UR COP DAD BEING MEAN TO U ISNT POLICE BRUTALITY: sitting in the drunk tank isnt the same as / solitary confinement / jaywalking without a / drivers license isnt the same as the / bomb squad / in ur bedroom / isnt the same as a police
escort tail stuck in traffic behind me / ur cop dad being mean 2 u isnt police brutality / ur psych ward stay doesnt count as a criminal charge / unless ur pleading 2 insanity but wait / then ud / have 2 actually be arrested instead of / just fanfictioning urself into a cell / what do u mean uve never been on probation / lmfao i know the media has / romanticized the notion of the feds / watching u undress thru ur tablet camera / but ur inst@ pic proving / u were at that protest isnt the same / as my dms printed out 4 a judges evaluation / isnt the same as a fb photo / asking my ex 2 identify a shape in the distance / that might be me / now im not calling u a rat/ im just pointing out that / j. edgar hoover was a faggot too btw / feel free 2 cancel me id luv a reason 2 / disappear id luv a way 2 delete my archive / from the collective memory but i stg if i see / another thing i said credited to ur brand / nevermind after i send this im never / thinking abt u again.
title of project: EN/CRYPTID [OR, AGAINST THE SHADOW STATE]
[SUBJECT: multiple smashed cellphones from different technological eras]
EXPOSITION: this project started a long time ago. let me explain. when you are on the run— from the law, from abuse, from who you used to be— it is necessary to arrange the front-facing parts of yourself in such a way that you are prepared to be discovered. because let’s be honest. drivers licenses used to be printed on paper (this is how ted bundy escaped from prison multiple times. i’m not the kinda bitch who creams over serial killers because i’m not a sociopath, but i envy a world that assumes you are not lying— that lets you lie relentlessly and recklessly). now, i am accused of faking myself because the kid in my drivers license— hard eyes, short hair, jutted chin, holding back tears— had just gotten out of jail, and the kid the bar-tender/tow-trucker/probation-officer is looking at— long hair, chin soft, laughing hopelessly, possibly a transsexual but definitely a faggot— are not the same people. or maybe they are but i don’t recognize myself in there anymore. i just see someone breaking so cleanly in half that no one noticed until it was too— late, maybe? nah, that kid was always gonna grow up to be me.
oh right, the project— so trying to stay ahead of yourself involves some back-channel preparation. a go-bag with your favorite jewelry. a note typed up and left on your roommate’s bed. memorizing the first phone number you’d call if a cop spit your rights at you. most of the times i’ve been arrested— not caught, the cops were just playing catch-up— my phone has been stolen. i say stolen, because there was no warrant, although even if there had been i still would use the same word. to streamline the process of having a way to contact people after i am released, i began collecting phones that didn’t work without a little sweet-talk— the shitty slides, the hesitant androids, the cheapest and easiest and ugliest (which is also my gender identity, but we’ll get to that eventually (maybe)).
of course, sometimes i spend money i don’t have on a phone that doesn’t work, and the return address returns my request for re-acquisition. of course, there is still a chance the phone they take next time won’t be a decoy. of course, of course, of fucking course, when i am testing these machines, when i am trying to coax them out of self-destruction, they laugh at me and then die, like a tiny parade of cops, thinking they are winning when really they are giving me a meme or poem or riot— all forms of art, all born out of acute distress, born after the f[act].
this project is a timeline of my own scramble to assert myself as a post-tech experiment— how long can i last without ALL CAPSING MY EMOTIONS / how long before someone asks me for a selfie without me posting one as a not-even-veiled cry for affirmation— that i am alive, that someone, ANYONE, has watched me look like this, and we both agree with that / what does it mean to break a phone the way one would shred an identifying document / to crush a screen without protecting it before or after / to SCREAM or SING or CRY without begging for someone to listen / to know i’m worth the space i take up even if no one sees me doing it /
each broken screen represents a constellation that does not exist. each broken phone represents a Turing test i resent because i have logicked the magic out of my emotions. each time i brought the hammer down i said a prayer to myself. each time you look at this, remember i am not there, inside the phone, trapped under the moral weight of a media-machine, but rather i escaped— i hobbled away / i changed my name / i drove until i didn’t recognize the road / i left the rest behind.
They Threaten Us With Jail And Expect Us To Accept Plea Deals But We've Prepared For This
Step 1: Kidnap the individual. Usually this is an arrest, and it is humiliating. In front of your whole block. In front of your family. They will treat you the same for the most part but will hold the image in the back of their throat forever like a sob.
Step 2: Put the individual into court and/or prison system. Their record is created. They are tagged as suspicious. They are dragged in front of a court/judge. They are told their rights were explained to them but we didn't get a say in what those rights should be.
Step 3: Introduce the individual to the inhumanity of the prison industrial system. (((For me, this was the warden asking me if I was going to be a problem. No, sir. No sir. Nosir. In a genuinely decentralized, decolonized, demilitarized world, this man would not exist. But I exist in both worlds.))) For many others, it is an ankle bracelet. It is GPS monitored but can also connect to remote WiFi, so if the individual is out-of-range of the bracelet's homebase, they can still be tracked by the government. (((She sent me pictures of her ankle rubbed almost thru to the bone from the weight of it // i heard about someone whose bracelet fucked his ankle up so bad he needed surgery)))
Step 4: Threaten the individual with indefinite confinement. "If you don't take this plea deal, we will charge you with a felony. If you don't tell us their names, we won't give you bail. If you don't agree with us, then we won't let you speak. If we can convince them you're lying, then we will."
Step 5: Postpone court dates. It always goes like this: My lawyer (J.C.) gets a call saying I have court on a certain date and time. The night before the aforementioned date, I get a call from J.C. telling me court isn't at 12 anymore, they moved it up to 8AM. I scream a little more high pitched each time something stressful happens from henceforward. The morning of court my emotional support comrades/lovers and I are milling around and J.C. is talking to the judge, or to a secretary, or blah blah blah whatever's going on, it drags on forever, and then at 9:30AM, J.C. comes out and is like, "They have a new way they want to present the charges so they postponed the date until [whatever a month from whatever day this is happening on is], all you have to do is sign this paper," and that's when it hits that I wore this frcking uncomfortable shirt for nothing.
Step 6: Bury evidence they don't actually have. Person A is charged with multiple felonies and given house arrest for the duration of their case. They are offered a deal they say no to b/c their lawyer is good and Fuck 12. The prosecutor drops the weakest felonies, and attempts to broker another plea deal. Person A says no to the deal b/c their lawyer is good and Fuck 12. Now the prosecutor is in a difficult sitch. The City Of [Your City] using their expansive resources to prosecute a single transsexual on the felony of amateur vandalism is absolutely a waste of time and the prosecutor knows this. They were banking on you being scared shitless by your experiences in Steps 1-5, and thus agreeing to the first plea deal available. Having to go back and tell their boss that their easy anarchist/anti-christ comparison of the week just went belly-up was embarrassing enough a first time, but a second time? At this point, the prosecutor is weighing the options of reducing the charges to a handful of misdemeanors and placing Person A on some kind of probation, under the assumption that Person A will do one of the following:
▸▸ accept probationary period (((probably w/ some form of substance prohibition))) & the fine that comes along with it (((i still haven't told my parents what i owe [My State].)))
▸▸ say NO DEAL BITCH FUCK THE STATE BURN IT DOWN but your lawyer cleans it up lol
At first, it goes fine. Then, you start getting pulled over a lot. One time you're high af but you still pass the breathalyzer and the alphabet test so they had no reason to not let you go. Near the end of the probationary period, you get a call from your lawyer-- they dug up a charge they never indicted you with and want you to take a deal of More Probation Time in order to halt this charge being introduced into court.
You, of course, have two options: [ YES ] and [ NO ].
-- If you say [ YES ], the same thing will happen at the end of the next probationary period.
-- If you say [ NO ], ~maybe~ they won't indict you on this new mystery charge, but it'll hang over every time you laugh too loudly, and also, you still have a fuckton in restitution fines to pay.
Maybe they drop all the charges!!! Hell Fuckin YEAH!!!!
Maybe they don't. Maybe they raid your spot for @ntifa Propaganda or read your FB messages or follow you home. They've done all these things to me. When it happens, you'll be scared. But you won't be surprised.
B/c Anti-Fascist & in particular Anti-Racist Actions have been actively oppressed throughout the entirety of amerikkkan history by our own government. For proof/knowledge, see A Study Of Repression In America: https://ouleft.org/wp-content/uploads/Huey-WATP.pdf
Step 7: ???????? i found the property my fed rents out to some normie family. the first time she arrested me, she was pregnant. now, i watch her son grow up over a VPN.
Step 8: The government/the state/the repressive forces that arrest and intimidate us and our friends do it in a particular humiliating and exhausting way on purpose. They want to wear us down and disconnect us from each other. If we are being followed home, we won't invite people over. If our FB msgs are being read, we won't use FB [& will thus loose contact w/ a lot of ppl very quickly]. If we are scared, we are vulnerable. If we are vulnerable, we may believe the feds when they tell us our friends hate us, or that our friends snitched on us. If we believe that, we might be tempted to give pigs info about our personal lives. and bada boom! that's how a snitch becomes a snitch-- when someone really truly believes their community won't be able to provide for them. so it works to the advantage of the government when we broadcast our infighting on tweeter, b/c they are watching leftist factions toss the clout ball around instead of Abolishing The Police!!!!!!!!!!1111 and then it continues to work to their advantage when they watch Person B get dumped by all their friends on the dot.net, so they arrest Person B for a photo they posted 3 mos. ago, then get them to slip up and/or snitch using Person B's public infighting to convince them they don't have any comrades on the outside.
Step 9: They're keeping tabs on you for basically the rest of your life; if you have friends who stood by your side when you were in jail, they should hopefully be there when you have to attend court. As with jail support, court support shows the system that the individuals they arrested have community that uplifts and defends them, which makes Person B a worse target for weakest-clout intimidation.
Step 10: If everyone stopped clout-mongering, we could all get together and k/ll every single c/p <333 xxxxoooo
TLDR: They Threatened Us With Jail Time But We Still Turned Down The Plea Deal B/c We Know The Community Will Hold Us Thru Anything The Govt Does
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