Camden House. A treatise on anarchy. Revealing past interactions with the law.
One time I dressed up as a shaman on Halloween. I drank some wine with friends before hopping on a train. I was about to light incense when a cop saw me, grabbed me, and pulled me off by my costume and locks. He kicked out my legs and landed me on my back. My mask flew off as did my staff. Somehow I got to my knees and clasped my hands together. “Put your hands behind your back!” He yelled tugging at my arms. Everyone on the train was yelling. “Do what he says!” “Just give in!” I looked at his eyes and saw nothing. A zombie. A drone. I looked for his humanity, but only saw fear. His eyes were empty and scared. Lost and soulless. “Let’s talk about this,” I appealed. Another cop ran over and tugged at my left arm. Everyone on the train was screaming. I sat my ground for a moment. Found a place of centeredness and breathed. I felt like a rock. A stone. “Put your hands behind your back or I’m going to tase you!” Shit. That got me. I shot my arms forward like wings and held them for a moment. Then I placed them behind my back. As I got up, they walked me to a holding cell. We passed a woman who said, “Shoulda just do what they say. Save yourself the trouble.” It made me laugh. Fuck that. There are times to surrender and times to give in. This was not one of them. True, eventually I did let go, but there was something inside me that let go long ago. A part of me that goes with the tussle. There is a push and pull in life. Ebb and flow. This particular interaction was a small combustible societal struggle. It wound up being nondestructive. Almost comical. Me balancing a cop on either arm. Acting a fool.
Stay tuned for part two. What went on inside the cell.