Pens like javelins and poison darts.

  Of course there are crocodiles in the doorways and at desks. 

  There are orbits on horns and sharp angles. 

  There are representations of fragmented institutions, memories of iterations, there's recall of what was, and real unknowing of what will be. 

  "Not going to mourn."

  Sort of a soldier's stand I guess. 

  Tinged also with the ocean current of deeming and being deemed (i)savage(i). 

  Fire or ice, there's transformation either way.  And for some that is what to (i)war for(i).  What to (i)rage and rail(i) against. 

  This is why (i)loyalty(i) and degrees of dying for willingness and so much confusion about standing for something. 

  Troubles.

"It's a mix of disenfranchised and..." One man

  looked at the ground searching for the words.  "I'm not really a spokesperson here." 

  "Looonahticks." Another man finished the sentence.  "I'm not an expert but that group is just not right in the head." 

  People considered the mechanics of what was being said. 

  "We've seen this sort of thing from time to time," said a woman in a drab suit.  "Often it's a scare tactic used to disguise something else going on." 

  "Like what?" Somebody loudly snapped chewing gum and asked. 

  "Like drugs.  Sex trafficking.  Other sordid activities." 

  "Besides," somebody else spoke up, "If they really are Satanists they don't really have a political shot." 

  "It's not really a political thing." 

  "Is it a Manson thing?" 

  "They'll be looking into that.  Sometimes cults get displaced or are evolving around an unsub not well known yet." 

  A car arrived.  A woman got out of the backseat.  Some people went towards her.  "I have the photographs, but I'm not the spokesperson." 

"What's he freakin' out about?"

  The acting class people fell quiet. 

  The man with his hair squished by a helmet and spiked by hair goo stomp-paced. 

  Others on the higher-up level of working found him.  But he was pacing furious.  Just as most people started talking low and eager again the man exploded. 

  "The Satanists put a big fucking rock in MY territory and nobody bothered to tell me????!!!!!" 

  People disappeared. 

  Guy's "buddies" from various disciplines straggled into the area. 

  One, in total body armor and loaded with guns including an Uzi, practically skid to a stop and roared, "Where'd they put it?" 

  Another patted a spot on a log.  "You can't let them get in your head.  Or under your skin.  Or too close.  So tell the rest of us where they put it." 

  The man turned scarlet purple.  "Not used to working with any of you." 

  "We're good people." 

  "Probably." 

  "Finest and totally dedicated." 

  "Opposing the Ten Commandments rock." 

  "Okay.  Good." 

  "Is that your van?" 

  The man started out saying (i)no(i) and shaking his head (i)no(i), but between the log patter asking (i)why be mysterious now(i) and some others throwing comments like "I can just call it in," the man put his hand under his chin and the hand nodded his head (i)yes(i).  He'd collected a bunch of candles and bloody stuff as he'd followed a growing group through the woods off the Interstate. 

  "See, I'm glad you told me that, so I don't get afraid of you." 

  The man began to weep.

Precedent

  "Does it mean the first of something?" 

  The person giving the course on Legalese 101 wrote down the guess on a whiteboard.  Others pitched in suggestions too. 

  The end of the "class time" was a window for discussion.  People were reluctant to bring up personal issues.  Somebody awkwardly brought up religion. 

  "So if a legal precedent is set about faith, say, does it mean all faiths?" 

  The question was written on the whiteboard.  The Instructor gave the floor to the Students to ponder the question.  This would generate a weekly think-on assignment.

  "What'd ya think?" 

  "You did excellent.  This is such a great space for learning." 

  "I'll show you around." 

"That's not really activism, as

  much as it is getting things factual.  Just saying." 

"You there. What's your angle on this

  unfortunate little experience?" 

  Most everybody froze in place.  But had been sculpted like bronze pieces on the outside, so not revealing emotions and stress and exhausted and fear.  Controlling disgust and anger and doubts and every human characteristic inside image of success and power. 

  "People are grieving.  I don't have (i)an angle(i) just yet." 

  "There's no time for that." 

  "I know what it should be." 

  "What is it then?" 

  "How fake and awful you are and how that kind of evil is making all of life worse." 

  "What did you just say?" 

  "Why don't you go back to TV land?!" Someone standing near a shot dead body said. 

"Fuckin' A," said a really young man with part

  of his face drooping.  

  "Did he..." 

  "We're not saying that word," a hand on a forearm pressed firmly.  "None of us has health insurance." 

  "How did the string of us wind up here?" 

  "Where is this?" 

  "Be quiet.  They're coming back." 

  More hands reached to still. 

  "And apparently, they consider this a real war and that they can kill journalists." 

  "No one's allowed to kill anybody in our country." 

  "Well, that's a theory." 

  Really old school sneakers and black shoes.  Three pairs of legs.  All black clothing. 

  "Which one of you insulted (i)my people(i)?" A female voice asked in the dimming light of the stalls and hay.  "Who are your people?" Someone asked back. 

  Hands gestured (i)don't answer(i) and (i)spread out(i). 

 

  "Want me to page my paper?" 

  "You guys have a statement or demands or something?" 

  A hand lifting a nonspeaking person by the hair off the floor. 

  "Last I knew none of these were legit." 

  Stifled hyperventilating.

  A horse crop smushed into a chest. 

  "You should know I've liberated your friend." 

  "Ma, mah, my friend?" Eyebrows up forcing eyes to stay open. 

  "We'll let you know more tomorrow." 

  "It's already tomorrow," said a guy with a badly split lip. 

  Total quiet but for some breathing.  

  A dim glint.  "Get over there," the glint indicating an opposing stall wall.  "Why?" 

  "You have a gun?" 

  "Oh my 

  "You glow in the dark." 

  "Gawd." 

  "I'm not that white, but okay, okay." 

  "When did this get so freaking serious?" 

  "Gee, mightah been when the black flags blocked the ice, or 

  "We were in Minnesota, so maybe 

  "Or when people were smuggling people between buses 

  "Could this be Nebraska?" 

  "Look, it wasn't a black flag! It was somebody's butt." 

  "Somebody's butt?" 

  "Somebody's (i)people(i) have been hanging those things from D.C. to Hawaii, and charging riot police with them and you expect me, all of us, to believe it was somebody's butt?" 

  "It was.  It was." 

  "How was that so?" 

  "My cameraman.  Too close to live fire." 

  "You were that close?" 

  "Too close.  Where the lines met and there was spillover, then somebody getting killed, so 

  "People got killed?" 

  "The guy turned the camera into somebody's butt like a fade-to-black.  We didn't want to contribute to that other stuff going on." 

  "Damb." 

 

"Get your black flag out of the way."

  "Out of the way of what?" 

  "My view of Old Glory." 

  "The kids placed that flag in that parade at that precise location." 

  Silence.  Then, "When we get unhandcuffed from each other and out of this battle of the flags, would you..." the man's words fell into a mumble.  The woman's "Would I what?" Wouldn't come until months later.  After a re-mix that had schools and community centers sorting people by more realistic measures than self-check forms and beer party sign ups for (i)nobody was really sure(i). 

  The man kept talking at the monitor viewing the parade.  The monitor with no editing, no (i)bias(i).

  That made it not noticeable when somebody or something KO'd the handcuffed couple and carted the camera off as the parade stalled. 

All had checked back in.

  "And what did you see?" A woman asked in a militant tone. 

  "That, (i)that(i) is not the issue," a man who'd been arguing with his woman all day said loudly. 

  "I, gottah, pant, pant, gasp, tell you (i)something(i)." 

  "Get in." 

  "But it's full up." 

  Other cars rolled past. 

  The small sedan with the crumpled bumper stopped short and hard.  Everyone but the driver got out.  Tags on a chain were produced. 

  Other vehicles streamed down, by, out from one city to the next for every minute of every hour of every day and night after "the people" had been flagged-in to squares like a chessboard all over the place.

"Quite the venue," a promoter tried

  to sound calm and cool above the chopper's vibrations. 

  "It's already sold," a man said in everyone's earphones curtly. 

  Multiple concerts ongoing across the country.  An effort to aid in abiding by curfew. 

  Crowds a mosh of not yet re-mixed.  Freedom enough in an afternoon of entertainment. 

  "You're missing yours?" To sniffles still. 

  "Her what?" Asked an investigative, probing, someday maybe Chinese censor. 

  "Her other half." 

  Entertainers on a toystore-bought headset and walkie wondering gradually.  "What's your crowd chanting?" 

  All over the LA area some crowds chanted (i)whooooooos(i) and some crowds chanted (i)aaaaaaaaahs(i). 

"Armed guards."

  "What is this the sixties?" 

  "Is this about race?" 

  "Did you hear Maya's talk last week?" 

  "And this is all connected somehow?" 

  The auditorium lights flickered. 

  "Ooooooo. I can't wait.  Finish smoking!" 

  "I'm not too excited." 

  "Isn't she in your upline or whatever you girls call those heroic black women who came before you?" 

  "She may be if I sign with 

  "She's got no brains left." A big sister told. 

  The tremor of shock at that tidbit had different timing to each person's mind. 

  "Best advice?" 

  "Some owls said, (i)have pity(i), and that woman over there," hands stayed in dress pants pockets, but people followed eyes, 

  "She's (i)literary(i) not music." 

  "She openly suggested some of us (i)human beings(i) are already like Alzheimer's not-patients." 

  "Oh, so, makes sense why lil Miss Tude was talkin' 'bout (i)confrontation(i).  At which point I," a wheez in, "I," a long finger to under the nose, 

  "You left?!" 

  The sneeze didn't happen.  A nod.  "Got cold medicine, heart healthy kind, and went home."