The OrphanAGE, Vol. 1.13

First Lines

"While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my present activities "unwise and untimely."
~Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter From a Birmingham Jail

Resistance

Ignore them, don't fraternize...
~ Jean Texcier, Conseils a l'occupe

When the Germans marched into Paris, they’d barely kicked off their jackboots before they'd began to encounter Texcier’s flyer’d call to resistance. Yet, even under occupation, most of us dare not risk open opposition (be it to the state or the church or the HOA busybodies). The threat of reprisal to loved ones. Not being endowed with enough psychological fortitude. Whichever, many turn to other ways to push back, to gum up the works, to make the troglodytes pay for every inch they try to take. As the book of Corinthians notes: There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God…

These are trying times. Families are besieged by soaring expenses. Others facing government sanctioned violence. Others, yet, striving for justice against pedo-rings operating with impunity at the highest levels of society.

From pick-up rock shows to Revolutionary pamphleteers, flyering has a long, auspicious heritage. From Pete Seeger and Utah Philips to the Clash and the Pistols, from Billie Bragg to the Boss calling out ICE – like chocolate and peanut butter, the protest song offers two great things that go great together: resistance with a melody we can hum. All the while, fiction mans the battlements of decent people refusing to surrender, even in small ways.

Perhaps it is time for a full court press. Everyone can have a role. Make the bastards pay for every single inch, no matter how insignificant. Give nothing away.

Act, but don’t kid yourself: our self-proclaimed overlords and their enablers, the Tech-Oligarchs and their AI-enhanced rats (yes, SIRI, your iPhone and your TV), in cahoots with the alphabet soup (NSA, DARPA, MOSAD, FSB…) will be taking note…

Peace,
Dante

In This Issue

• Fiction by W.E. Leathem (soon-to-be-released Graphic Novel, McStache)
• Music: a pair of songs from two of KC’s most poignant cultural critics: Forrest Whitlow and Red Kate
• Bill Pryor's Photo Essay

Music

Rebellion, resistance, cultural criticism — these are the hallmarks of our most vital musical history.

For two decades, with a catalogue of six full-length albums, Forrest Whitlow combined his lyric and musical affinity with that ol curmudgeon, Neil Young, to deliver some of our most poignant, beautiful and haunting songs of cultural assessment. (Sometimes, we just don’t know what we have till it’s gone…)

Punk has always been a churning vortex of anger and it’s call to action. In-your-face, L. Ron Drunkard and Red Kate will not only get the juices flowing, they are likely to get your dander up! From their most recent release: Exit Strategy, Shut it Down— agitates old-school.

Pamphleteering & Stickering

The Romans called them alba; the Chinese 榜 (bǎng), and we’re all familiar with Martin Luther’s little Wittenberg episode. With an eye — a Bill’s Eye, as it were — filmmaker, photographer, author, Bill Pryor is on a rabble-rousing mission. For those with eyes to see, you won’t miss em…

The Watch, transcript (intercepted)

by W.E. Leathem (based on characters developed with Shane Audley)

This is Darina, and you are listening to Strazhar [heavy east European accent]. You won’t believe the show I have for you today. I’ll be honest — I went back and forth whether to release this one. Some of you are going to love it. Some of you are going to find it a bit, how shall I say, "uncomfortable." But I decided you’re all adults and you can handle a complicated conversation. Just remember, this is a conversation, not an endorsement [chuckle].

On my recent trip to Glasgow, I encountered a fellow traveler…wait for it: from the United States. Like many, I remain curious as to how it all works in such a free [chuckle] country.

…but before we get into it, I’d like to give a shout out to two of our listeners for their recommends on places to meet those who share our burden. Gavial and Radoslay, if you’re tuning in, be sure to reach out, and I’ll drop you our new стражар sticker — they are striking, if I do say so myself… The rest of you [sound of cigarette exhale] can order yours and other Strazhar branded items at the website.

Anyway…Glasgow. The Pitt Street Arms. A storied boozer with good whisky and a reputation. Unlike so many places these days, the Pitt prides itself in serving those like us, who hold the frontlines, keeping our streets free of the vermin and their crimes. I’d had a long morning. The room was dark with only a smattering of punters. The gov’nor was cleaning glasses at the far end of the bar, but took my order: Strata, 18-year. Smokey. Rich. I recommend it, but I don’t think it’s available beyond local distribution.

There was only one other at the bar. Short cropped hair. Sunglasses. Good shoulders. Sport jacket. Two empties and accompanying shots to the side. My kinda guy.

Sensing that there was a story here, I quietly switched on the app on my phone. At first, the conversation was pretty damned monosyllabic. Like so many, he clearly carries the weight. Yet, after a bit — I’m not a woman easily ignored [chuckle and another cigarette inhale] — he leaned back in his swivel stool and motioned the Gov: “Another. …and whatever she’s having.”

Darina: “Scottish?”

Him: “Da was.”

Darina: “What’d he do?”

Him: “Cop.”

Darina: “Mother?”

Him: “We all have one of those…”

Darina: “I mean, she Scottish?”

Him: “Lithuanian.”

Darina: “Whoa. that’s, ah…shall we just say, surprising?”

Him: “A lot of things’ll surprise you, lady…”

Darina: “Where you from?”

Him: “The states.”

Darina: “Ya have a name?”

Him: [Long silence] “Yep.” [Another silence]

Darina: “…Why Glasgow? The Pitt? Tuesday mid afternoon?”

Him: “You mean other than drinkin’?”

Darina: “Yes.”

Him: “You got a lot of fucking questions, lady. If you’re wanting to screw, just say so; I’m persuadable…”

Darina: That one got me…but only for moment. [chuckle]

Darina: “You a cop?”

Him: “What?! I don’t look like a Rabbi to you? I’m gonna have to speak to my
haberdasher…”

Darina: He slammed his shot, and looking at me, tweedled the empty and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged, drank off the rest of mine and nodded. He motioned for two more.

Darina: “I’m a journalist…” He shot me a dank look. “Podcaster. I do a show…pro cop. For cops. Select audience. Curated audience. …kinda have to know to know, if you know what I mean.

Him: “Hmm.”

Darina: He shot his drink and ordered another. This time, only one.

Darina: “What you have to say, some might find interesting. Others like you…

Him: “Like me?…a little presumptuous, don'tcha think?”

Darina: My listeners, like you, do the hard work of law enforcement. They might like to hear your perspective…as an American. It’d be interesting for those coming from someplace different. [long pause]

Him: “I could care less.”

Darina: “Let’s start with your name?”

Him: “No names.”

Darina: “Well then. [pause] You said your father was a cop. Is it a legacy thing? You trying to prove something to him?”

Him: “No one comes to this job without something in the rearview mirror…but
mostly it’s a goddam job.”

Darina: “You don’t live here?”

Him: “Nope.”

Darina: “Where then?”

Him: “In the fly-over.”

Darina: “USA. I get it... It’s big. Your town got a name?”

Him: “That’s near ‘nough for what you-n-I are doin here.”

Darina: “Ok. Your rules. [pause]. Have a partner?”

Him: “Yep. A woman. Laaa-teen-o…”

Darina: [whistling]… “First your mom, now this… that’s gotta be a… gotta come with a set of…. They assigned you a woman? Qualified, perhaps, but from a vastly different set of values and priorities. Be honest — did you ask for a different assignment when you found out?”

Him: [chuckling]. “Heh, a taco-eating twat!”

Darina: “Really?! [pause] She any good…a good cop, I mean?”

Him: “Pipe hitter. High speed, low drag. Can wipe her own ass... Wet behind the ears, but the street’ll swipe that off her. And no, I did not ask for a new partner.”

Darina: “What? You taking her under your wing?” He turned to look me in the eye. I asked, “Are you a good cop?”

Him: “I do what’s necessary.”

Darina: “We all hear what’s going on in the US: People living on the streets. Hunger. Only the rich with healthcare. Everyone packing a gun. How hard is it to tell the good guys from the bad guys in America?”

Him: “What! Your fucking country ain’t got issues? Gimme a break. [She laughs] You talking violence? Cause that’s what we’re paid to do…Cop work. NOT [sound of a hand slamming against the bar top] parking tickets…revenue
fucking enhancement! That’s the fucking bean counters squeezing more for
themselves. Cops — we’re hired to work down in the the violence. To deal
with it. Keep it in check. Administer it if necessary. Keep it away, when
feasible, from civilians. Money changing hands is just capitalism: fentanyl or cupcakes, bibles or bombs or tits. It’s not about morality. Those make’n the rules… it’s about getting others out of the way in order to grab more for themselves.

Darina: “Some would say, that’s pretty cynical…”

Him: “It’s what it is. The collateral, on the other hand… There are civilians and
players and stakeholders. I do my best to recognize who’s who. Shit happens.
I can’t stop it. I do what I can to keep the heavy where it belongs, among those
who put themselves into the game.

…anyway, people are still trying to get into my country. Last I checked, people were trying to get out of yours.”

Darina: [sound of cigarette]. “So, are you a good cop?”

Him: “I’m effective at what I do.”

Darina: “How do you decide which rules are worth following and which ones
are…ah… suggestions?”

Him: “Rules are a one-way street when navigating the shit in real time. All sorts of things look plausible on a white board. Once you’re out there wading in it…”

Darina: “Let’s go back to something you touched on earlier. You said you’re mother was Lithuanian. You still have family here?”

Him: “I’m here to bury her.”

Darina: “Oo, that’s gotta be tough. Siblings? They helping?”

Him: “Two. And no, they’re out of the picture.”

Darina: “Abandoned you, huh…to do this all on your lonesome…?”

Him: “Fuck you lady! You don’t know shit about shit… I’m outta here…” [receding voice] “…Go fuck yourself.”

Darina: Americans, huh!? And that’s our show for today. The bastard even stuck me with the tab…the whole damn thing…