-close friends, and even one Sundancer in Arizona, and a mentoring by a 59-yr-old Inuit street man in Alaska when i was 21--who met me precisely at the end of my solo bicycle trip from Mich to Alaska...not to mention the book-reading and much inspiration by books like _Stickman_ and _Wasi-chu_ and the deep critiques and experiences of AIMsters,,,

But directly interacting while arting myself openly and this radically? Never truly! Even when i bicycled 15 miles into the Dineh Rez after riding about 20 from Flagstaff (4 days in all), wearing my masque, i declined from direct interaction (only auto drivers saw).

regalia
This time i changed my regalia to a new intensity; i put my black n'white striped pants on upside-down for a shirt (making a hole in the crotch of course), added a roughly-cut but be-jeweled jacket i'd gotten for 25cents (attaching feathers i'd come upon in my travels) and wore, for the first time since IL actions, my dayglo-colored jacket upside-down for pants; and on one shoe i tied one of a pair of the green frog slippers i dumpstered way back. The ideah of that last one was to off-set the scary-looking "gator" masque (a friend says it looks that way to him) together with the silly frog slipper (and hopefully mess with the proclivity of folks--indigenous and not--to get stuck in FEAR-orientation assumptions of what i appear as and "am doing").

The action
Okay, so i biked maybe 7 miles to the corner of Leonard and Monroe NE, locked the bike up, and walked 2-3 miles from there to Riverside Park where the Three Fires Pow Wow was being held. Along the way, passed a Boy Scout troop out for a hike, found a birdfeather that i stuck in to a bandaid on my index finger, interacted with a guy in a car who resembled a burly off-duty cop (and seemed intent on provoking my emotion, but failed), reflected increasing audible response from passerby (whoops and joyful cries) as i neared the pow wow grounds which was already teeming with activity.

Well, when i first wrote about this, i chose to "write without words" except to send words that my 59-yr-old Inuit mentor first shared with me back in the late '80s: "i thank yOu (in many languages)". This was meant as a way of respecting, and not allowing the police state and its minions entrance into what i call a sacred interaction...but now i wonder...because my intent is to demystify and inspire imagination potential beyond the same old ghettos of traditional leftism and anarchy, and promo that we all get together in one basic *resistance of consciousness* (which doesn't worry too much about the lack of sense of those who aggress against us).

sobriety march
Had earliest wanted to accompany the march for sobriety, but couldn't wake up after partyin until at least 4AM the previous night. By the way, while i see the heavy problems/challenges with drinking liquor/beer in native and other communities, i can't help but see the way that politics hinders any serious solving of this (like so much else). i could go on at length about this, but i'll save you that for now, and speak only a bit: if people articulated drinking and being drunk in a sacred manner, together with *believing in themselves* enough, drinking/drunkenness could become a ceremonial tool in a similar way that peyote and tobacco is used!

So i myself am standing with a grey area, not wanting to get smothered by the propaganda of those subordinated to BIA/Leftist-style "reforms" and such politricks, nor wanting to demonize people's natural inclination to want to escape the dumbing down reality of what living in this "reality" has become for so many. Anyway, i see eye to eye with Lakota thinker, John Trudell, where he says basically (in a video i saw) that drunken indians were the only ones who REFUSED to conform to the superficial reform games of BIA-style "integration" strategies, and thus were a *crucial* group to modern efforts of independent action..

entrance
Entered into a balking silence. Wasn't at all sure how i'd be received, but didn't expect what i got. i was doing, i claim, an angle on *spiritual nudity* and didn't need to think about "what might happen" at length.

first champion
Almost immediately, a native guy (i'll call a champion) who'd been just parking his bible-quote-decorated pickup truck when i first walked in through a parking lot, invited me to come with him and go back and let him share some of his bible quotes from the truck (written quite artistically, tho i couldn't make out some of the text). i intuited that he wanted to try to talk to the "s t r a n g e" intruder via a language that i might be talked to with, thus acting as one more excellent watcher for the community.

Then a van pulls up and a mainstream-dressed older lady (in 50s?) gets out and asks me if i was "trying to satirize" or otherwise defame "my people".

Tho i didn't worry about it at the time, i think back now about the obstacle of how i could have easily been labled/deindividualized as some kind of religious fundamentalist intruder, with this christian indian dude--had he chosen to--to make war from another angle, on my alleged intent. This American Indian man, who utilizes christian ideals, and whose elder eyes had showed tears in them as we began speaking, originally, and who i was moved to speak with and follow away and to remain speaking within his experience; next to the ol' trickster in me who wouldn't "normally" be interested at all in such a mainline religion, while desperately wanting to mix the excellence of many traditions together with the excellence of our individual desires. (that part just above isn't very clear, i see, but i'll keep it there to honor its lack of clarity.) --While escaping dogma and ideology and thereby strengthening the excellent potential of indigenous traditions and perhaps even the excellence of all peoples!)

So, anyway, i responded to the elder lady as best as i knew how, and somehow moved to my knees, not thinking about it, and not entranced as i sometimes get while daring to hike such paths. Just doing that. i was unsure as to whether she could in fact be reached; whether she *wanted* to vent out some impersonal frustrations with living towards me--it wouldn't be the first time...but she went back after *accepting* my claims, at least outwardly.

i do/did worry about the ideological reaction of indian political vanguardists to "non-indians" who they might well view (as any vanguardist) as "trying to disrupt" their smooth programs of BIA-style integration and subordination warfare to the All Powerful "Is" (i.e. "The Way Things Is"),,,knowing the power of thought control and tooled anger; but somehow i was allowed to do my thang! And daring to do my thang, i persisted!

second champion and dance
When i returned to the main area, a second champion, a lady with eyes the same color as mine, engaged me almost right away. She held a dagger-like seashell and held it out as a gift, which she handed to me after we interacted awhile, i daring to give her what i call a *much more deep* gift in return along with the story of how i found it (whose lessons, i realized, i had passed through, and no longer really needed anyway). My gift to her: a horn i had pulled off the decomposing skull of a White Mtn Goat back when i was driving my artcar through a backroad in Idaho and had wanted to go hiking, innocently enough, only to come upon a mtn lion or bear cave and the decomposing carcass of what i called the Scapegoat metaphor...that story, an amazing and mind-blowing experience, to share another time in more detail!

Then she invited me to join in the 'all tribes' dancing, to which i followed, tho a bit concerned about the value of carrying my signs while i danced. i wanted to leave them somewhere, but felt i didn't really have time to ask permission of someone to let them care for my signs while i danced, and definitely *did not* want to leave them without asking permission!

Just as i started to get into the groove of dancing to the drum the non-uniformed pow wow security dudes intercepted me (radios in hand) and told me i couldn't be allowed to dance, even tho the traditionally-outfitted mostly-white-looking lady had invited me (and i told them so). Anyway, she kept on dancing and left me to fend for myself (another reason why i stay unsure as to the value of gifting her my scapegoat horn).

(had i been stoned, i'd probably have more easily come to understand the excellence of giving her, in particular, that gift)

One of the security dudes reminded me of what a local native friend's brother would look like if he had a brother (that native friend is on a tether, and due to that and other stuff, probably wouldn't have been inclined to bring me to the pow wow, and make my appearance there more "respectful" oriented--tho notably i question formal ideas of such alleged respectfulness, and see nothing "wrong" with doing as i did; i am judging his disinclination from the way my native friend reacted when i dropped by in full regalia weeks before that (when he hadn't been home, but heard much from his house-mates and neighbors later; and as well, hadn't seen me in years) during my first GR ineraction/path arting).

Anywayyyyyyyy, once escorted out of the dance area, i chose to see eye to eye with the security dude (who was pretty laid back, unlike security at the Portland Pow wow), figuring that GR pow wows *would* have a tendency to be "more conservative".,. (i still wonder if i would've been allowed to dance had i ditched the signs)

into more depth
Walked fully thru-out the modestly populated space, gave all of my 4 or 5 flyers to those who wanted to speak, only (didn't bring many this time, since my intent this time around was not a message doing with text as much as with vibe and dared speaking). Spoke with mostly white folks, but a few native-looking folks as well (it was *all* good!). One whiteguy said he had been deeply involved in the Big Mountain situation in AZ, so that was interesting for awhile.

One dude was outfitted in traditional Scotsman garb, to my surprise. We greeted each other and he came back a second time to call my 'outfit' and what i was doing "cosmic". Far out!! Yeah!!!

i was looking towards, and received, a few good-natured hecklings, as well. i'd actually hoped for more, and to even be invited into a group of folks bent on enjoying life, and figured that that might have happened had i dared stick around (and maybe pull out paper to draw on); but i didn't, nor did i return the next day, which i kind of wanted to do, and maybe hang out more with the champions who first met me (tho i admit a disinclination with the second lady champion).

teepee dweller
Then i was approached by a white elder in traditional native garb who said he lives in a Teepee year-round up north near Mt.Pleasant. i still remember what he said about how he lives in it in the winter! A real interesting fellow who volunteered, when i mentioned Trudell John, that he'd actually read _Stickman_!!!! Wow! That's a rarity in my experience! Seems like too many only know Trudell as an actor or via his recorded spokenword (which for some reason *never* seems to include any text lyrics! Why?????). Me, i've been inspired by Trudell way before i knew about his hollywood stuff!

second gifting
Ended up sitting down at a picnic table around a bunch of sobriety marchers (wearing t-shirts of) and talked with them awhile. Then a young girl lady sat down and engaged me in questions; i ended up talking with her about it and giving her my best copy of Richard Bach's _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ (yep, i brought a bunch of such depth to possibly give away), complete with various notes of mine written while seeking spiritual insights. i had wanted to read those over first, but decided to just let her (and her mom who would surely read it later) have it, clean. (wasn't sure if i had anything "too radical" in there)

someone i knew
Later heard that a good acquaintance of mine had seen me at the pow wow when she was in the parking lot with her native friend. The friend had wondered "what" i was, and my acquaintance knew *who* i was right away, but declined to say anything other than engage the gossip grapevine, whereupon it got back to me. Well, i find that excellent because to my part-native friends (who never get soon involved in indian ways) will get to chew on something for awhile, knowing that i *do* in fact go around doing stuff like this! Heh heh heee heee! (i'm always trying to move them to see reality beyond the TV and devoutly normal 'working class' values!)

after the pow wow
Walked the long way back to my bike, over to Plainfield NE.

At one point, in mid of posh neighborhood, a teengirl beckoned me across the street and over to what looked like an outdoor party. i shied away until two other kids came after me and further enquired.

While resting at one point, somebody drove by and yelled "faggot" and "fuck you" towards me. The next car that came by turned out to prove radical difference as an attractive badass ladytype with muscle car showed inspiring support. Later, an Afro-American family parked their car and engaged me when i came by, and then asked for an extra safety pin!

Close to da end of my walk i met up with a half-drunken man who reminded me of a good friend in his manner, except for his fighter-spirit. i approached him from across the street, despite my sniffing that fight energy just below the surface and we interacted, a bit tense at first, then him opening up more in minutes. i even let him touch my masqued head with a prayer he made, asking god to protect me and such things.

Right at the end of my hike (i had a blister on one foot by now) some attractive young ladies joyfully yelled from afar and then drove over and engaged me in questions and enthusiasm (you'd think more guys who like ladies would dress wildly just for such potential occassions!).

Biking back on Monroe and past the Grand River falls i spied a duck that was apparently CHOOSING to ride--and get a bit of a work-out--on at least three dangerous rapids and sub-falls of this large river, instead of flying! i thought it was playing on my arting, metaphorically! (After reading _Return of the Bird Tribes_ by Ken Carey, i'm not so quick to doubt!)

Back on Division a dude who'd seen me coming by earlier remarked how BURNIN i must be (as hot as it was) in my outfit. Well, it wasn't as hot as i've already experienced in other places!

Note:
when composing this article the first time around, the public computer i was using "somehow" ceased up (froze) right at a crucial point and didn't allow me to post this at any IMC sites. I had to start all over again (because I didn't have a disk with me). I've seldom seen this type of thing in my x-country travels and can only figure--based on the games that the political police have a record of playing against persistent challengers (3)--that someone was at work to block this info from reaching and possibly inspiring others. Luckily, I persisted in getting the library staff to extend my day's allotment and *was* able to post it to two IMCs, but still not the Michigan IMC...until now (hopefully).

notes:
(1) There are *no* alternative book/magazine/zine stores in Grand Rapids and area. There is a recent try at starting some kind of local IMC project, but I missed that conference. Public access to the Internet is more severely controlled than any place in the country i've seen. None of GR's colleges allow free access (a Grand Valley State College employee told me that while the college is publicly funded, its internet services are not, thus no access to the public; and GRCC allows access for $10 a semester after and ID check and much personal info gathering; Davenport and the other two private colleges are all "password protected" which is a change apparently after 9-11). Lack of alloted time for my one-hour use of public computers at the main library downtown prohibited me from going into more detail on these texts until I left the GR area (i don't own a computer myself, yet), and then any website deemed "sexual" is rigidly filtered from even adult viewing (i.e. reading an alternative gay magazine i like called www.guidemag.com ).

(2) i highly recommend don Miguel Ruiz's _The Four Agreements_ and _The Mastery of Love_.

(3) all serious challengers of the status quo would do well to educate themselves on the history of once-illegal, now legal, official covert action in order to take steps to avoid it as best they can, and deal more up front with "paranoia". See Brian Glick's book _War At Home_ (South End Press, Boston, 1990) for its exceptional run-down on the history and "what we can do about" this kind of warfare.

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