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Activist Times Inc. Issue 082
ATI82. 6-17-97. 11:45 pm.
short pap #'s run: 1-888-875-2233 pin # 0797
http://www.geocities.com/rainforest/4101
Prime Anarchist here.
My life was threatened this afternoon just north of the Crandon Exxon mine
site. I'm going to type in my journal notes from that verbatim, and then
publish a friend's poem, and one of mine: and call that an ATI. All the
other stuff I planned for this issue will have to go in issue #83 this
Sunday. To quote teenagers (don't laugh, you were one once too) "SSS;" or
"sorry so short/sloppy".
A remembrance by PA
Today I will be spending a day or two at SEAcotopia, SEAC's annual national
gathering and the thought crossed my mind of a guy I met at Rutger's '88
about when ATI issue 1 came out. He had curly black hair and "average"
clothes on. What made him stick out in my mind was his Tandy 100 laptop. I
owned a model 200, but opted to not bring it along.
"What the heck you doing," elicited, "I'm writing a book about activism."
Nothing more. 4 or 5 years later I saw him again at SEAC's annual convention
in Boulder, Colorado. Someone else asked him that time, same answer. He's
still writing a book about activism.
I'd sure like to know who he is. I was tempted to ask him if he was still
writing that same book or starting another. Boyee, if I see him tonite I
may just have to ask, "you still writing that book???"
Unable to find the SEAC campsite I flagged down a passing 4X4 to ask if
they knew. Bad idea.
"There's an environmental group camping out here on this road somewhere
and they'd said look for signs, but I didn't see any," I asked. "Any idea
where they might be?"
"You're with them?" he asked me, and before I could finish saying not
as a member but visiting, he gritted his teeth and said, "get the fuck away
from me before you get shot." He popped the clutch and skidded off on the
gravel road behind me about 45 miles per. I continued on thinking if I saw
it ahead I'd go in, but I would not double back, fear of another skirmish
like that. There was a bar a mile or two ahead so I asked in there. No one
knew or none were talking. I went back out to my car. I was just wondering
if I ought to check for sabotage when I saw that same "four-by" doubling
back toward me. I put a hand up to show no weapons and get ready for
whatever ghandian conflict resolution I could muster up on an empty stomach.
I had to say I was writing ABOUT SEAC (student environmental action) and
not "with" them which is partially true, or deliberately out of context or
something. One's a logger and the other's the son of a logger it turned out.
The logger's about my age the other went probably about 17 yrs old. My age
had a long ponytail under a baseball cap like I used to wear, the younger
guy had a complete skin like I wear now.
Once I got rapor with them the one who'd threatened me said, "mostly what
I meant back there was there's other loggers all over there who WILL shoot
you." Then the other guy told me a bunch of stories about the terrible
things "them people" did to his dad like let the air out of his tires.
"We call them TREE HUGGERS," the threatener said. "They're in there," he
told me, "you'll find 'em. I just don't know exactly where, and don't care."
I told him I was just going to head home and say I couldn't find them. I
asked him where County G was to route 55 and he was happy to tell me. Shook
my hand and exchanged first names and everything. (no. I'm not ABOUT to
print his information here.)
They're probably still in that bar talking me up among the 10 or 12
stools I'd asked while taking a leak just before that second encounter.
"There's some environment group in there on Double Bend road I'm s'posed
to be writin' about," I asked the bartender. "Any idea what sight they
might be on? I couldn't find any signs."
She gave me the "no" that seemed like "I know but I'm not tellin."
"Said there'd be signs to follow," I tried. "you didn't hear anythin'?"
"Nuh uh," she said nodding "no" with her head while her hands and eyes
told me "yes; but don't push it." So, I gave up and went outside which
was where I saw the two guys driving up. I think they were more scared of
me than I was of them. Come to think of it, I wonder if they were scared
other loggers might shoot-first-ask-questions-later regarding their
ass-oh-see-ate-in' with the likes of me.
Hunter S. Thompson would've gone back in that bar, drank some wild turkey
and grapefruit juice, then back in that forest, but then HST carries
artillery. I don't/won't.
CONNECTICUT SPRING '97 by Ray Ellis.
It's spring here in Southern New England
Last week the hills were mossed with tree-top
Each tree-top a lacework of delicate green
or red; a mauve, but alive!
the greens were set in random patternlets
across the hilltops in the lower connecticut
river valley.
when topping a ridge
in my car:
the wind shaped swell-wave
across the green lacery
JOURNAL POEM 12 from the selfpublished (150 copies) "I Slurp My Coffee." by
Marc Harry Ehrenfrucht.
Our Revolution
Seventeen seventy six:
Merely a French coup?
Dress loud and tip big.
Waiting for payday for a
Pepper pizza pie.
John Waters says he
Wants to be Walt Disney for
Peculiar children.
Vegetarian
Chili is just perfect for
Personality.
Sometimes I put too
Many haikus in each poem;
sometimes I do not.
Banana, cottage cheese, grapefruit,
Tuna sandwich, homefries and coffee.
Sleeping too deeply to dream.
Airborne, infantry, cattle rancher
Or rodeo clown?
Woke up one morning
Wanting to run away and
Join the circus:
Then I got in my
Army uniform and
Reported for work.
I'll see that when I
Believe it. A play on words;
And also a haiku.
Easter on the Pearl Street Mall,
Rich carries a piano on his
Back. 4 wheel dolly and a
Shoulder harness.
Upright piano on the
Sidewalk for tips.
--- --- --- --- ---
That was ATI issue # 82 and I was your host the Prime Anarchist
As per usual, send all schtuff to ATI c/o
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