8:34pm – 9:34pm : The Verdict

Photo on 2014-11-24 at 21.44 #2

Before The Verdict @ 8:34pm EST:

I’m afraid and I’m torn. I’m feeling like a child watching his parents divorce over something as simple as an affair. I’m scared. This is as much, now, about Michael as 1995 was about Orenthal. I’m so scared. I want him to be guilty, but I want revolution, too.

I have no groceries this time, and there are no people waiting for me outside my place to get in to begin cooking. I’m home early because I know how it feels to be driving and having to listen to people who don’t me tell me my life means nothing. Nothing. They said nothing beyond that. That was a year ago.

I’m starting to hate Novembers. November is that amazing grandfather of one of your closest friends. He takes her for frozen yogurt, and tells the greatest stories of her first days on earth. He goes out at night in a white hood and hangs the father of your other close friend. Mehserle is still breathing. He still shops at Whole Foods and dreams of having sons who will grow to wipe his chin dribble.

Poplar trees are rapid-growing but relatively short-lived trees. Did Abel Meeropol know? I hear voices around me asking questions they feel I can answer. I can’t right now. I know nothing. I don’t know the law. Lauren and Shannon know it, but I can’t ask them right now. I can’t face what I know is going to happen before I hear it happening. I’m a punk that way. There’s a fear I can offer.

In Amsterdam a cop touched me on the shoulder. He had a gentle smile, and told me “move aside, a bus is coming.” A seemingly small thing that lasted only 4 seconds. The first time in 16 years I haven’t been afraid of police.

6 minutes left. 6 minutes until. Until. One minute until. Until. 8:01. Those who’ve watched executions, men tied to tables, giving up on pride, must have known such Monday nights.

He reads. Explains. My jaw is clenched. My heart is heavy. My eyes are ready. Who’s outside on W. Florissant tonight? This man reading had a father killed by a black man once. His father was an officer once. Well-deserved death? Sorrow.

We started this fight in shorts, ripped jeans, and tanks. They had tanks too. It’s cold. We’re bundled, still fighting.

After The Verdict @ 9:34pm EST:

They’ve been practicing racism so long, it’s perfect.

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