The exuding nature of my experiment in journalism is cause here for a heavy anachronism in my thinking and writing process on my trip. This collage of memories from the dark light of a desk come to me as a vivid dream, pulled from my brain from needle-nose pliers. Last year, my first visit to Miami, and nothing but the highway between me and the skyline, and jotting down graphic notes at fast speeds going southbound, roundabout and back to picking up the debris from the clash of old and new world values.Across the radios and airport TVs that swill Jerry Sandusky had been arrested on dozens of charges for statutory rape, Joe Paterno’s sweet old nurture couldn’t save him from keeping his job and legacy, glass was broken and cars flipped over in the street during riots at College Station, and most gravely, stern remarks that Occupy was failing. The media and publishing business stresses to write nothing that accounts for a damageable reputation, but if the ink dries up and the papers don’t spin then those ethics seemed to get ditched. Last thing I wanted on a list of accomplishments was to get involved in the argument, pick a side and join the party, and I’m not so much for idol worship when it comes to pesky political matters. Somehow the bottom had fallen out, all between reels of the college youth’s angst and confusion from what was really going on. Happy Valley turned to the cameras as the center of a world gone wrong, a cruel scenario playing out, and a real separation from the powers that be of another and older generation. 24 hour news made some cruel allusions to the other youth on Wall Street, with the highlights from the Penn State fallout seeming to epitomize the failure for a cause of real purpose in belief in comparison to just wasted energy and action. So they made it clear and said who was really in control here, and of their futures, old men and women dressed in business suits having secret meetings and carrying out the orders for police officers with smoke bombs and rubber bullets. All they represented to the suits and uniforms were just a few flipped cars and pitched tents, ready to be extinguished and lifted off the street in handcuffs and placed in the presence of a jailer. Then it would all be over.The long awaited battering ram had come about, a causeway for a movement for the 21st century, sure to be involved in a real dogfight with shareholders, venture capitalists, fortune 500 execs, and somehow able to look through and spot the corrupt disguised in their Saks Fifth Avenue getup, holding their sacks of money, which is more than a fair share to what they owe to other people. What started out to be a sure promise to difference was going down as defective economic plug. The only grounds they seemed to be making was having UC Davis students pepper sprayed by a police officer on the evening news, which was a cost of sacrifice with reasons lost on me. Where was the agenda? Everything had been differed to clippings of little unrelated, unorganized scuffles of people in rags verbally assaulting businessmen on Wall Street, viewing that they’re part of the problem, the pistons in the machine so to speak. A colleague of mine had gone to the Norfolk Occupy movement after being cordially invited, he played some songs on his guitar, put up a tent and went asleep after some circle group discussions. He was jostled from sleep as someone unzipped their way in and gripped his six-string acoustic lying at his side. The young man was prepared to take off with my colleague’s belonging until he realized he couldn’t steal from someone whose eyes were wide awake and upon him.All of that being said seems though the lethargic replication of wrong PR for those nasty connivers out there, faking the argument and just joining to sit atop of something, being no better than a dirty cop bouncing a billy club over someone’s head and arguing whose sidewalk it really is. And that’s the sense of the argument, they revolve around each other and you can see the similarities in both of them. Meanwhile there’s a lot more people with a lot more problems out there, thousands of “you’s” and “I’s” with a thousand thoughts and many of them wanting those movement spoilers to shut up.Not to misinterpret the intentions, become presumptuous and lump them all together in an expose’ of beliefs, I’m sure there’s some members who wouldn’t mind helping an old woman cross the street. Despite the literature handouts and shouting to stop taxing our a—- off, there is no single platform. There are ideas though.These are some ideas that clang together like bell chimes, echoing ideologies in quotations I’ve run my eyes over. One that came to mind was an expressed ideology involving how equality rests on how much schooling you have and the opportunity that comes from what you’re born into, your family background. “The myth of the self-made man, has to be profoundly hypocritical: it is the self-serving demonstration that a lie is the truth”, Che Guevara put it. I wouldn’t say equal opportunity and freedoms are necessarily found the same when you’re inheriting stocks on Wall Street or whether you’re inheriting food stamps. I use the Che quote because I think that’s very frightening to many American capitalists, even some of those protesting against them on the other side. I’m on dangerous grounds here, and it’s no argument for socialist standpoints or going with a deep opposition from a Marxist, it’s really just to see their faces and chuckle. Anyway, I liked Ernesto more when he rode a motorcycle.Even in socialism capitalism has its way, particularly through assimilation of consumption and materialism to a certain extent of irresponsibility. Maybe we all started worrying about things when we adding ‘isms’ to our manners, and it went from “I’d like this. I value this. I’d like to have it. I want it, to….I need this. And this. Yes, all of it. If not all of it, most of it. Just so long as they don’t have more of it.” Though, don’t misquote me for saying, “The consumer has no soul because its wallet is an inanimate object.” Certainly not, I’ll have a good glass of sipping rum if I want it.I’ve had several protestors try and preach to me as apostles and prodigal geniuses to their cause. When you’re backed into a corner it’s only a matter of time before you flash your jowls, like a group of savages ripping each other apart from the loins. Some talk and try to speak for others because they think that our social interactions and thinking processes are actually similar, as if you hired sociologists to test on a control group of lab rats. They wouldn’t know what I want, and don’t leave me to curate the world’s problems when they’ve got their own too. Some people want to take over the world, but for me, I can just have what’s mine, I don’t belong to a wolf pack.Let’s not assume that one side is right, as it’s still all apart of a money centric argument. Whether it’s through social disobedience that deviants flex what they believe is some virtuous strong arm on human welfare as well as morality, or governments and the upper-class trying to protect what they have while there is less respect for another person’s income conditions. When it becomes people collectively speaking for masses and telling others the priority of what to do it’s ridiculous. Somehow I’ve always processed that information and been taken aback.Along came this clockwork counterculture, answering to a calling as if it is biological determinism, contrived of something greater on the other side, trying to discover or reveal secret meanings that have always been there. But with their minds fixed on the prize and no higher devotion they’ve become misplaced in giving some validity in meaning. All those reminded by little or big gestures daily, constantly ripping you off, finding function in an invigorating fight to the death…but mislaying resilience for denial. It’s all very conspicuous to me. Bringing the fight to them by camping and occupying has similarities I could make in a hyperbole of a vagabond cantering outside a goldmine, and those little raccoon baby cries in the night for another piece of garbage. Do they all belong to the asylum, awaiting freedom from their oppressors? Or is it the point to make some noise and drastic devastation hoping that will do in the reform?I wouldn’t look forward to the prospects of going to work for the gears of the economy either. As depressed as one might be I find it laughable how society and all of its moving parts work. Maybe it’s skeptical thinking because in so many hometowns they knock down entire forests to put up strip malls with tanning salons and fast food that look entirely the same block after block to appeal to some dominating culture. At the beach there’s plenty more of that and the involvement of military and tourism in the area, the kind of tourists from the north not of extreme wealth that need a weekend to divulge and throw up in hotel rooms.I couldn’t focus the being of my times to a life of constant put downs. Some of the world’s biggest philanthropists hate people, but defy their own beliefs by helping others and seeing to it that there are other perspectives. It doesn’t hurt either that you’re helping someone else in the process, even if things are contemptible and you don’t feel as if anyone’s on a higher pedestal. And then there are the people with lack of reason for anything. I couldn’t call Dr. Bob a philanthropist or humanitarian simply, they don’t seem to fit because it all seems so natural to him. Really he’s more of a jack of all trades.All this talk isn’t worth the waste of time. How did I wind up here with this disruptive harangue? Possibly because of the visceral contact high I get from approaching the degenerates fighting and throwing things at each other. I’d much rather be back in Miami, screeching around on the freeway, passing West Palm Beach drivers, laughing uncontrollably peeling the tires beneath the sun on the Florida coast, listening to Funky Kingston surging from the speakers like a loud conga drum. Which wasn’t too different from my first visit, only it was Nico driving a very fast automobile, prowling those white washed roads on Miami Beach.Instead it’s these thoughts and writings in a pinch of air from the Freeport coast, sounding more like the liner notes on Sandinista!. I’m sitting down on the balcony trying to have all these ideas dribble down to the paper, playing it out before they disappear so ever identical to a crystal ball fantasy, a mirage from a chandelier. A cape of sea mist fittingly hovers over the morning, and as Conrad would again place it in this reflective occurrence, “the sky was pearly grey. It was one of those overcast days so rare in the tropics, in which memories crowd upon one, memories of other shores, of other faces.”There was a half annunciated declaration of arrival on the small Grand Bahama Island, where Freeport rests. Interruption impaled my silent thought; a wrecking ball sending shockwaves on a strain of emotions. All of these outspoken ideas make me predisposed to any subtleties, such as the knocking at my door. Diego’s eyes cringed, “I broke the camera. It was here in my hand and it fell to the floor”, and more of the profane, aghast with explicit language. Dark clouds circulated above saturated with rain, like a fastened overcoat hanging over the morning. This is the malicious kind of weather that proves laboring to the queasy passengers wearing those seasick patches, trying to keep inner symmetry while walking, until falling to an adverse chemical reaction in the body. And like them, my environment has polarized against me.I left my private place and joined Dr. Bob for breakfast, hosted by a smorgasbord of foods laid out as if for a bunch of animals to feast from an ironclad trough, snorting and bending over in an awestruck scene spare of commonalities. There is no settlement on food, and there hardly ever seems to be a last piece of bacon. Injecting insulin at the breakfast table, we got into how exactly it was that the doctor got his degree at the Medical College of Virginia. “Well I applied to several schools, MCV being the first I heard back from, which was important in dodging the Vietnam draft.” Either that or wait around as his name gets called up and a government controls its people, and then become the next enemy under fire.