I have not been writing words because I have been talking them until my tongue is thick with the leftover of things said.  This to be rectified soon.

I am leaving soon, four days, after the quieter time after a more wild winter, before things look to ramp up in weeks to come.  So the time I've been here has seemed a coalescence, a gathering itself up for those weeks ahead.  That said, still struck from earlier tonight: in the EMA march, a single line of sight back from ten yards ahead caught, at once, a set of mouths, the same neon green worn by march stewards and the line of police four steps ahead,  the worn chant WHOSE STREETS? OUR STREETS, and the fact of a cop rolling tranquilly ahead on the motorcycle that was leading the way for the march on those very streets.  The jelly-thick medium in which no particle movement is possible.

Worse, the fact that this is only worse because it reveals what is generally the case.  I understand in full that no one wants to be "responsible" for the kettling/beating of high school kids nor should such an outcome be invited or produced.  Understand more in full that such a category of responsibility has to be entirely run off the road, right with its slow-rolling pace-bike, and fast, if things are to fall apart better.