Wackenhut SS
It was a warm spring day. I turned down the radio as I drove across the bridge at Hoover dam, water and cement connected the state line separating Arizona from Nevada. Crossing the dam then past the tourist information center reached two huge stone angel monuments with arms and wings stretched toward the sky. The sight of them invoked religious desperation from me as if a I was lacking from divine intervention. Parked on either side of the two towering angels sat two highway patrol cars. One on each side of the statues like vultures ordered by the sherif of Nottingham to victimize taxpayers. I felt desperate and uneasy as I stared into the troopers eyes as I passed by and they stared back. I am not paranoid but that doesn't mean they are not after me. Everyone is a suspect and victim for harassment and possible revenue. My sense of privacy dissolved with the irreverent mix. Psychically connected and hoping to break the troopers attention, I turned up Black Sabbath on the radio and sang along.
"They tell you black is really white, the moon is just the sun at night and when you walk through golden halls, you get to keep the gold that falls, it's heaven and hell."
The patrol cars stay put as I wind up the mountain road out of sight. I keep the heavy metal tunes blaring to give me that extra boost of primal fire that leads one to believe that enough vrihl energy omnisciently moves away adversaries. My attention shot through their hollow headslike a laser out of the screaming skulls of hell. Aggressive aesthetic attention, makes things move quicker with a lottery of victims.
I drop my vigil as I drive through Henderson Nevada. From the clouds, mountains and small skyscrapers, the twilight cast a weird silhouette around the city. I felt safe, as if the ratio of civilians had the police outnumbered. I turn off the radio to sense the silence that Lake Mead evoked in the sunset. Winding up the highway, the sky pulled like a magnet, my hair stood on end, the roof of the car like static electricity. I head north-west towards Vegas into the orange twilight. I light a joint and savor the powerful ringing in my ears as I focus my attention on the electric silence, invisibly driving me into Las Vegas.
John Adams had a term as a president, as a Federalist, with a Federalist Congress. The most significant thing that Adams did was keeping America out of war with France. Likewise, he made tariffs, an infrastructure, national banks, roads, canals, and he built up the army and made the navy. In addition, Adams wanted industry and manufacturing since England was so successful with their industry and manufacturing he thought it would make the US bounce back up again. The list keeps going on and on for what John Adams did and loved.
John Adams was born on October 30, 1735 and died on July 4, 1826. He was the second president of the United States. He served from 1797 to 1801. Earlier, he served as the first vice president of the United States. John Adams was a statesman, a diplomat, and a leading advocate of American independence from Great Britain. He was an Enlightenment political theorist who promoted republicanism. He also promoted a strong central government and wrote about his seminal ideas.
John Adams explains how the revolution began when he says, "The Revolution was effected before the war commenced (37-38). The Revolution was in the minds and hearts of the
Samuel Adams was born in 1722. As a young boy, he lived with his parents near the Boston Harbor, and could see the ships through the observatory at the home. Boston, being the largest town in North America, was always bustling with merchants, tradesmen, and a general hubbub of people milling about. Adams could see the commercial ships, filled to the mast with wheat and other imported luxuries on a daily basis. Near the harbor, there were also shipyards, filled with carpenters, rope makers, and caulkers. These muscle men helped shape the ships which were used to help our economy boom.
In “The Border Patrol State” Leslie Silko makes accusations of the border patrol’s mistreatment of American citizens of Mexican decent, making the argument with almost evidence. Silko, a critically acclaimed poet, sees the border patrol as a governmental assembly addicted to interrogation, torture, and the murder of those they see fit.
Thought Police are the ones to be feared the most because they could be anywhere at any time and could be anyone, your neighbor, mother or father, even your child! The reason behind these Police was to create an alliance with believers of Big Brothers and to vaporize those who didn’t believe, because those who didn’t believe in t...
The wife could see Gary’s truck lights return in the dim light as his truck crawled up the hill. The wife wondered if she should run or stand. She wondered if her husband always drove so slowly or if the luminous beings slowed him down. An eerie fog was creeping in. The fog seemed unnatural for the time of year. It was too dry to have a fog. The wife wondered if she was loosing her mind. Gary finally was turning into the meadow. The luminous shapes were between her and the truck. The wife stood still.
... to be inside this precarious place, I was careful with every movement. As we both lay in our bags, the cave's darkness soon soothed our eyes and sleep came to our tired bodies. Striking camp early in the morning we traversed over the white, moon lit landscape. We arrived at the car for a late lunch, which ended our camping trip.
Tom Ryan’s police abuse story is not as sudden and physically painful as Hobbs’ story, but it deserves just as much attention to prevent it from happening, since both Hobbs and Ryan fear that they are in danger for no particular reason. Ryan describes the town of Newburyport, his hometown, as a city, whose natives are always trying to struggle over the power of politics (Ryan 22). In his memoir Following Atticus, Ryan states, “I would often sit shocked as city councilors or other community leaders lied in some televised meeting and thought nothing of it. When I’d report it, they’d act as though I were the one who had crossed the line – and in some ways they were right, I had. I refused to let business happen as it always had happened” (Ryan 25). When Ryan’s newspaper began to involve the misconducts of police officers, he began to receive death threats on his car’s windshield and in his mailbox. However, Ryan never decided to report these threats because he suspected that the police might have been the ones who wrote them. Ryan continues to explain the long controversial history of Newburyport’s police department and how most politicians feared it. During one night, in front of Newburyport’s city hall, Ryan had a short conversation with a police officer that left him so frightened that he did not to mention the police in his newspaper for the next year and a half. Ryan’s readers wanted to know why, but all he could do was say he did not want trouble from the police (Ryan 37-8). Ryan asserts about one officer in particular, “He said to me, ‘How about we form an uneasy alliance - you and me? I won’t go after you if you don’t go after me.’
Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.
I hear someone say something. I couldn’t make out the words or whether they were telling me or someone else, but I did hear the word “fence” as I linked my fingers through the gaps of the wire. I had zoned out from the commotion behind me, focused on the outside, wanting freedom. The darkness, the things trapped inside that darkness, homes, cars,
We continued down the infinitely long interstate towards our destination. Thunder clouds continued to rumble in, like an ocean tide rolling closer and closer to the beach front. Within minutes the entire landscape was calm and dark. It looked like a total eclipse of the sun, and the once ...
My car squatted in the parking lot like a bug on a blackened, cooled, lava flow. I dreaded going back to my normal life after enjoying a weekend of such freedom and pleasure. Duties and obligations began to flitter though my mind as I once again began to think like an insect in a hive. I looked back over my shoulder, fondly remembering the freedom the wonderful weekend blessed me with, and vowed that I would once again return to experience the pleasure and seclusion that lay hidden therein.
The first thing I did, as all ordinary people would do, was to observe my surrounding environment with my eyes. Starting with things far away, I saw clouds blocking the rather terrifying California sunshine in the blue sky, the extending horizon topped with a layer of white smoke, and few tall mansions standing alongside Wilshire Blvd. Drawing my foci nearer, I could only see tall trees and other building’s rooftop, as my apartment was 6-floor-high and located on one of the hilltops along Strathmore Dr. As for things by my side, the most conspicuous item was the black steel fence that marked the border of the rooftop; there was also some decorating plants and loungers. The visual image rendered a sense of tranquility, as there were neither people nor fast-moving objects in my vision. It seemed like the world stopped moving, because...
“Do we really have to stay?” Zack asked precariously. “I mean, we could try to outrun the storm. We have done it before.” “No Zack, we barely survived that incident. I will not go through that again.” I shot back in response. Then the sound occurred again, right above our room. The sound seemed to follow me as I adventured the house. “Do you hear that too, Zack?” “Hear what?” he replied. “Nothing. Nevermind.” I hesitantly said. As the night came to a close, I crawled into bed and began to drift off into a deep