A Visualization

A visualization from Eric:
the locomotive has made it’s way and passed over the summit. now, it’s momentum is kinetic as it crosses the valley below… throughout the journey, this train has been guided by rails woven of the love and support of family both large and small… not too far off in the distance, is the place where the mountains gave passage to the river on it’s way to the sea; this is the convergence point to which the rails lead. a sphere of crystalline light is tucked into those folds of green; therein, the image of the judge is reading off a piece of paper = the
verdict of not-guilty……..

Zine by Eric Now Available

Dear friends,

We wanted to let you know that a beautiful new zine of writings by Eric is now available from the good folks at Because We Must. You can order it online here:

Toward A Re-Cognition Of Choice

All of the proceeds from the zine will go to Eric’s support fund.

A HUGE special thanks to the person who compiled the zine and put together the artwork. You know who you are… We think you’re awesome.

The zine will also be available at all of the Never Alone Tour stops. For a complete schedule and updates, visit: www.neveralonetour.wordpress.com

We hope to see you all there!


November 1, 2011 – Letter

Putting this critique out of my head & dn on paper comes w/the kind of sigh that loosens your shoulders & unravels your stomach, catching you off guard w/the guttural vocalization coming out w/that flow of Wind… the delusion that fed my waiting was the possibility of my writings making an already shitty situation of prosecution even worse… Hind-sight always comes w/a sting = my charges topped out at 2 decades – only 5 more months than i received… naiveté came N2 play elsewhere = despite stay’n true 2 my understanding of entrapment (where a govn’t agent uses coercion & manipulation, while providing all the materials, 2 direct & manifest an act deemed illegal by the state), had i done more research there would’ve been no way N western culture i would’ve utilized that defense… it’s on the verge of ludicrous 2 think the system would impede a mechanism bringing N such vast amounts of $, fueling the bureaucratic fascism that defines govn’t 2day (remember the bonds we can post 2 get bailed out? ever wonder what happens 2 them if we remain imprisoned? not 2 many others do either – where R the majority of bonds w/N the financial system? yep, bound & traded on the market; this B’n 1 scheme amongst numerous others)… don’t get me wrong – i harbor no regrets about my choice of go’n 2 trial; part of me is curious of what difference a necessity defense would’ve made… here we go… woken long B4 U’re rested, it’s cold w/concrete everywhere, called out by the speaker above the steel door, patted dn & escorted 2 the elevator, never know’n where or why, the door opens 2 the chaotic jingle of chains, shouting cops, waiting 4 others – a marshal’s list 2 fill, patted dn, the pinch that only comes from shackles & cuffs attached 2 a waist chain, Ur jingle adds 2 the cacophony, processed & packed, 12 N2 the 10 bk seats of a van… the outsd world through the windows holds every1’s tongue, despite B’n early the goings on R enough 2B a sensory overload = people walking, driving, riding bikes, eating breakfast on the run, smoking, drink’n coffee, talking 2 each other on phones – the marshals have the radio on some corporate station still play’n the same songs when I stopped listening over 5 yrs ago… parked behind N the secured garage, moved, stored, caged & still bound 2 Urself, some1 asks “got the time, marshal?” “6:30ish,” hearings B4 10am R rare, most = much later… coming from the concrete grayness, steel metal bars, placid white walls, 2 step out N2 mahogany everywhere, deep reds, soft blues, business attire & hairdos, stenograph, briefcase, pens & notepads… chained 2 Ur own body N oversized shirt, pants, paper shoes = neon orange… eyes immediately turn 2 the bk of the room & R flooded by the benches behind the defense – friends & family bringing a rush of nutrients that cannot B put 2 words; i could barely keep still know’n that i was sharing the same air & only w/N arms reach of their embraces… it was such a contrast 2 what lay B4 me on this SD of the Bar… standing B4 that 1st black robe, the separation was disorienting, the language & process was that of another world… bail denied – flight risk = knowledge of standing on the SD of the road w/thumb out, knowledge of boarding locomotives when they slow or stop = flight risk; no family ties = traveling w/out a cellphone & unable 2B contacted by family = no family ties… after the sardine-van ride bk 2 the gulag, it’s bk ? 2 the cell & wait 4 the visit i knew was coming… ‘never knew if it would B my Partner & family or my attorney who would B 1st… the attorney visits were N closed booths w/little stainless steel stools & table top w/a slot under the plexi-glass window sized 4 paperwork… i could feel the presence of microphones N the false ceiling above us – seemed ridiculous 2 believe they weren’t there… Mark’s communication skills w/N the court room were pretty damn good – but N any other circumstance = extremely lacking… i got 2 the point of having 2 put him through grounding techniques at the beginning w/reminders throughout “Mark, what did U hear me ask? R both Ur feet on the ground? can U feel them?”… i needed 2 make a list of questions just so i wouldn’t get wrapped up N his whirlwind of energy… the handshakes through that slot N the table top was the extent of humyne humyn contact during the 28 mo of confinement N that jail… now, visits w/my Partner & family were a bit different… next 2 the attorney booths was a continuous stainless steel tabletop w/the plexi-glass window running all the way dn the middle… each booth was separated by a partition of plexi-glass, & 2 communicate w/your visitor a phone receiver is used… 2 deter visitors by causing frustration & raise stress levels, the volume was lowered or a static background noise made hearing the other persyn near impossible at times & perfectly clear the next… knowing each word & sentence were 2B scrutinized by any # of ‘intelligence’ agencies wasn’t 2 big of a step – but i’ve never acclimated 2 not B’n able 2 touch those i love… have’n those visits kept me alive as much as the oxygen i was breathing, & getting others perspectives on the proceedings N court helped 2 make sure i wasn’t the only 1 baffled by what was go’n on… the courts i experienced eviscerated any ideas regarding a jury trial B’n the last oasis of justice w/N the system; where a jury is provided all the facts & info., & B’n free 2 their interpretation w/justice as the intent & end… if that were the case, i wouldn’t B N this cell, nor hearing time and again stories from folx N here reflecting my own… throughout trial i was dumbfounded by the blatant ways (2 me) the jury was held N contempt by the judge & lawyers – at the same time regarding them as some porcelain doll the lawyers and judge didn’t want 2 tip over… throughout the proceedings my eyes would wander over 2 those folx sat off 2 the SD, occupying that space of audience, the passive observer… 1 or 2 dozing, most w/the impartial looks of random thoughts= bills-work-family-etc., ‘reminded me when i was a kid at church with the pastor speaking of famine, drought, floods, the starving of children & elders N economically colonized lands = there was this blanket of something over or behind people’s expressions = “a higher power is at work here”… i remember get’n called 2 jury duty & duck’n it like the plague; forced 2 accept pennies on the dollar after drive’n at least an hour through bumper 2 bumper each morn’n & night, 9-3 sit’n N uncomfortable chairs, “we’re all stuck here, so the smoother we make this = the faster we can all go home,” “follow the lead of the professionals, they’ve been do’n this a long time & know what they’re do’n; after all, justice is their business”… by the time the jury instructions were handed dn, they were so deluded, confused, & malleable – it took hardly a nudge 2 direct them dn the prescribed path… i’m at a loss of words due 2 a couple of reasons = 1) the jury didn’t C it & didn’t do anything about it; 2) i saw it & didn’t do anything about it… this is a jumble of curiosities= how can truth & justice B found w/out open understanding of all parties & honest, authentic communication? R they even meant 2B there N the 1st place? how would a political prisoner go about getting a jury of their peers? how could a jury B impartial if they’re confined 2 perceive & relate 2 censored info only from a deliberate perspective chosen by a person paid by the state whose superiors maintain their status & the status quo?… ‘hear that N the middle of my trial the judge won the judge of the yr award? weird, eh?… the day of the verdict i can remember sitt’n N the cage on the 10th floor… the court room & attached juror room were upon the 14th & i sat there imagining positive energy flowing N2 the latter… when a marshal showed up 2 take me up the elevator i knew it was 2 early… as every 1 was settling N & waiting on the judge, a juror caught my eye & gave a small shake of their head – i had 2 give my self a small smile 4 perceiving the outcome… it didn’t surprise me any more than the sentence handed dn by the judge… he’d made his intent known throughout the trial; at 1 point turning 2 Mark & i 2 give us a small nod & smile when a juror asked the precise question which would lead them all 2 perceive the confidential informant as not B’n a govn’t agent when i 1st met her… this was actually the pivotal point during the deliberations as stated by a couple of the jurors N letters they wrote 2 my attorney… at sentencing the presentencing officer recommended 13 yrs, the prosecution 20, & the judge mentioned someth’n like wish’n that he wasn’t bound by the limit put on him bc it was a conspiracy case & couldn’t give me the 293 months the charge carried otherwise. the impact on loved ones racked me harder than the time handed dn, & somehow i had more confidence N the appellate courts (social programming is a pain N the ass)… i was way 2 excited know’n i’d B out of that county jail & solitary confinement… so far as my experience w/the sacramento county gulag, we’ll have 2 start at the beginning… 1 more time = bright Winter mountain morning, sit’n on the trunk of the car soaking N the brisk blue Sky, “did i seriously leave my pouch of tabac at the house?,” here come the other 2, ‘click,’ screeching wheels N all directions, i fixate on the suburban B4 me, less than a bus length away, both SD doors open B4 it stops, out come 2 shouting ninja turtles w/the nozzles of their AR15s leading the way, a quick pan @ soaks N the other vehicles, shouts, guns, & stop on her eyes staring at me N the rear view mirror, that ‘click’ B4 the screeching tires registers as the auto-lock 4 the doors of the car she’s sitting N… dominoes tumble btx my ears as i slowly raise my hands & get dn 2 knees, stomach, arms out-reached, the asphalt doesn’t exist under my cheek, nor the 2 knees N my back, i’m bk by the time i’m cuffed & stood ?, hands leaping N2 my pockets looking 4 a key that isn’t there… shock has set N & the contradiction of B’n me rides the torrent of adrenaline N2 a state of calmness & clarity; there is no tremor N my breath, nor shaking N my hands; i can feel the embrace of cool morning air moving @ me, the warmth of the Sun on my skin, N my eyes the full green of Trees & deep blue of Sky sinks N, “this is go’n 2B the last time my eyes hold them 4 a while,” i give out a silent thanks w/a sigh… a small crowd has gathered 2 watch, i’m taken N2 the bk of a durango rental, the other 2 R N separate cars, JTTF driver (c.h.p. or sheriff’s dep.), fibby hops N beside me, short ride dn the hill 2 a suburb satellite compound N citrus heights i never knew was there (lived w/N 5 miles of it since jr. high), during their attempt 2 debrief my property was logged & headlamp stolen by the fibby “i’ll take this as evidence,” yes i’m still pissed, “U got anything 2 say?” “U got an attorney 4 me?,” bk N the durango & headed dn town, just B4 we pull N2 the underground garage of the gulag = “We always go easy on the 1 that turns 1st” “U’re fuck’n kid’n me,” sit’n on a concrete bench under the gulag, paper wk B’n processed, i’m soak’n everything up while look’n bored as fuck = there’s double doors on every exit, scrubbed concrete i can tell has been spattered from countless struggles coming 2 late – once U’re N the bowels surviving digestion is the only viable possibility i can C… there R no windows, ultra-violet lights at measured distances break up the heavy doors – be they steel or bullet proof plexi-glass, feels like i’m wait’n N line 4 some twisted roller-coaster ride… a young look’n agent w/an ATF windbreaker sits next 2 me, “recognize me?” “not really” “U know how hard it was 2 keep up w/U?” “no” “we’ll have 2 have a beer when U get out” “U’re buy’n,” behind the sliding door, uncuffed, patted dn, handkerchief and hoodie taken, cuffed, wait, 2 jug heads escort me 2 a room the size of a phonebooth & uncuff me, “strip & put clothes outSD,” they step away, i notice the small window of a box housing a camera has a yellow post-it 4 a cover & i quickly remove it – if they come at me it’s go’n 2B on film… i can’t say i was ready 4 this form of psy-op.s (can U ever B ready 2 experience something U’ve only read about?) but i did know it 4 what it was= an attempt 2 make the oppressed feel like they R participating N a demoralizing act – having seen a wrong is bad, having a wrong done 2 U is worse, doing a wrong 2 Urself is the worst ever, knowledge B4 hand dissolves the power dynamic necessary 4 them 2 oppress… they return, quickly glancing at the camera, 1 goes through my clothes while the other spits directions w/cold concrete under my feet = show hands, under armpits, behind ears, SDs of mouth, under tongue, lift balls, turn @, lift rt foot, left foot, bend over, spread cheeks, cough, get dressed, no laces N my boots; then the shuffle begins – continuous displacement from 1 tank to another (more psy. ops.) , this 1 so full there’s only standing room, the next it’s just me & the camera, always a camera & a phone, a toilet & thick boarded benches against the walls, this 1 fills & empties, moved B4 this 1 fills all the way, time vanishes, only wondering, is there an undercover N here, a plant, an informant, dominoes tumble once again = solitary will B the only escape from violent coercion – abuse could only come from those who have the keys… not wanting 2 provide the fibbies w/any tools 2 sway my decision 2 go 2 trial – i could easily picture myself during trial w/a face marred by a fight, while my attorney layed out my non-violent past & non-existent criminal record 2 a jury full of raised eye-brows & smirks – i requested solitary confinement… i was persynally prepared 4 what came w/isolation, having done the necessary wk on myself = the internal exploring, healing & nourishing needed 2 survive & dance w/the trauma of B’n raised N this culture; w/the effects from the shock & continuous trauma of B’n caged all i would’ve had 2 fall bk on would B those culturally programmed traits we’re all raised with, such as identification w/the oppressor, mob mentality, & submission 2 authority… my receiving those weekly stacks of mail did wonders which i’m perpetually grateful 4, but w/out the anchor of knowing, loving, & B’n aware of who i am – how could i’ve stayed true 2 the intentions of my Heart?… through the Spring and Summer a once dear friend of mine survived iso. & continuous harassment – his folding just B4 Fall was like my Heart breaking N my hands… i tried 2 do all i could 2 aid him N maintaining some semblance of a foundation that he could utilize – of course (here’s that familiar sting), it’s not something which can B given, only found… he was released as soon as he signed his plea deal; 2 prep him 4 the stand it took 3 consecutive days of 9-5… while on the stand they used something like ‘rehabilitated’ 2 describe him = now working 35-40 hrs/week, helping his dad w/the rent, & having a girlfriend… when he flipped i didn’t think the pain could’ve gotten worse… what i saw & heard were the scared responses of some1 B’n led along on a tight leash… lauren was almost the inverse = ze turned rt away & when i found out over the Summer i was devastated… btx the time of our arrest & the trial ze’d apparently recovered some – despite the influences @ hir & the meds they put hir on… it was subtle, but lauren’s words ended up aiding my defense more than the prosecution… the c.i., ‘anna,’ wore business attire, mimicking the professionalism exuded by her fibby handlers… it twisted me up & down 2 hear the distance N her voice i recognized as always B’n there… at the end of ‘anna’s’ testimony the govn’t resorted 2 character assassination by way of a blatant lie, pitting their authority vs. my word… their story was that on the last night i walked out N2 the living room 2 wave an 8 inch knife over ‘anna’s’ sleeping face (a knife i never possessed, nor did they remember 2 plant N the evidence), which woke her & her calmly saying “go bk 2 bed”… somehow the surveillance cameras weren’t recording during this event, which is weird bc they’re supposed 2B N whatever room the c.i. occupies (but of course fibbies testified 2 their witnessing the event on their monitors), nor was there a 302 filing 4 that night (an event description form 4 the fibbies 2 write dn a narrative of what they see on the monitors w/the corresponding times)… 2 say i was disgusted doesn’t even begin 2… … so, biased as it is, i’ve acquired the belief that moving w/a political intent brings about quite a bit of predisposition from the courts (yes, i’m B’n sarcastic, their response was more like that 2 a deadly virus = stamp out & lock away)… it’s further supported by a recent case N sacto where some1 burnt dn a wal-mart, a good portion of an upscale mall, & his grandma’s house; & after the actions were deemed not politically based (by the same prosecutor N my case), that persyn got sentenced 2 10 yrs… my case was 1 more notch N the belt 4 the fibby’s cointel tactics – creating monsters 2 fuel fear, while vilifying a pattern of social relation based upon mutual aid, authentic relation, voluntary association, & the realization of desires… this pattern of relation was something i’d found N every place i touched N a yr & a 1/2 of traveling off the grid – Seatle 2 Ft. Lauderdale, NY 2 San Fran. & numerous places Nbtx… throughout those times i moved w/an authentic intent, finding a reciprocity, a mutual respect that accompanies the unconscious (or conscious) recognition of some 1 sharing their true self – something deep w/N saying = “this isn’t 1 of the culturally cordonned masks”… & everywhere i went i found others moving w/the same intent – living off the streets, wk’n small jobs, go’n 2 school; these aspects B’n secondary 2 who they R… it’s the relation 2 themselves & 2 those N their communities which took precedence= what nurtured them on their paths… & not 1 was perfect, & had no intention 2B, but they were true 2 themselves N nurturing who they wished 2 become – not some prescribed mold produced by another… w/that – the recognition of material objects B’n non-permanent translated N2 a free sharing or gifting of whatever i happen 2 possess N the moment 2 fullfill a need U’re experiencing rt now (eg.- i’m not going 2 have this pouch of tobacco 4ever; there R numerous ways of acquiring more; & if U don’t have any & would like some= why wouldn’t i help a member of my community?)… these folx came 2gether as long as it nurtured each individually; communicating their persynal & social needs & wishes w/the group – moving towards the benefit of the whole, & there4 themselves… i’ve seen & experienced these grps last for hrs, days, weeks, months, yrs; when pple felt they were no longer nurtured or out grew what the grp was providing, most left w/out animosities & usually w/friendships lasting a lifetime… 2 me, a paramount aspect of authenticity is B’n authentic w/myself & recognizing my shadow as a necessary part of who i am (how can i watch out 4 my shortcomings & negative tendencies if i don’t know what they R?); it’s also helped 2B aware that others share N the wounds inflicted by B’n of this culture, regardless of the nitches they currently find themselves w/N… … this same trauma some structures use 2 keep folx fearful of the unknown, afraid of others, scared of change, worried for the future, & thereby reacting N ways which maintain the culture… any relation that doesn’t bring about those results must B demonized – thus, the “crazy bomb throwing anarchist” motif… what better way 2 dissuade the exploration of ideas than 2 portray those associated w/them as lunatics, dreamers out of touch w/how the world really works… somehow i survived the indoctrination of schooling up 2 college, worked a couple of careers until i saw what i would become N those B4 me, then it took 1 more indoctrination bout w/the intent of teaching 2 finally C this culture beyond the veils of comfort, medication, & socialization… i came 2 recognize the cultural tools provided 4 me – manipulation, coercion, chauvinism, kill or B killed, walk on those below U, destroy all competition – as B’n socio-pathic (defined as traits which kill healthy, nurturing communities); & after that point of reference was acquired, there was only 1 remaining action= the choice… … …

On Choice

How 2 make this tangible? How would i allow it 2 move w/the rhythms of Ur Heart & Be-ing? What will create the space 4 authentic relation w/this medium? i wish 2 explore my intents, so as 2 express that i have nothing 2 hide – that i wish 2 reside beyond the box of social relations which all of us must maneuver @ every day, through the manipulation and coercion that defines most of the interactions of our time… so far as the tangible, i would like 2 ask U 2 print this out if U’re reading this on some type of screen – making sure it’s not just something that happens N Ur head… an idea came 2 me after beginning like this – giving voice 2 how after +5 years of incarceration, i have no idea what it’s like on the outsd & therefore don’t have a strong foundation of relation other than B’n open & speaking 2 the authentic core which resides w/N all of us… … i know i can’t make change happen, at the same time it feels like i have a choice 2 create a possibility 2 affect something or some 1… the intent that initiates the beating of my Heart is 2 share w/others N a relation which moves authentic – where the walls R no longer necessary; where we can B all of who & what we R w/all of those @ us (non-humyn & humyn); most importantly w/ourselves… i wish 2 share N the openness i experienced as a child, that which i have somehow been able 2 nurture & hold space 4 along this journey – from socialization up 2 the present confines i currently am caged w/N… i don’t wish 4 this 2 B some long drawn out story getting at every nook & cranny of western culture™ – there R more than enough books on the subject, so i’ll keep it short & sweet… i’d really like this 2 B about choice, how each day each of us chooses who & what 2 nurture w/N & @ us… how it took a good # of yrs of my B’n a part of the system B4 i could put words 2 what i saw myself doing N order 2 try & succeed… i easily remember that i found myself looking over the qualities i’d been taught 2 use N order 2 advance N every field i explored, including the schooling i was taking at the time… it’d been no wonder that i’d blazed through a couple careers, only 2 shift just B4 making the longer term commitments of a managing position = i was unconsciously hoping 2 find a way of making $ w/out using manipulation, coercion & competition as the basis of relation 2 my work & the people w/N it… i perceived those qualities as B’n sociopathic – that is, relating 2 society N a pathological way… an understanding which had survived N the depths of my core posed that a community, if it is 2 B as healthy as possible, has no future if those cancerous qualities R what form the basis of relation… it was shortly after remembering this that i ran N2 a # of social critiques which provided an option i hadn’t known existed… only after i stepped bk & gave myself some space 2 heal (an ongoing process), was i able 2 once again reach out w/my feelings, open my Heart, & authentically relate 2 all that was @ me… 1 of the most profound experiences was when a friend & i walked a clear cut… words R just about the hardest thing 2 utilize N an attempt 2 describe it – the closest thing would B that it was like walking upon an open wound, 1 which i was experiencing on my own body… i’m not going 2 say it wasn’t traumatizing, but it was a step towards feeling the destruction that ends up minimized & hidden by the culture, by the society i grew up N… it also made tangible the aspects of coercion & manipulation i’d experienced on other levels = “every 1 knows dirt is just eroded rock,” “the earth is not alive,” etc… but then, where did this sensation, this feeling come from? … … there was a lot of critical reflection, unconscious as well as conscious, until i came upon a fork N the road = what (or whom) do i wish 2 nurture w/my thoughts/feelings & the actions they manifest? What does it mean 2 me once i make this choice? Having become aware of this new perspective – how could i go bk & consider myself B’n true 2 who i am? What door will i B closing if opening this other? Which choice nurtures who i truly am? What or whom do i choose 2 nurture?

June 1, 2009 – Letter

Through most of the city’s old train yard Ba’aden had rambled on about the bicycle project ze’d been playing w/since B4 the Summer Solstice – when Cett found a pause long enough 2 gently break N w/a reference 2 some writing ze had seen the other toying w/a couple Nights past… though Ba’aden’s feet still carried hir, ze had stopped ½ way N the motion of cupping a lit match 2 hir cigarette ~ as if finding hirself suddenly encased by those very words… the rolled cigarette classically drooped off hir bottom lip 2 hang N defiance at gravity, the approaching fire from the match was what shocked hir bk N2 the present… shaking it out w/a small curse & pulling another from the book N hir shirt’s front pocket, Ba’aden shyly put the rollie bk N position & brought flame 2 it N hir usual rote fashion… after some familiar grounding techniques ze threw a SD long smile at Cett’s patient & silent curiosity – tasting the underlying hunger 2 learn why Ba’aden was yanked from the moment … … softly, an almost cooling Breeze lazily Danced across the sets of old rails, tugging at the scents of the Hobo fires which lived 4 their own sake N the Full Moon’s Light of the Night B4, hints of cheap wine, malt-liquor, & train grease mixed w/the coming Fall – – tires on pavement faded N & out on the small over-pass just ahead; from the other SD of a chain-link fence, some lone bkyard dog paced 2 & fro, sending solitary barks – like sonar – toward the gravel crunching steps of the friends strolling by – – the Sun began 2 sink N the Western Sky of a Summer 2 long hanging on… … Cett patiently rolled a cigarette of hir own 2 chase a shwill of the homemade Blackberry wine they’d brought 2 share at this month’s salon, where Arno Gruen’s The Betrayal of the Self was 2 B the catalyst 4 the evening… Ba’aden also partook N drink, waiting 4 Cett 2 light & pocket hir lighter – 1 Ba’aden hadn’t seen B4; typical, as Cett finally raised hir eyebrows N a wordless demand & Ba’aden steadied hirself 4 what had flowed out of those pages that Night; what was razed out of that moment’s blending of paper, ink, mind & Heart… a rising Wind, originating N Ba’aden’s core, N rhythm w/hir Heart, & woven by Throat, Tongue, & Mouth fueled the words which came forth… Cett looked N2 hir friend’s eyes 4 what felt 2B the 1st time, only 2 find hirself having 2 turn away – blinking out what ze could only describe as finding the Flames of the Phoenix there w/N… Cett had heard the words & ideas B4, by others & even expressed hirself – yet the radiance which lit the path, & nurtured this pattern of feeling & thought shortened hir Breath & charged hir Heart 2 the point that when ze found hirself held w/N the underbelly of the overpass, finding a seat became a necessity… the pyres sparked 2 life by Ba’aden’s Bird spiraled off N2 innumerable independent currents, each capable of nourishing & sustaining multiple branches themselves… when Ba’aden had come full circle, they sat N the calm of the Evening – Clouds began 2 form & enshrine the Blaze of a Setting Sun; on the Horizon, the muted blare of a train’s horn… after a moment, a sudden electricity popped through the air btx them just B4 the rails started 2 sing of an oncoming locomotive… as it’s beam of light rounded the far turn – Cett began N a clear but distant voice =

“Coyote throughout, moving as Cougar w/Fox N Mind & Wolf at Heart”

… amongst the approaching din of steel on steel Ba’aden turned, Cing N the reflection of hir friend’s eyes how the words were but 1 of the tumblers needed 2 open the gate 2 that fertile soil which lies N wait…

November 2008 – Letter

The questions brought up here have been with me for some time, & forgive me if they were already explored elsewhere, as i’ve been out of the loop for a minute.

i ran into an exceptional writer’s creation (Baldwin’s No Name on the Street) where i came across a reference to Dante’s “I would not have believed death had undone so many.” i couldn’t help but feel a particular resonance regarding my situation & the larger environment realized by the Green Scare. This Death isn’t in a totally physical sense & whose subtleties may reside at the Heart of what lies before us.

[This may be redundant but i’ve just got to get it out of me or i’m go’n to burst]

To those familiar with debates, it’s known that when one side establishes the terms to be used, it’s only a matter of time before they’ve won the match – the other views have conceded to that particular frame of reference/mind-set which leads to a particular outcome. i found it curious (to say the least) that so many adhered to the given definition of freedom shoved in front of them. What is your definition of freedom at this moment? How are you to share it with others without it being explored by & for yourself? Whose definitions do you with to utilize in perceiving your reality? When that is given up, what occurs? Within this constellation, what are the benefits of exploration? & the repercussion of leaving it obscured?

[Sorry, this following bit of constructive criticism may be hard for some to digest]

Another aspect of this undoing feels like it’s been manifesting itself for some time by the way the (anarchist/radical) community has been/is received by the larger communities with which it comes into contact & interacts (please forgive the generalizations). The folks who have lived within those communities for generations have seen time & again how “energetic youth” (be it from schools, churches, radical groups, etc.) come in to make a change – perhaps gaining some window dressings here & there; but soon most end up leaving & making way for another up & coming generation of exuberance. The majority of those who leave go on to some form of schooling in order to “use the system for good.” So many, falling back on to careers after they’ve earned their credentials as activists.

Here, society at large, smiling a sigh of relief & giving a knowing nod, no longer sees them as lost children; having got it out of their system: they’ve grown up & accepted the responsibility to be truly effective in the world (please re-read that; how many rationalize their choices/actions by adhering to those loaded terms and concepts, consciously or not). ‘Form defines content’ is a hard lesson to learn, and regardless of the intent that initiates a career, a change of priorities is inevitable: concessions are made. Through this a distance is maintained (activist vs. ‘those in need’) – fortified by a colonialist based behavior that has nurtured a divide & conquer loop-hole which only we can close. The safety net which rides along in the back pocket of the privileged becomes a web that bears it’s own poison.

And where do the costs arise?

No matter what choices we make, we’re always allowed back into the fold. The deeper the deviation, the trespass: the higher the toll for return. Actually at that point, the cost is irrelevant (made stark by some of the G.S. cases) because all that matters is the return to comfort: that familiar (given level of) freedom. And who couldn’t relate to the choices made? We’ve been shown repeatedly the outcome: “it’s only natural.”

From my perspective the type of Death we’re Dancing with here is the fear of letting go – letting go of what we’ve been taught (programmed) defines us – that which we are to hold most sacred.

What are the definitions which define your reality?
What choices do they open before you?
And which are closed?
What unfolds because of those choices?

Basically: How do you wish to Live your Life?
Under whose discretion?
What is it you hold Sacred?

October 1, 2008 – Letter

it’s presently a Pisces Full Moon so i’m running on Intuition while writing this – admittedly a fair amount of caffeine as well… my apologies for the amount of time it’s taken for me to get this out, but finding an edge of balance amongst these new surroundings hasn’t been simple… part of it has also been resigning myself to this medium – persynally there’s too much distance, no way to clarify semantics, read body language, feel if the intent reaches to the Heart as seen through the windows of the Soul… in some ways this language is so Dead it feels a blight to utilize it… there inlies my frustrations, yet this is the most viable tool i have before me ~ i can only wish… … and in calling things what they are, a transformation occurs – a change in relation brought about by the recognition of the subtle and unconscious aspects whose power resides in them being exactly that… … … one thing i’ve become intimate with during this experience is how closely aligned fear and freedom are within this society – it’s fuck’n scary feeling the impact i have on my environment at every level if i say hello to this persyn, and the ripple of effects which are caused; if i don’t say hello to another and it’s ramifications… and at the next larger bubble, if and what i put out to You and the possible retaliation… larger still, will the intent still reside within the symbols – can this form carry the intended content? … … and so i speak of – i write – knowing of the S.H.U… of ‘diesel therapy’, this may cause strings to be pulled in regards to my appeal, that this may not even make it out yet despite it all = the intent is … with that truth in my Heart, between my ribs, within and throughout my Body – the Fear dissolves and only Freedom remains… letting go effects my relation to their tools as they intend, regardless of how or when or to what extent they’re to be implemented – and believe You me, we’ve just barely seen the beginning of it all (prepare for the worst and wish for the best) … part of me hurts, feeling that it may have to be one of those lessons learnt only through experience; i never knew what dark chocolate tasted like until it was in my mouth with teeth grinding and saliva pumping (i.e., i may never have come to the relation with freedom which i now am without living through these experiences)… -sigh- we shall see… … … once again, too much love for all the Support and Solidarity. i’m go’n to be head’n off to hibernation for the Winter and creating some space for projects, which translates into my not go’n to be able to write folks back who write after the Equinox – so please spread that Love around. i feel and know it’s deeply needed everywhere… anyone holding on to ideas about sending any books, i’d appreciate it if those resources were utilized for easing the cost of my Partner’s visits or the legal funds of myself or others… Please take care of Yourselves, Our Loved Ones, and All You Hold Sacred… …

In Solidarity,
(aka Eric McDavid)
(find your joy)

October 5, 2007 Letter

i’ve been told that my conduct has been seen by some as inspirational, i’m grateful to be able to provide a source of strength to those in my family who find themselves in a time of need – more so as being a part of their process of growth and self creation… but my behavior is, in a sense, selfishly borne – my intent originates from a perspective which encompasses my family and their future generations… though, the term “family” i don’t utilize in a conventional or everyday sense – the bubble has expanded beyond the customary… it holds within it the micro and macro, all those with whom i have shared that muted and unblinking stare of understanding – be it on the streets, at a skillshare or class, concert, speech or march, rally, home-demo or a really free market – at a convergence centre, library, campsite, critical mass, on an on-ramp, alongside of a highway, at a rest stop, from a train, in a forest, a city park or square, or at a stream, river, lake, hot-spring or beach… this bubble also includes each and every one of those individual places – unique unto themselves in appearance, locality, time and energy/personality ~ as well as the non-humyn inhabitants therein, who aid in the continual self-creations of those environments… keeping that selfishness close to my Heart and mind is something i aim for – knowing that all my life i have been conditioned by our society to the contrary… during my ten days of “disciplinary isolation” last fall an idea made itself known to me ~ it was to create with that which is provided, not necessarily to its particular purpose, but to my own… this includes the pain which resides within my Heart due to the separation between us… i’ve come to see energy as the most malleable aspect of this reality, and the emotions that surge through our bodies can be utilized for any number of means and ends… painless stagnant can fester into hate and reaction – but utilized with a conscious and open intent it could nurture the catalysts required to move through our thresholds… hate is the death of joy and reaction is nothing more than unconscious reflex brought about by a certain stimulus (perceived or not) which induces predictable responses – in most cases, conceding to the terms and definitions of the initiator, allowing the stimulus to have affect, signifies it’s success… conscious creations with the cycles of growth and health do not fit into the matrix of cause and effect – their qualities and forms flow through the rigid structures that seek to encapsulate, reform, define… … i object to being pigeonholed (physically and figuratively) by cleaving to some marshal or warrioresque mantra that many have chosen when confronted with similar circumstances – what they chose is for their own personal path, what they’ve perceived as necessary for their survival… from where i stand, it feels that if i followed that train of thought i would be adhering to a path too well-worn ~ and don’t get me wrong, i honor and respect those that have come before me who continue to adhere to the wisdom in their hearts, but those known trails can also be used by others that have scouted them for weaknesses ~ if experience has taught me anything, it’s been to stick to the deer trails or create my own… another of my recent lessons has been to recognize the beneficent qualities of shape-shifting, as defined by terry tempest williams = “this has nothing to do with inconsistency. it has to do with seizing the moment, perceiving what is necessary in that moment … knowing what each occasion demands, and standing our ground in the places we live…” … but this is neither the time nor the place to fully delve into such things, for this letter has another intent… … … throughout this experience i have been in awe of the loving support given by family, known and unknown from around the country and the world, who have nourished me during this part of my journey ~ i’ve received such an inundating amount of mail that i haven’t been able to respond to it all ~ there is no concept that can adequately express my thanx and appreciation to you all… … to all of those unknown and unnamed beautiful individuals who have aided me on this case, i am impatiently waiting to thank you properly with a huge hug… … christine, i haven’t forgotten about the vegan dinner i promised… … to my counsel mark, who’s expertise in his field is unquestionable – his abilities, passion, and determination provide a wellspring of strength, especially knowing that he continues to fight for me – as he said on the 27th “it’s only the openings of the third quarter” ~ the notion of gratitude doesn’t begin to encompass the feeling in my heart, my friend, much love… … to jed, my investigator/case manager/Elder, your energies vested into this case have been the bedrock of grounded exploration, balancing the sometimes frenzied and boisterous antics that accompany markus’ high energy nature, thank you my friend… … i’d also like to thank bob, my first investigator, for his time, company and aid working on the hours upon hours of transcripts with me over that first summer (which my partner and sister painstakingly gleaned from the shockingly abhorrent quality of fbi recordings)… … the actions and aid of sac prisoner support have and continue to transcend any and all of my ideas concerning prisoner support groups and have been monumental in this experience on every conceivable front – too much love… … the Love, Support, and Understanding of my Parents and Sisters goes beyond scope, simile, and metaphor – i Love you all … … and i Feel and Know in my Heart, Body, and Soul that my survival has been impacted to an inexpressible degree by the Love and Support of my Partner ~ and the intertwining of Our Paths has brought a Depth and Quality of Life i had never before imagined to exist – my Thanx transcend language and my Love, only a Beginning… … …
my Thanx and Love 2 U All
This is far from Over
find your joy