Finally, Someone Gets It (part three)

If you know me at all,
you know I've had more than my fair share
of run-ins with the police; some deserved,
some prevoked, and some just out-right brutal
(like this one):


Now, now there are all of these internets
outlets that are still smelling like freshly opened packages---
Remember how we lived before the internet?
---this brand new, hand-made way of documenting, of reporting. . .


I wish I had the videos from the squad cars that got me,
from the jail cells that held me,
the 911 tape recordings that I dialed-in
personally, the swabs from inside my mouth,
the mug shots of me with a shattered, fractured face;
the dot-matrix receipts of my breath results,
and the gelatin off of the x-rays of my broken bones,
just so you could see, so you could see.

See my whole hand print reflected in the glass,
and digitized right here too. There's a record of it.
My greasy palm stains that I left
etching into the tarnished brass.

(Perhaps I'll make that a new project for myself:
jumping through the buraucratic hoops to collect those long lost
public records and present them sometime down the road, calling it

Body Art All Over

A Retrospective of All the Reasons Joseph Beuys was Wrong,
or Another Attempt at Reconciling Art Practice and Real Life.)
by Justin Aubrey Kidd.

You would be amused.
(Quite possibly appalled.)

*_*

We can all still pretend, right?
There is no need for a gallery exhibit,
or any sort of presentation, outside of this one here.

The artefacts, if you know me at all, are now a part of you,
this world of group-sourcing, wiki wiki savvy---
Go catch the cobra in its hood.

Pardon me, as I step aside.
I'm not so sure I trust the cobra.
Wary of another beating, I remember,
Life is nasty brutish and short.

What?

Who believes in that?

Life is beautiful.

Anyone who tells you otherwise, ought not be someone in your life.

Be occupied with things you love, not by the things you fear.

*_*

If you're into that sort of funny kind of research,
If you enjoy dealing with the government on an individual level, or
if you have a monthly subscription to one of those
background checker Magnum PI computer forensics programs,
do look me up.


A Scavenger Hunt!

A Race to See:
1) Who gets my X-rays first? (two sets)
2) Who can find my mug shots? (Collect all SIX!)
3) Who finds my credit report to see my extensive delenquency.
(bonus if you find out who is the nice person who took out a 30K loan
in my name and is actually honest enough to pay it back.)
4) Who will find the 911 phone call recordings? (seven episodes)
5) Who can find the digital scan of both my palms?

Find All Five and Win!

*_*

For now, tangentially, my only proof is this:

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/?rn=4226712&cl=9020749&src=news

(If I could embed this video, I would.)
[EDIT: I learned a new trick while I was rewriting this.]

Now, why would a document (on the internet) become officially lost?

*_*

With that, I will leave you with this, my favorite words.

*_*

XXXIII

poor flowers in their flower beds
of manicured, tended gardens.
They look so scared, so afraid of the police...
manipulated,

but they're so alive that they still bloom
in the same way as before, as with the ancient colors,
the same color they all came with into this, their wild state.
Born,

as when the first gaze of the first man
who got startled looking and reaching out
to touch them lightly so that he might also see
with his small fingers.

---Alberto Caeiro. (metanym of Fernando Pessoa.)

*_*