I have various Sitting Stones in various places on the planet. Usually by water. Our reptilian brain seeks water. We have wiped most of the wildlife off the face of the earth. The ones here are living in museums. I do not mean zoos. I mean human zoos where we are allowed to run around like chickens at lunch hour. The museums of us. The security zones of us. Inside the trip wires of us. I am sitting here on the Sitting Stone I have made by this tiny river bank. It is several stones stacked because of my fat white ass. This is my woods. No one can come here. Just me. I have a Sitting Stone at Groom Lake. I have a Sitting Stone in Maine at Baxter. I have a Sitting Stone (it’s an orange crate) on a rooftop in New Orleans. I have a sitting stone just below the Hollywood sign (do not go there). I have a sitting chair in front of a window at the Benson Hotel. Never you mind. I have a sitting stool on the roodtop at 729 Jones. A border to Chinatown. I have a Sitting Stone right next to Geronimo’s Tree where all the eye glasses dangle from branches and sway languidly in wind where there is real, very real gunfire behind it, next to Geronimo there is a military shooting rangle. My Sitting Stone is a gravestone. I sit here drinking Jack Daniels. I walk over to a wire fence where crows congregate in annoyed curiosity. I unzip to pee and the zip zipped zip of bullets goes by your teeth and it could be chalked up to be an accident. Dead with his dick in his hands. The cemetery and the shooting range are too close. Life is walking a tight rope everywhere you care to look. Oklahoma is a shit hole. I have a Sitting Stone, Calle Allende, down the street a ways to El Rinconcito Grill. Where I can watch the entire town and noting on the GoProStamp stuff like time in case we need that at some point in the future which we always do.

We meet with the dudes we are selling stolen cars to. We are here to explain to Enrique that somone in his gang of thugs is working with the National Police, another cartel, and probably the most violent one. Cops. They cannot be predicted which is why they are so dangerous. They are usually working both sides, and everyone knows it, but no one dares say so.

That would include me. They slow me down when Mister Shotgun on the bike (behind me, my turn) demands I stop so he can bury dead people. He finds them in ditches. They’re fucking dead – they do not care and either will we if we bury all the dead drug dealers.

Gets back on the bike in a huffy huff. I have such a hard time evaluating risk for myself, if you add another person into the gravitas of that physics equation, you divide the different tricks into smaller groups. You cannot tell the whores from the whores. The real action is being on the inside of a raging riot (where is the risk in that) when suddenly, you are deaf, the whole world goes jumping jack flash ass silent. No one home. Riots are dangerous as shit. If it’s beginning to stink like burning plastic, it’s from the ammmunition they use against us.

I fucking turned the bike around. I’m too good at this to slip. Motor memory. Probably stupid. Probably on a cell phone somewhere. Once they stop with the rubber bullets, they start up with the kind of ammunition that when deployed will definitely kill someone as if those someones are simply objects. You aim into the group. Some people freeze. Some people freeze momentarily. Love. Sex. And death. Some people jump at it. You could kill people and it didn’t matter who. This is always both the problem and the solution. It’s inevitable that the positive mass was coing to collide with the antimatter mass mass goes jumping jack flash butthole silent. Physics gets it that some things happen that we cannot explain we fall into the trap of explaining the structure of the rabbit hole all of us were falling into.

Why the fuck bother.

I have a Sitting Stone at Ingonish. Do not go there during Canadian National Canadian Club and Beer Society ha ha Freedom Day. All cultures have them.

Tribalism goes extinct. Bugs. Freeze. Drought, and too much bugabuga anthropology, the crops up somewhere else get blown guts away by a snowstorm that was not supposed to happen but did.

But did. With you inside out. I have a Sitting Stone just above an adobe village built in what they call the Dark Ages. I don’t see it as being all that dark to the people who lived here. One problem is usually the weather, and you get wiped out. And off the map. Everyone I know has moved off the map and then, they land back on the map again for a while. Like riots and the reasons for the riots and at what point do the power structures stop tolerating tolerance. Moving in. You must decide. In ten seconds, it will be too late to turn back because you are caught up in a human tsunami. Fuck me. I can’t fuck you in the middle of a Big Wave Riot. Why. You mean why not. Why not. Because it’s against the law. It’s a riot. All of the voices want to know is when are we getting back on the bike and out of here.

Like. Kinda. Fast. You move. Do not bring a flag. Lady, you and your kid will get shot dead. You are in the way. The Big Girls are up front and they did not bring kids.

I had real doubts about bear spray. Oh, my fucking God. This would, indeed, stop a bear better than a gun could. Cops use it. Motorcycle masked helmets will stop it from getting into your eyes. But you might not want to drive away just yet. Bear spay turns into a real mess and you cannot see outside of the plastic mask. Kinda like a bad rain mixed with gasoline. There are kids in this wave thing, where the fuck are their parents.

I try not to look. No one knows. What the fuck.

It’s a riot. Fireworks aimed at cops are going off. No one really knows what happens next. That is what a riot and government have in common.

With a shovel we found stuck into the ground at a mass burial site. I wanted badly, so badly to get out of here. Very simple. Get out of here. I have seen what these guys can do. I have seen the bodies hanging from highway bridges.