Photo by the urban fabric (all rights reserved by photographer)
On October 6th I joined the Occupy Dallas protesters in the march to the Federal Reserve Bank. Since that time they have remained camped out at Pioneer Park in downtown Dallas near the convention center. They are feuding with the city of Dallas for the right to remain as the City requires the protestors to post a $1,000,000 bond.
The Dallas Observer, an alternative (i.e. honest) weekly paper, posted a blog on the march which sparked 241 comments. I admit my reaction to the movement was lukewarm at first but seeing the bitter consternation it engendered in conservatives tipped the scales completely for me. I thought I'd share a few of the more choice engagements:
I haven't really been able to figure out what the organizers of "Occupy Wall Street" are protesting against and what they are asking be done. To hear some of those interviewed, it's just a bunch of folks with too much time on their hands complaining about everything they can think of with no real objectives.
Darren Schmits and 21 more liked this
This is about exhaustion. People who are tired of watching the vast majority of the country waste away. People who are tired of privatized profits and socialized losses. This about the top 1% of the population controlling nearly 40% of its wealth, while the bottom rungs have less than 1%. This is about corruption and the influence of money at every level of government, in both parties, in all places. There are many, many voices in this movement: leftists, liberals, tea partiers, libertarians, labor unions, anarchists, independents, black, white, latino, old, young, working class, middle class, etc. The call for accountability is being made. Once those in power hear that, then we can begin to make our demands, each one of us, and map out a future for everyone.
drklassen and 33 more liked this
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What a waste of time on a beautiful fall day in Dallas.
Go to the fair, ride the ferris wheel and eat a corny dog.
You'll feel better right away.
Darren Schmits and 8 more liked this
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Lol! You could get a job and earn $ you know. I'm an actual taxpayer, with a job, and i don't owe you communist wannabes anything. Btw, don't forget...The top 10% of wage earners pay 50% of taxes...The bottom 47%? Not one cent...
Andy Nold and 5 more liked this
You want to prove your claim that the bottom 47% pay no taxes? Remember, "taxes" includes sales taxes, property taxes, gas taxes, payroll taxes, and a wide range of taxes beyond income taxes.
I ask because you won't be able to actually back that statement up with proof, seeing as how it isn't true.
drklassen and 6 more liked this
I love it when people throw out that figure.
Yes, the bottom don't pay a cent in income tax - why? BECAUSE THEY"RE POOR! You don't pay an income tax if your under the poverty line!
Taxes on food, water, property, gas, clothes and other purchases? They pay those. Social Security? Yeah, they pay that, too.
And that top 50% you're in love with? The trust-fund babies pay 15% in taxes and never work a day.
drklassen and 11 more liked this
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Want the rich to pay more taxes and suddenly you're a dirty hippie; want an American-born President to produce a birth certificate and you're grass-roots democracy in action. And they say the media is liberal.
Jay Hawk and 18 more liked this
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The new slogan of American culture: Hate anyone who has a better idea and/or better work ethic than you. I mean, how dare anyone think that they deserve more pay and a better quality of life just because they try a lot harder in life overall and take full responsibility for themselves! The nerve!
Mister_Mean liked this
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get a job
connielowe1 and 15 more liked this
I don't you noticed but after the financial institutions ruined our economy with out of control irresponsible practices and malfeasance and other companies shipped jobs overseas in the pursuit of higher corporate profits there aren't that many jobs left.
Coleman and 20 more liked this
If you cant get a job your not a very good worker or are afraid to work or your skills are outdated and you need to seek retraining
pak152 and 4 more liked this
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Sad, but not unexpected, to see some of the comments here.
Yes, there's not a lot of coherence in this movement or its goals right now. The thing is brand new. Coherence will emerge. Right now, there are thousands of people spouting off tens of thousands of agenda points. It'll get more clear.
If you don't get the gist of it by now, try this: http://bit.ly/nmr004
Douglas Rushkoff tried to help make this thing a little more understandable: http://bit.ly/mS5q1p I think he did a pretty good job.
Educate yourselves. Doesn't it worry you that so much of our nation's wealth is concentrated in the hands of so few? If it doesn't worry you, please help me understand why it doesn't.
John2247 and 12 more liked this
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Personally, I think it's too late to protest. Rare is the soul who trusts nature over money. As long as money has ultimate say in our society then doom is inevitable and inescapable. It's not the job of money to provide justice or even to provide our survival - we just pretend it is, a grand collusion to one day be defrocked. We let money decide everything for us, even who lives and who dies. As John Lennon said, it's not about what you're against, it's what you're for that counts.
But those who truly hate social justice, who despair of living for anything but greed, who find an open mind the most terrifying of all human conditions, are rightly mortified by these protests. All movements start with breaking the silence about the abuse. Those who fear they'll be left behind lash out and defame those who've broken away to a new and better future.
To me, I don't really care about the specifics of this movement. What it's really about is the human spirit. As we slowly, oh so tentatively embrace our humanity and learn to trust it, as money worship goes the way of witch burning and all other superstitions, a new dawn will emerge for those willing to accept it. When that time comes, these gods who live in ivory towers of steel and glass will see their confines for what they truly are: a prison.
Capitalism, next to war, is the most naive of all human endeavors. It's a system set up to reward greed. And as I heard one person say, capitalism is a way of harnessing human selfishness for the greater good. And so-called human reason says we can trust that to always benefit us. You know, because greedy people will never fuck you.
Well, it's certainly pleasant to think so.
Those of us who live in the real world know differently. The idea of "regulating" greed is as about as idiotic as the idea of "regulating" murder (war by any other name). Sooner of later the dam always bursts. And while we argue about whether or not we should stick our fingers in the dam, we do so while ignoring the bigger picture that the dam is going to burst regardless as long as we allow the greed to keep flowing.
But I also know most people won't believe that until the dam actually breaks. As Moses said, "People will think, 'I am safe, even though I persist in going my own way.' This will bring disaster on the watered land as well as the dry." The truth is we've created a life in the shadow of a dam that's going to break. Everyone knows that, no one admits it!
"Oh, we have a plan for the facts: we plan to deny them!"
The human comedy is a pretty goddam funny thing if the consequences weren't so tragic. So let us come down from the mountain to see the ripples of human movement up close, where the friction of discourse comes to bear and souls brought to light. Yet even in tragedy there is beauty, because in the end we find the goal of all human efforts is to obtain love. And that's when we'll realize it's love we can trust - and nothing else.
The leaking of the dam is becoming more and more undeniable. Lies are crumbling under their own weight and the desperation to keep them alive only increases their outrageousness. Listen to this idiot of a Presidential candidate (that could only happen in a dying country):
Riddle me this, fat man. How many of your pizza making employees did you pay enough to get rich, you disingenuous jackass? And exactly how much money would you have made without them? The answer to both those questions is zero - same as your IQ. If we lived in a reality based society this man would be in a mental institution for delusional thinking, getting the help he so clearly needs.
And it would be provided through socialistic means.
Most people don't know there was actually a faction of liberal democratic progressives in the Russian parliament during the power struggles of the 1917 revolution. The people rejected those voices, embracing instead those who would institute policies that resulted in the starvation of tens of millions. Finally, a few decades of untold suffering later, they start to think, "Gee, democracy may not be so bad after all." Any democracy in the West could have told them this was going to happen.
It will be the same thing with greed.
With these thoughts in mind, I traveled down to Pike's Park just outside of downtown Dallas to see this ripple that hoped to become a wave. First thing I noticed was a massive police presence. From paddy wagons to plastic cuffs to a command center and a helicopter, they came prepared to keep order in our society at all costs.
Shame they don't have that same attitude towards the banksters.
I've heard some folks openly wonder just what are these people protesting. Or to put it another way, they're asking: "Why aren't these people happy getting fucked?" Gee, boss, I jess dotn't knows the ansser to that. Then with the same air of unanswerable mystery they ponder just what could these protesters possibly want. Uh, to not be fucked? (Just a wild guess there)
Though laced on the edges with some anger and frustration, the vibe at Occupy Dallas was a positive one. Non-violence and cooperation with the police were wisely stressed. The protesters were laughing and enjoying themselves. It seemed well organized and focused and if there was any grumbling there I didn't hear it.
Free provisions were made available
As often happens with the homeless, we like to show the most "deserving" ones to tell the story of that tragedy. But even the biggest asshole in the world deserves a home (Hi, Mr. Bush!) And I also read where the Occupy protesters were asked to dress in business casual so that they too could be "sold" better. Now you see why political people are never any fun.
Thank God the protestors didn't listen to that horse crap.
The planned walk from the park down to the Federal Reserve building was without even the hint of incident. The police cordoned off the streets to allow a quick and easy procession. A few cars honked in sympathy to the cause and before you know it we were at the Fed giving The Man what for!
A few watchers from on high
The arrival was pretty anti-climatic. Chants were started and signs flashed to the passing traffic. Dallas is not a protest city. There was no real outbreak of civil rights marches in the sixties. Instead, city leaders bought off the black preachers and it remains that way to this day (some even think that's their right!). So I can imagine this protest - however feckless its results might be - raised the hackles of many loser Dallasites who saw it.
I also have video from the event but that will take a few more days to process and post. The whole experience was exhausting and draining. Even though I wore my (fake) press pass to differentiate myself, the idea of being the object of so many eyeballs and the police can be a bit nerve-wracking. The protesters, however, fed off that energy and with it came alive.
And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.
At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and went into the holy city and appeared to many people.
When the [asshole Roman] centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!”
********************
The shaded man walked into the bar with a face withdrawn from the sun. Around him stood an invisible barrier between him and every living creature; he was on the earth, but not of it. His heart pumped cold, disinterested blood and his manic mind was that of two hands slipping from the edge of reality, the weight of even his own body too much to bear. Through forlorn prison bars from within peered the man's eyes, marooned as one on a far distant planet unknown in the cosmos. In his soul a bleeding blackness consuming the hope of seeking hope.
The bartender felt the shiver of the man in his bones. "I swear this has got to be the spookiest day of my life." It ran through everyone this dreaded blackness, but so gripping was its fear few were those with innocence to name it. A cruel breach of faith, a connection lost to living life, a feeling of being hurled into a dark pit with only one's own strength to ever escape. Many darting eyes had staggered into the room this day looking for a drugged release.
But the shaded man, he was something different. His punctured sorrow ran deeper and stronger, his intelligence more tragic in its knowing, his iron cage of despair indestructible. Any other day the bartender might have challenged him, maybe even attacked a wretched soul such as this but today he merely watched in silenced trance as the man motioned for a decanter - a full one.
Still in the trance the barkeep handed it over and a noisy coin was flipped in return. Instinctively the bar man knew not to touch it, that the price of accepting it was higher than the price of refusing it. He backed away from the bar and sat on his stool mulling the vast curious guilt sweeping him into a lesser future he had not dreamed might become him.
The shaded man took his carafe but sipped it not. What was the point? He had nowhere left to run, the clock of doom ticking in his head. He knew this day was the worst in human history, marking every soul from then until the end of time. He'd exchanged flowers of love for weeds of anger. Too late he breathed his fate.
I must die, he told himself. I'll have them kill me in righteous anger like the pig that I am. He swayed in rhythmic rocking as the thought swirled within his soul. How can I ever escape? There's not enough time in eternity...
"I killed a man," he spoke for all to hear.
The man hoped a swift and furious beating would send him to his grave with the wrath of those who knew his sin. But on this day, even if one were so inclined, none lifted a finger or even an arched brow. Instead, a burly man replied while staring into his drink.
"I killed a man too in '68. A Roman I had to bury in the desert. Knifing that animal was a satisfaction I cannot describe. There's worse things to do than killing a man."
"Not when he's innocent," confessed the shaded man.
"That's a different matter," agreed the burly man, relieved for this sliver of distraction. "But how do you know he was innocent."
"I know, I know. I knew this man as a brother. We dreamed together of a world that can be. A world lost to me now forever."
The conversation sucked the air out of the room. A viral panic attacked the shaded man. How could he make them understand? Pleeeease help!
"How did you kill him?" inquired a murderer in the room.
"I betrayed him," came the grateful reply. "I pointed him out to the butchers. I told myself they were good men. Maybe not the best men but never killers. I told myself I could later claim 'I thought them good' and make the argument I'd been an honest soul who'd been swindled and still retain acceptance. What I didn't count on was that I knew. I know the truth. I knew those men were men of dead hearts."
"But if you didn't touch him you didn't kill him. Those bad men did."
"The priests didn't know what they were doing. If there's one thing I can tell you though I know it will be lost on your ears is that these men will be killing you for centuries to come. They'll hide behind holy relics and call it the wrath of God but if you believe that they will butcher you in the worst ways possible. Do not fall into the same trap I did. Do not believe honoring them is honoring life."
But the guilty in the room felt beholden to the men who claimed holiness - even upon pain of death. And the liars in the room knew they could never betray mutual liars without revealing themselves. And those seeking approval could never tear down idols of the world they knew they could be bought with a coin. So like the shaded man said, his words were lost on their ears. But a particularly wicked man retorted in kind.
"Maybe a rat like you shouldn't be so quick to judge. Maybe those men knew what they were doing with an understanding beyond your own. Who are you to speak of the temple priests who go all the way back to the times of Moses?"
Even drowning in pain a smirk forced itself on the shaded man's face. He'd seen this trick a thousand times: call the other man a dog then accuse him of your own sins. He could ask his accuser who was he to speak ill of him. He could mock the shaky ground upon which he stood and tell him no man who can satisfy a woman who speaks as he does. Or he could ask him of his tithing, knowing a bitter soul does not share.
Suddenly he understood the silence of Jesus before Pilate. The accuser knows he lies, it's his job to admit it. No one else can do it for him. But this too was a bitter root, having found truth and peace too late.
"Well!" fumed the wicked accuser. "What do you say? I'm talking to you!" His heart on fire, he slung back his chair, stormed over and raised his hand to strike the head of the shaded man with a stroke of death. But failing to see his victim move or defend himself in any way his arm remained paralyzed in mid air. In his raging heart he screamed for the shaded man to fight back, to justify the stroke of death. Suddenly he became self-conscious, feeling the eyes watching him in guileless wonder.
The shaded man sat in a hurricane's eye of peace within the storm of his soul. The man with his arm above him had not really spoken to him. He had spoken to himself - argued with himself, wrestled with himself. He was beyond reason.
Desperate to save face, the accusing man declared, "Eh, you're not worth the effort!" and scurried out of the room.
Now all eyes moved to the shaded man. Who was he? There was something special about him. This man had walked down paths unknown to their lives. He had news of the "other side" of life. Perhaps even news that could save them. Dare they believe such a thing or was that mere fantasy?
Seeing him in this new light, a younger soul spoke up. "So why did you betray him?" Seeing he'd gotten the man's attention the man-child added as way of explanation: "You said he was your brother."
A brother, yes. But I too clever by half. "I thought he was going to get us killed! The way he was talking - you have to understand no one was going to accept his words in the end."
A thirsty man butted in. "His words were that powerful?"
Oh God, how do I make them understand? If only he'd been a nobody or an untrue person. "Yes, words that walked on water. Words without preconception or malice. But words that reflected the ugliness of man - even if spoken so that man may drink from the pure well and not the poisoned."
"Who would want to drink from a poisoned well??" rebuked the young man, guilty in the reflection.
"Men who see profit in it."
"That's just nuts."
"Ever lie to a girl to get sex?"
"But that's different!" Then the boy spoke no more, stung by his admission.
The wine reached through the shaded man's veil. "It's over for me. I thought since his love would destroy me I might live by destroying him. Only after the betrayal did I realize his love could never harm me, he was innocent in all ways. My future is gone, I punctured the life boat of survival. You see, I knew everything, but understood nothing. It's obvious to me now I intended to betray him all along."
No one in the room knew what the shaded man spoke of, but each felt an understanding - a terrifying understanding. It was like their inner souls had been split wide open and the man had taken them into dark caves they hoped never to face. Wandering those caves, not knowing the way out or even if a way out existed, draws in ancient horror to the soul, as if one is looking up to the surface of water but cannot reach it, drowning in panic.
Though he knew his words inadequate and false even before he spoke them, the grip of choking silence had to be broken. A sensitive soul walked over to the shaded man, putting his hand on the shady man's shoulder, speaking in supplication. "He was just one person."
Hearing this, the shaded man almost fell out of his chair, repelled by the man's words. As if a thousand angry wolves had spotted him and chosen him as their meal, the shaded man fled the bar and all human contact, holing up in a cave outside of town. "Nobody understands what has happened or what I did. It could take a hundred lifetimes for them to realize the gravity of the situation. I'm alone. I'm all alone and can tell no one of my crime. 'Just one person'! What madness!" In this moment, the shaded soul was too afraid even to cry, lest his tears betray him.
***
Three very long days later the cave dweller dared the light. Left adrift in the ocean he begged for a lifeline, any lifeline. Then he seemingly found one as he reached the edge of town: a soul who could understand.
"Peter!"
"Judas!"
"What happened? You look so lost and confused."
"I've done a terrible thing right before the eyes who loved me most. Three times in the night I denied Jesus to save my life. How can I ever live with myself? The test came and I failed! He said for us to hate our lives, but I failed. I stand before you an incomplete man. You have no idea how I ache to redeem myself. Of this pain I fear I'll never be free. Some disciple I am."
Judas took his first breaths since news of Jesus' death. He was not alone in the world after all. Was hope to be had after all? "Peter, I must tell you something. If you wish never to see me again I understand. But even that is better than no one knowing."
"What? What is it?"
"It was I who betrayed our master. I feared we'd all meet his fate. You know my gift is to see into the hearts of men. I blamed Jesus for the malice I saw and in my madness betrayed him. Like you, what I did cannot be undone. Oh, what I would not give to have the unburdened soul of those around me! I search and search but can find not even a speck of forgiveness."
"But you must! You must find a way to forgive yourself!"
"Jesus would never want that. Not now. It's Nature's justice I suffer and no one can help with that, not even him. You know that!"
"Jesus wants only life. You know that too."
A small doubtful flickering shone deep in the eyes of Judas. He saw himself embraced by Jesus, tears flowing at last. He'd give himself up, turn over his life, never questioning love again. A rising peace calmed Judas and as his dawning eyes reached up to look into the smile of Peter, he found a sliver of hope between the waves of pain. In this moment he wished to reside forever.
Then a buzzing crowd, excited and frenetic burst onto the two men with news that could not be contained. "He's back! Miracle of miracles! He's back! I've never felt so alive in my life. Do you hear me? He's back!!"
"Who, man? Who is back?" Peter asked with equal intrigue.
"Jesus! He rose from the dead! Can you believe it!" Then the crier ran off to find the next uninformed soul.
Peter and Judas instantly understood and in that moment even felt a little foolish for not seeing this coming. Their reactions, however, were quite polar.
"Yes! Yes!" exclaimed Peter.
"No! No!" exclaimed Judas.
As Peter started off in the direction of the excitement, he noticed Judas taking the opposite direction. "Judas, come! We're saved. Thank the heavens! Come make your peace."
But the mute Judas could not speak. His fantasy of repentance and love he believed to be just that: a fantasy. He wished to give in, to go run with Peter to once again feel the light of the world, a feeling of grace and eternity no man can deny. But the pride of Judas made him his own judge, still thinking himself smarter, picturing Jesus rebuking him for all to see, making him a forever outcast in this life and the next. The angry, hungry wolves had returned and their victim ran for his life.
When Peter returned, three times Jesus asked him if Peter loved him and three times Peter replied yes. This healed Peter, committing himself to a love beyond his life, freeing him from the bondage of his denial. But with the absent Judas - and his look of absolute fear - still on his mind, Peter asked of Judas' fate.
Jesus replied: "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?"
***
Judas never heard those words. In a vacant field he lifted his arms to the sky, then fell to his knees. Were he ever to see this field again he'd not forget it, knowing these his last few moments on precious earth. Suddenly, the infinity of a flower blossomed in his mind. He wished to run back to town to discover the miracle laying hidden right before the daily eyes of man. Trust nature, he wished to say. Trust nature and all will be fine and inviolate - the dream we all dream. But in the eyes of man that's just a fantasy.
"Love is not meant for me! This is a far, far better thing I do. Jesus should not have to suffer my presence. I'm doing him a favor. I'm doing the world a favor. I hope my name is forever mocked and scorned. 'He was a man without courage or faith.' Oh, dear God!"
Judas released his grip, falling into his self fury and the strangling noose. But of the Twelve it was he who was the greatest dreamer, who knew of the day when the lion and lamb would lay together. This made the heart of Judas sing like no other's, but this song he did not share.
Having come across this headline I knew I had to make one last visit to this bridge which had become a quasi-friend to me in my Bonnie and Clyde trek. Built in 1939 - years after Clyde's infamous barreling full speed down Highway 83 into a washed out gorge - the bridge fell into disrepair and now has reached such a state that TxDOT has decided it must be destroyed. A Facebook page and a petition signed by thousands as part of an organized effort to save it was to no avail. Money wins again.
Historical marker used to be south of the bridge and on the other side.
Driving like a madman I was able to reach the ceremony about 45 minutes after it started. I found the spot where the historical marker had been moved and I joined in the crowd who was now lining up for BBQ sandwiches. I heard a group of high school kids were taking video interviews of everyone who had a memory of the bridge and would then post it on the school web page. There was a definite sadness - and frustration - in the air. I too shared those feelings though I'm sure to a lesser degree.
The vans were used to shuttle everyone to the bridge later on.
I wandered off to the concrete pillars that represented where the original bridge had been, the bridge that was washed out as the Barrow gang came flying through. The Pritchard family gave a helping hand to the outlaws because it was understood then that in times like that we all have to hang together.
There were no sympathetic feelings for Bonnie and Clyde. One person simply describing them as "mean people". Gladys Cartwright, who had her finger shot off during the Pritchard's encounter with the gang, continued to live in the area for years and would "tell her story to anyone who asked." She died a few years ago. You can read the full story on my Bonnie and Clyde page.
I found massive rust on the bridge both above and below, in some places it had eaten right through. I don't know the year it was shut down but I imagine it was some time ago. Even so, I would have to think that tearing it down will be quite a task with its sturdy construction. One has to wonder why it was not maintained.
After being shuttled over, we poured out onto the bridge for one last exploration and experience. A heard at least one woman say she had never been on it before. (One normally has to stop off the highway and walk through cones to get on it) One good old boy told how his trailer got loose when he rumbled onto the bridge too hard and the trailer ricocheted from side to side until finally it blocked the bridge entirely. Some of the older folks were especially anxious to climb aboard one last time.
I was fascinated by the interconnecting struts and their crisscrossing shadows. We see a lot of truss bridges used for railroads in these parts but most are not as intricate as this one. I found a certain sort of extra elegance in this one as I imagined it with a fresh coat of paint and rust free. If anyone has a spare two mil, you certainly could become a hero in Wellington if you refurbished it.
But there was no denying the rot and rust spreading like a disease over her body. It was because a giant chunk out fell out in the road she was shut down. Makes one wonder about Texas's bridge inspection policy - or lack thereof. If estimates are true, over 22 trillion dollars worth of infrastructure repairs are needed across the country. Amazing how people still speak of us as a wealthy nation, clinging to a past that no longer exists.
Hastily made repair to the hole
Rust chips flaking off of their own accord
God only knows the purpose of that PVC pipe
I was able to educate one woman on the history of Clyde Barrow and the unspeakable brutality he endured in prison. While she said she did not condone his subsequent actions she also said "no one should have to go through that." I just wanted to make the point Clyde was a societal creation and she seemed to get that. I'm always campaigning for prison reform in my own way.
The locals gathered for a last official photo. Everyone I met was very kind, very laid back - and very conservative. We tend to pigeonhole people by their political beliefs, forgetting we are all ignorant in one way or the other. Don't get me wrong, I felt very out of place there even have grown up not far from Wellington. But I know there's another side to these people even as I had to listen to one fellow badmouth the "tree huggers and environmentalists" who were "ruining the country."
I know to God's ears I've said things just as idiotic.
One last longing look
I made my way back under the bridge to Pioneer Park
As I drove away I kept picturing the stunned, desperate creatures of Bonnie and Clyde climbing the hill to the Pritchard's house. If you're not on the right path then life becomes merely one mishap after another as you slowly degrade. Hell's gate opened up and forever seared the land where I had just walked.
Our current depression is a far angrier one than the Great Depression. It's meaner, more short-tempered, more violent in its nature; a final hardening of the heart. I wonder how many millions will fall through hell's gate this time around. The biggest tragedy, of course, is that none of it has to happen. How strange it was that visiting the past was so much like living in the present.
