Moving Waters Run Deep

Note: See the boldfaced, underlined comments in the previously posted introductory note. You don’t have to dwell on the rest of the blah blah, but it won’t hurt to glance at it. This is written with Mel Waters, his loved ones, colleagues et alia in mind. IT’S AN UNEDITED FIRST DRAFT. Try to get past the pseudo-lyrical flourishes which plague the opening here; the style, at times, incorporates what I consider graffiti-like elements.

Moving Waters Run Deep
Dedicated to the notion that Montana could benefit by artists helping themselves and The Commons
by Oxman

“Waters is a great name for a write-in campaign. But even if he were not the figurehead candidate, the coalition could use the name De PArt Party.” — a twelve-year-old who the author knows, making reference to elements of the electoral paradigm for TOSCA

Yesterday… on RT News… in an exchange between informed and passionate and uncompromising host Abby Martin and Mark Crispin Miller, it became quite clear that electoral fraud in the U.S.A. is totally out of control from a number of angles which I won’t take the time to go into right now. Suffice it to say, election results are rigged — certainly on the federal level — whenever anything of import is at stake, anything threatening to the powers that be. And who are the latter? I won’t go into that (again) right now, but suffice it to say that the two major parties — their differences notwithstanding — are truly two sides of the same coin. Meaning — and this, I trust, will shock you — when it’s been proven definitively that, say, Republicans on the federal level actually lost a given election in the recent past in a given state… Democrats have refused to stand by that proof, have refused to confront the injustice and horror of our doing away with democracy. Have allowed acknowledged cheating to stand. Were complicit in their own de facto defeat. Did not insist on everyone honoring the scorecard once it was finally in.

How many cute ways can I count the horror? And it is a horror, the blatant disregard for our voice. So I turn to the Voice of the Artists in our midst. [Pause.] This piece highlights the highs I have associated with certain graffiti artists, but I ask the reader to fill in the blanks. To imagine that I am speaking also to each and every poet within my ken, to all novelists and painters of any stripe, to dancers and acrobats, to musicians and chefs, to dramatists and directors of this and that, and so on and so on and so on. There are quite a few such sweet souls out there. And I am imagining that it’s totally possible to achieve the impossible with them. To have them ALL move in solidarity from a fresh angle on at least one single basis immediately, like yesterday. Which I say… which I say… which I say… over and over again… from different angles… on Monday from the kitchen, on Tuesday from the bath, on a rainy day from my window sill… mouth open… swallowing the toxic acid… a hand in my mouth, dragging me forth… clutching at the South, screaming at the North. Dangling lantern chain between my chattering, shattered teeth.

What do I think I’m doing? I am announcing that I have a way in which to circumvent electoral fraud and much much more. But that I need the faith of artists to implement that new thing.

For now those artists don’t need the thumbs up from anyone else. A core can form, foaming at the mouth, calm on the surface… not calling undue attention to itself… prematurely. [Pause.] Without crumbs from the thumbs of the dumbest of dumb.

My son attended an art demo today outside of Palace Arts & Supplies in Capitola, California. That’s where I met Mel Waters for the first time. My wife had checked his work out previously at

Now get ready. I really jump the gun… constantly. It has something to do with the fact that I acknowledge that we face collective deadlines. That we don’t have the luxury of trying to bring about positive change at the pace of an arthritic snail, cannot proceed with activism along the lines that were common in the 30s or 60s of the last century, or of any century in the past. When my son asks me Why are you so weird, Papi? I tend to answer something like It’s because I’m freaked out at our horrid momentum, and I’m trying to do something about along fresh lines… and I keep running up against sweet souls who are stuck with obsolete models of protest… and all that culminates in my embracing weird this and weird that.

Well, I’m all for art for art’s sake. But I’m also for asking artists to consider devoting at least a few heartbeats to doing something in solidarity with others. All for pointing out that unless such collective activity is at least considered we’re all headed for… what none of us want.

Granted, all citizens, not just artists, have good reason for retreating (IF that’s what they’re doing) into apathy, resignation, cynicism and atomization. That said, there is something fresh which can be embraced, something that might be effective, might possibly give us all a shot at taking a different turn together.

But no one has time to talk, to really spend a little time for a new kind of talk… with ample heartbeats set aside for in-depth Q&A. [Pause.] I guess I’m asking Mel & Co. to do that.

One of the first things that impressed me about Mel was how relaxed he seemed. Another — and this was VERY important — was how polite he was, how calmly considerate he seemed to be. There were other positives, but those two characteristics are quite rare today, yes? At odds with our momentum. A good thing to come across.

Well, I’d like to make something of that; I fancy that we can spread the good things around, encourage one and all to take a different tack. And then see where the pieces fall.

I’m not for replacing white rooks with red ones. Not into substituting black bishops with green pieces. Rather, I’d like to — legally and nonviolently — upset the game board. Secure significant reins of power, placing artists at the helm in California (which could be so very influential nationwide, moving unilaterally) in lieu of our having another careerist conducting our off-key, corrupt orchestra every single day. It’s something like wanting a talented graffiti artist to be responsible for what’s housed in the next museum I walk into instead of having the whole shebang directed by some faceless dude in a bowler hat and an apple in front of his face. [Pause.] I trust you know what I’m saying.

In the previous post you can find a link to TOSCA… which is an acronym for something like Transforming Our State of California. State, the political unit AND the state of our minds.

Don’t want to wear out my welcome. So maybe Mel will see fit to share the above with some trustworthy souls who don’t carry megaphones around with them. People like I’m hoping Carey and Jason and Mos Def are. Shooting in the dark here, admittedly.

But the shooting’s now stopping… my empty gun going off for only 15 lonely minutes this round, thereabouts. [Pause.] Trying to talk cool here, and it’s not working. Still, I have some reason to believe that Mel will be moved.

We’ll see, won’t we? Oh yes, by the way, as per the previous post — where I’m pushing someone on the East Coast to embrace my nonsense — I should underscore that even if I light out for Connecticut before long or South Carolina* (where the TOSCA acronym can be an easy fit)… it doesn’t mean that we couldn’t have a Governor Waters or a campaign led by Mel or one of his friends or someone of his choice in my absence; I’d certainly be able to set the whole shebang up before departing.

*I recently received wildly positive feedback from vets in Totally Rigged Charleston… where they have 20 Superfund sites — two unreported National Priorities — poisoning them all to death; citizens of California can’t tell you the source of their cancer either.

Mel Waters moved me with his… quiet demeanor. Still waters can run deep, yes?

I say we run with Mel. Without knowing him yet… with Mel as one of the twelve.

And besides, TOSCA could stand for Taking Over the State with Citizen Action… along the lines of what that old radical Saul Alinsky tried to pull off so long ago. Every state in the so-called Union — our peeps therein — could benefit by the artists painting Our Momentum black as a spade, digging a new angle in the dark for The Quiet, Moving Truth.