All Tonight’s Adventures
All tonight’s adventures
haunt yesterday’s alleyways
restless escapades
in keeping it real and staying made.
Ups buffed and fading
pinball pops reset
click click another cigarette
another broken couch skin up
another beer spilt
on sweat slick dance floor
piss on the street corner
rock poster car ads torn
and waving for freedom
of a windswept grocery bag.
Clouds race across the bridge,
sunlight breaking breathless
snowstorms on river top
Imminent return to coffee shop hotspot,
warm toes, fill belly
past line of scrimmage,
and on to the next
secretive mission.
* * *
They’re tearing down Dixmont,
abandoned asylum unvisited.
Glass graveyard running out of shards
and you haven’t been there either.
Is the deer-head steel mill next,
-- or old Heppenstall?
History erased
--repeats,
all tonight’s adventures
can only go so far,
in the vacuum of the moment
present tense parsed to pieces,
Once Berkman pulled a caper here
then escaped to dance with Emma,
now underground rail-roots unearthed
four more years Revolution scramble.
Can you stop time?
Dirty guitar haze
chase dreams away
playing nights in shining ardor,
paradise radio pirates
stretching tin can antennas
over our secret city interstices.
Despite best efforts
--citysteps will remain
overgrown and moistly crumbling.
* * *
One takes off his glasses,
punks spin off without a rumble.
For a moment
something could have happened
but vulnerability trumps face to hands
and we all get high in turn.
Sirens blare off warehouse walls
13th hour and all
carrying when the K9 rolls.
She expects worst
I expect nothing
especially freaky Friday suspicions,
by the next block we learn
nothing wins again,
and we all get high in turn.
* * *
Repeat.
* * *
I’m sick of getting high
Never high enough after the first.
Sick of cycles
-- of unquenched recreation
desperate self-medication
the same painted sidewalks
worn raw with habit
grooved to quick-eyed footsteps
and ceaseless questing fingertips.
Sick of eating, my gods, eating.
No appetite for months now
mastication reduced to repetition
confetti and gravel scraping palate.
Slightly amused
-- mostly nauseous.
Hands quiver around the beat
and even sleeping
-- takes concentrated effort.
But what, really, is wrong?
Joe Melba says there is no sick
and falls ill the next.
I buy a bag out of sheer boredom.
* * *
How you doing, man?
You know, in the groove,
that apocalyptic rage glitter fuck all groove,
man.
* * *
Rolling high over slanty town,
stars out now
--past full moon fever,
hip to hype the horrors away
hop to grope next furious game,
-- anything to entertain.
Laser lights the city squares
rushed by forgotten
stadium-parking underpasses
bridges
Saturday-night revelers
reviling the next bar block walk
more bridges
--burned in urban
wasteful wonderland lust.
* * *
My god she says
rough beasts slouching
toward beds to behave,
can you believe
that’s all they do anymore?
Sitting stoned like ducks in a row
out of pluck, out of flight.
Just shot from all sides
another dreary night.
This beat makes me want
-- to kill myself.
Pause at corner to consider
imminent return.
Keep hoping
-- they’ll prove me wrong
----some day...
* * *
Reality, you are surely not what you used to be.
* * *
A street streaking higher
up the hill, no backward glances
Downtown reduced to wireframe edges
of stop and go commotion
-- commingling
traffic lights reenact window display
scenes refracting
into endless unrecountable
telephone romances.
Every lit window a twinkle
-- in the city’s eye,
a page in history’s datebook replied
or denied.
--Tossed on the fire.
Lives careening goalless
into garage parks of spent time.
No gods to guide,
the record spins out of control.
Pedestrians pinball past
flashing crosswalk drains,
periodic wandering
-- repeats,
all tonight’s adventures
played out in critical multitude,
till each unmarked trajectory
--plots totality,
appetite versus apparition.
And on with the mission.
* * *
We had the experience
but missed the meaning,
and approach to the meaning
restores the experience
in a lower quality format,
dreamt in fast forward,
the beat expanding
-- in pothole pockets of excite.
Could spend the rest
-- in perpetual rewrite.
Bye bye life,
all that’s left is last century’s jazz riffs
and literati dramas of not being forgotten.
* * *
Bye bye life
I think we’re gonna win
lit up screaming
safety break halftime meeting.
Had the meeting, missed the experience
visceral transference of glory deferred,
turnaround passion players
crush opposing spirits vicarious.
All’s fair on all fours.
Everyday a celebration;
another victory for taste
another holiday in the streets
passers-by pumping pride
-- in team colored tears
the city in love with itself
for a moment
spontaneous singing almost erupts,
but we all get high in turn
on winning, on life,
on moments of Sunday sunbeams
breaking bread in bar booths
burning bushes between
this destination
-- and the next
fading contrails mark
measures to the sunset,
rose-petaled sonic angels
booming high notes over Bloomfield
where soon the stars
will roll out again.
* * *
This time in song.
* * *
One takes off his glasses
worlds spinning off with control,
laughs over the whole spectacle
We rule, okay?
Behind another distant window
some fresh young stranger
chooses his own
--novel
rock and roll orbit novella,
knowing there’s nothing
but get up and stay higher,
-- rewrite the game entire,
till heroes are gone
constellations ransacked prior
and on to the next
adventure conspired,
another big idea to get us free yet.
Last rhyme saved for stitches
sew up laughter for another today,
-- bitches.
1.25.2006
1.24.2006
self rule vs mob rule, social games and how we play them
I don't like organized sports. I think they are a waste of time, a distraction, a smokescreen, whathaveyou. But at the same time they play a powerful part in the psyche of Pittsburgh right now, and offer up an illustration of what's wrong with society at whole, and how people act in mob situations. As someone whose interested in how people organize themselves and reclaim their own power, I decided that studying the absurdity of Steelers mania is worthwhile from a sociological perspective. Look at the WTO protests in Seattle several years ago, how a bunch of young dispirited anarchists managed to create a national stir over such a fuzzy political issue through exploiting the crowd situation of a political rally. All it took was one person throwing a brick through a Starbucks' window to slingshot the whole issue into the national spotlight. Granted, the "revolution" has gone back underground since then, but the general population now has a better idea of what the WTO is and what's wrong with our current economic position.
Now we have a similar situation here where whatever the outcome of the Superbowl, there will most likely be rioting in Pittsburgh, and potentially in other cities across the United States. Now, I don't particularly think ochlocracy (rule by the mob) is a particularly useful form of governance, but mob situations offer up opportunities for more to happen, for the people to feel that they can take some amount of power back into their lives and wield it for a change instead of having it wielded over them. Of course, it would be a shame to see wanton violence erupt over something as silly as a football game, and as much as I dislike the Southside, seeing it burn would be mostly embarrassing for someone like myself who would like to see my revolts actually revolt against something. But even still, I am curious about this situation, because it would be an example of people coming together and finding power in each other throwing all the rules out the window, and potentially making there own.
In a previous comment I tried to make a distinction about that word "rule" because it means many different things. In a political sense it is to hold power over someone else. In a game/ social setting it means the guidelines or mores by which people consent to interact. As an anarchist I am opposed to ruling in the sense of exerting power over another, and am opposed to the "rules of the game" only so much as they are used by those in power to continue their rule over others. But like any ideology this is a gray area, to some degree rules, or set guidelines for interaction, are still necessary (in a society in which people do not hold themselves ultimately responsible for the affects of their actions and respectful of those affects on other people). We do not live in a utopia currently, there are still people who will try and get away with whatever they can to the detriment of others. The system of stoplights for instance is a set of rules whereby pedestrians can still cross the street safely and accidents not occur. Without these we could have pure chaos and mob rule, because the majority of people are trying to get where they're going as fast as fucking possible without a shit who they might hit. Yes, I know there are procedures for if stoplights go out, but these are also socially sanctioned rules. In the event of a major blackout would they be followed? Most likely the law will step in and establish order and we won't be given a chance to find out if people can govern themselves.
There is a third definition of the phrase "to rule" coming from the modern street vernacular which defines ruling as a). playing the game well, ie. being able to utilize the current set of rules to win (which doesn't necessarily mean winning over someone else, the best games to play are the ones where we all win). and b). to create one's own set of rules or game entirely, and then win by playing that. In relation to organized sports, the only rules being played are those set up for the game itself and the socio-political rules for how the spectators should behave towards the game and each other, as a vicarious past-time with no other social repercussions. However, in the event of rioting or other mob situations, those rules are discarded and a situation occurs in which anything might happen. Granted without a sense of collective direction, or some force stepping in to rule the situation one way or the other, the best that can be hoped for is a short lived chaos with a modicum of violence and property damage. What I'm interested in is how this can be utilized for some sort of greater good. Organized sports is one of the few things that can get large amounts of people riled up and onto the streets. War holds nothing on football here anymore, the Superbowl could be the next WTO. Regardless what happens, it may offer up some unique insights in how people choose to rule themselves and how new rules and games are created when the old ones don't apply. Perhaps somewhere in there is hints at a game we can all play to win.
Now we have a similar situation here where whatever the outcome of the Superbowl, there will most likely be rioting in Pittsburgh, and potentially in other cities across the United States. Now, I don't particularly think ochlocracy (rule by the mob) is a particularly useful form of governance, but mob situations offer up opportunities for more to happen, for the people to feel that they can take some amount of power back into their lives and wield it for a change instead of having it wielded over them. Of course, it would be a shame to see wanton violence erupt over something as silly as a football game, and as much as I dislike the Southside, seeing it burn would be mostly embarrassing for someone like myself who would like to see my revolts actually revolt against something. But even still, I am curious about this situation, because it would be an example of people coming together and finding power in each other throwing all the rules out the window, and potentially making there own.
In a previous comment I tried to make a distinction about that word "rule" because it means many different things. In a political sense it is to hold power over someone else. In a game/ social setting it means the guidelines or mores by which people consent to interact. As an anarchist I am opposed to ruling in the sense of exerting power over another, and am opposed to the "rules of the game" only so much as they are used by those in power to continue their rule over others. But like any ideology this is a gray area, to some degree rules, or set guidelines for interaction, are still necessary (in a society in which people do not hold themselves ultimately responsible for the affects of their actions and respectful of those affects on other people). We do not live in a utopia currently, there are still people who will try and get away with whatever they can to the detriment of others. The system of stoplights for instance is a set of rules whereby pedestrians can still cross the street safely and accidents not occur. Without these we could have pure chaos and mob rule, because the majority of people are trying to get where they're going as fast as fucking possible without a shit who they might hit. Yes, I know there are procedures for if stoplights go out, but these are also socially sanctioned rules. In the event of a major blackout would they be followed? Most likely the law will step in and establish order and we won't be given a chance to find out if people can govern themselves.
There is a third definition of the phrase "to rule" coming from the modern street vernacular which defines ruling as a). playing the game well, ie. being able to utilize the current set of rules to win (which doesn't necessarily mean winning over someone else, the best games to play are the ones where we all win). and b). to create one's own set of rules or game entirely, and then win by playing that. In relation to organized sports, the only rules being played are those set up for the game itself and the socio-political rules for how the spectators should behave towards the game and each other, as a vicarious past-time with no other social repercussions. However, in the event of rioting or other mob situations, those rules are discarded and a situation occurs in which anything might happen. Granted without a sense of collective direction, or some force stepping in to rule the situation one way or the other, the best that can be hoped for is a short lived chaos with a modicum of violence and property damage. What I'm interested in is how this can be utilized for some sort of greater good. Organized sports is one of the few things that can get large amounts of people riled up and onto the streets. War holds nothing on football here anymore, the Superbowl could be the next WTO. Regardless what happens, it may offer up some unique insights in how people choose to rule themselves and how new rules and games are created when the old ones don't apply. Perhaps somewhere in there is hints at a game we can all play to win.
1.23.2006
playing to win
Pittsburgh’s going to the Superbowl, crushing the Bronco’s 34-17! If someone asked me a year ago if I cared I would have said “hardly.” After all, I’ve never paid too much attention to sports. Growing up I played a bit of soccer or touch football on the elementary school playground, but with artistic parents was encouraged more in the direction of music and the arts, and whatever playing I did was left up to the imagination and video games. The further the playing fields and blacktops of my youth receded the more I suspected organized sports a sham much like the ancient Roman hand outs of bread and circuses, vicarious entertainment set up to remove agency from the passive spectators and distract them from any real events that might be occurring, like wars or natural disasters. Or their own creative abilities.
Of course, if I’d grown up in a city that’d actually cared about its sports team, D.C. barely bares the Redskins, if I’d gone out to games as a kid and had that as part of my own enculturation I might have formed a different opinion sooner, especially considering the historical impact of sports and gameplaying on society and culture.
Last year, or should I say, last season, as the Steelers were approaching the Superbowl, I began to notice the effect the games have on the population of Pittsburgh. After a win the streets felt lighter, smiles and greetings graced people’s lips, and once they lost for good it was a black Monday, the city crying and drinking itself down as if the President had died, or their beloved coach Bill Cowher, who I imagine the citizens of Pittsburgh respect more than any two-timing politician.
It isn’t so surprising that the outcome of a football game could affect people this strongly, in a town where the major industry died thirty some years ago and many feel they no longer have anything to live for, rooting on the team has become one of the few collective passions left to bring people together and give hope and meaning to their home and their lives. It is not uncommon, even through the off-season, to see yinzers dressed up constantly in black and gold. And as the big day approaches they break out the silly hats and fight songs, car pennants and terrible towels and you’re hard pressed to find someone who’s not intimately hinged on the results of the next game.
To an outsider this bizarre social ritual might seem generally annoying if not down right absurd, but to the fans they know it’s precisely their camaraderie and excitement that will drive the team on to victory, the players’ abilities a reflection of the city’s self-pride. Intrigued by this phenomenon, at the beginning of the season I decided to get in on the game myself and root on the Steelers, immersing myself in the local customs and measuring the effects of a small subset of the population on the game, and the game’s effect on them. Throughout the season I found the turns triumphs of each game often followed the focus and excitement the fans in our small living room group put into watching the game unfold. The way the wind from several twirling towels could cause the opponents’ kicks to mysteriously go astray. I can only assume that interaction between crowd and players is even more dynamic at the game itself. Perhaps next year I’ll have a chance to find out. After every loss or win the moods of my friends and the city changed accordingly, especially in the last few games when the Steelers started to play to their peak. I found myself becoming emotionally involved, and acquiring a Terrible Towel and Steelers hoody to bring whatever luck I could to the outcome of the game.
After last week’s tense and necessary win we went to Max and Erma’s in Shadyside for Black and Gold Burgers and people were out cheering each other on in a victory flush and almost breaking into spontaneous singing of the fight song.
Yesterday we did. Walking down Liberty waving our towels, passersby cheering, all the cars honking and waving. Even a cop car booped his sirens for the Steelers before a more intimidating squad of paddy wagons rolled by. Apparently they blocked off the Southside for all the reveling when some of the Steelers showed up. More singing in the bar, non-stop toasts to the team, and last call around ten when all the bear ran out. Could imagine this scene playing in all the dives across Pittsburgh, all the Steelers’ bars across the country. Four in Denver alone, how many Bronco’s bars here? None.
I suppose Pittsburgh takes victory seriously. We do have a lot of bad rep as a burnt out steel town. I mean, you’re not going to get any recognition if you don’t set out to win. I don’t think I’ve ever taken this seriously enough, raised to choose collaboration over competition, but in the age of rampant cutthroat advertising you’ve got to have an edge if you’re gonna get up. Being involved in the music industry has taught me that. There’s thousands of bad second-rate punk bands out there for every one that comes up with an innovative new riff or rhythm. I used to book shows and never got anywhere with it, not wanting to deal with the headache of hooking and booking the latest bands before someone else does. I’ve always preferred just performing myself, but at the time no one else was really booking certain acts in venues like Project 1877, except maybe Marry Mack or Manny Theiner, and I felt I was doing what I had to to keep the scene going. Now seeing what my compatriots at TBA Records are doing to promote shows in this town makes we proud. They know how to play that game; solid variety of acts and venues, persistent flyering, the My Space account. Their shows so far show they want to win, and are looking for everyone else to win too. Great for starring underground artists like myself to get noticed, get published or recorded, make a name for ourselves.
At one point in time I’d have laughed at this, but the act of getting up seems an integral part of the human spirit. From arts and literature to science, sports, politics, religion. Getting known, getting ahead, whether desperate urban youth spray painting the back alleys to whole nations waging war for pride, protection, and natural resources. Even the personal interactions we have with each other play out a game of learned scripts and cultural desires that affect who with and how we choose to relate. And for what purpose: Sex, money, attention, respect, whatever we can get away with. Anyone whose fucked with the fickle dramas of dating knows what James Joyce meant when he said “All’s fair on all fours.” Like a nasty shove in a game of Twister.
Humans have always been playing games, both innocent and vicious. Before Sunday’s game, a friend told me about this movie “Rise” which documents a new phenomenon in CA called “churling” which is a sort of fast paced competitive dance used to replace gang fights, reminiscent of 80’s breakdancing and the more ancient dance-combat tradition of Capoeira. I recall from brief college studies that ancient cultures such as the Mayans would use their sports as a replacement for all out warfare, teams representing armies and letting the game decide the battle’s victor. Sure people still got killed for breaking the rules, and the looser’s players got sacrificed to the vanquishing gods, but their was much less wholesale slaughter and cultural destruction that marks traditional warfare. When I was a kid there was this meme going around that instead of fighting wars the opposing generals would have a boxing match, or at the very least a virtual simulation of the war so no one would have to die. If they have the capability of rendering and tracking he moves of thousands of individual agents necessary for the fight scenes of some computer animated movie like Lord of the Rings they should at least be able turn that technology to the good of mankind (assuming mass death isn’t a necessary move in the global game of survival. Overpopulation could be just as fatal).
Of course, all this doesn’t address the need for personal agency in one’s own life, perhaps responsible for the desire to get up, behind all the game playing, the tools and the techne. The visceral satisfaction of having done it with one’s own hands, in actual contests of real wills not merely reduced to a spectacle of passive entertainment. Certainly I’d rather be amused than dead, but creating my own forms of excitement is always the preferred alternative.
Walking down the street exciting the city into wild howling with a towel-twirl of the wrist, I remark to S. it would be that easy to incite the people to riot, enticing their mutual love of the football game into an uncontrollable frenzy. In the height of last season a bunch of anarchists dressed in black and gold and with a brass band playing modified fight songs went down to the stadium tailgate parking lots to drum up support against the war. With the state of the city now they wouldn’t even need the message. “Don’t worry,” S. says, “whatever the outcome of the Superbowl, the Southside will burn. Just direct everyone away from the bars and local stores towards the Southside Works, and light up a couple dumpsters.” Of course, chaos may not be called for, and Revolution’s just another game too, with its own rules of engagement and prerequisites for victory. Another game we play to win.
Of course, if I’d grown up in a city that’d actually cared about its sports team, D.C. barely bares the Redskins, if I’d gone out to games as a kid and had that as part of my own enculturation I might have formed a different opinion sooner, especially considering the historical impact of sports and gameplaying on society and culture.
Last year, or should I say, last season, as the Steelers were approaching the Superbowl, I began to notice the effect the games have on the population of Pittsburgh. After a win the streets felt lighter, smiles and greetings graced people’s lips, and once they lost for good it was a black Monday, the city crying and drinking itself down as if the President had died, or their beloved coach Bill Cowher, who I imagine the citizens of Pittsburgh respect more than any two-timing politician.
It isn’t so surprising that the outcome of a football game could affect people this strongly, in a town where the major industry died thirty some years ago and many feel they no longer have anything to live for, rooting on the team has become one of the few collective passions left to bring people together and give hope and meaning to their home and their lives. It is not uncommon, even through the off-season, to see yinzers dressed up constantly in black and gold. And as the big day approaches they break out the silly hats and fight songs, car pennants and terrible towels and you’re hard pressed to find someone who’s not intimately hinged on the results of the next game.
To an outsider this bizarre social ritual might seem generally annoying if not down right absurd, but to the fans they know it’s precisely their camaraderie and excitement that will drive the team on to victory, the players’ abilities a reflection of the city’s self-pride. Intrigued by this phenomenon, at the beginning of the season I decided to get in on the game myself and root on the Steelers, immersing myself in the local customs and measuring the effects of a small subset of the population on the game, and the game’s effect on them. Throughout the season I found the turns triumphs of each game often followed the focus and excitement the fans in our small living room group put into watching the game unfold. The way the wind from several twirling towels could cause the opponents’ kicks to mysteriously go astray. I can only assume that interaction between crowd and players is even more dynamic at the game itself. Perhaps next year I’ll have a chance to find out. After every loss or win the moods of my friends and the city changed accordingly, especially in the last few games when the Steelers started to play to their peak. I found myself becoming emotionally involved, and acquiring a Terrible Towel and Steelers hoody to bring whatever luck I could to the outcome of the game.
After last week’s tense and necessary win we went to Max and Erma’s in Shadyside for Black and Gold Burgers and people were out cheering each other on in a victory flush and almost breaking into spontaneous singing of the fight song.
Yesterday we did. Walking down Liberty waving our towels, passersby cheering, all the cars honking and waving. Even a cop car booped his sirens for the Steelers before a more intimidating squad of paddy wagons rolled by. Apparently they blocked off the Southside for all the reveling when some of the Steelers showed up. More singing in the bar, non-stop toasts to the team, and last call around ten when all the bear ran out. Could imagine this scene playing in all the dives across Pittsburgh, all the Steelers’ bars across the country. Four in Denver alone, how many Bronco’s bars here? None.
I suppose Pittsburgh takes victory seriously. We do have a lot of bad rep as a burnt out steel town. I mean, you’re not going to get any recognition if you don’t set out to win. I don’t think I’ve ever taken this seriously enough, raised to choose collaboration over competition, but in the age of rampant cutthroat advertising you’ve got to have an edge if you’re gonna get up. Being involved in the music industry has taught me that. There’s thousands of bad second-rate punk bands out there for every one that comes up with an innovative new riff or rhythm. I used to book shows and never got anywhere with it, not wanting to deal with the headache of hooking and booking the latest bands before someone else does. I’ve always preferred just performing myself, but at the time no one else was really booking certain acts in venues like Project 1877, except maybe Marry Mack or Manny Theiner, and I felt I was doing what I had to to keep the scene going. Now seeing what my compatriots at TBA Records are doing to promote shows in this town makes we proud. They know how to play that game; solid variety of acts and venues, persistent flyering, the My Space account. Their shows so far show they want to win, and are looking for everyone else to win too. Great for starring underground artists like myself to get noticed, get published or recorded, make a name for ourselves.
At one point in time I’d have laughed at this, but the act of getting up seems an integral part of the human spirit. From arts and literature to science, sports, politics, religion. Getting known, getting ahead, whether desperate urban youth spray painting the back alleys to whole nations waging war for pride, protection, and natural resources. Even the personal interactions we have with each other play out a game of learned scripts and cultural desires that affect who with and how we choose to relate. And for what purpose: Sex, money, attention, respect, whatever we can get away with. Anyone whose fucked with the fickle dramas of dating knows what James Joyce meant when he said “All’s fair on all fours.” Like a nasty shove in a game of Twister.
Humans have always been playing games, both innocent and vicious. Before Sunday’s game, a friend told me about this movie “Rise” which documents a new phenomenon in CA called “churling” which is a sort of fast paced competitive dance used to replace gang fights, reminiscent of 80’s breakdancing and the more ancient dance-combat tradition of Capoeira. I recall from brief college studies that ancient cultures such as the Mayans would use their sports as a replacement for all out warfare, teams representing armies and letting the game decide the battle’s victor. Sure people still got killed for breaking the rules, and the looser’s players got sacrificed to the vanquishing gods, but their was much less wholesale slaughter and cultural destruction that marks traditional warfare. When I was a kid there was this meme going around that instead of fighting wars the opposing generals would have a boxing match, or at the very least a virtual simulation of the war so no one would have to die. If they have the capability of rendering and tracking he moves of thousands of individual agents necessary for the fight scenes of some computer animated movie like Lord of the Rings they should at least be able turn that technology to the good of mankind (assuming mass death isn’t a necessary move in the global game of survival. Overpopulation could be just as fatal).
Of course, all this doesn’t address the need for personal agency in one’s own life, perhaps responsible for the desire to get up, behind all the game playing, the tools and the techne. The visceral satisfaction of having done it with one’s own hands, in actual contests of real wills not merely reduced to a spectacle of passive entertainment. Certainly I’d rather be amused than dead, but creating my own forms of excitement is always the preferred alternative.
Walking down the street exciting the city into wild howling with a towel-twirl of the wrist, I remark to S. it would be that easy to incite the people to riot, enticing their mutual love of the football game into an uncontrollable frenzy. In the height of last season a bunch of anarchists dressed in black and gold and with a brass band playing modified fight songs went down to the stadium tailgate parking lots to drum up support against the war. With the state of the city now they wouldn’t even need the message. “Don’t worry,” S. says, “whatever the outcome of the Superbowl, the Southside will burn. Just direct everyone away from the bars and local stores towards the Southside Works, and light up a couple dumpsters.” Of course, chaos may not be called for, and Revolution’s just another game too, with its own rules of engagement and prerequisites for victory. Another game we play to win.
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