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Max: Portlandia II

I was supposed to link up with an old friend of Jack’s that afternoon. He’d been down to Occupy once, and he offered to go back with me. Trevor knows every inch of Portland. Obscure monuments. Weird iconography. Real history.

This tree stump? Look closer. It’s made of stone. It’s a grave-marker for a member of a forgotten Masonic order. That building over there? It used to be a speak-easy. They had an underground phone line straight to the local police precinct.

Trevor speaks in such a slow, deliberate manner, and in such a low tone of voice, that I have to listen. His whole demeanor is disarming. He has a kind of fastidious, algorithmic intelligence that makes me feel like a small dog barking at cars.

We wound our way through the city on foot. A few blocks from the park, I stopped to tear a piece of cardboard off a discarded box. I needed to make a sign. I pulled a felt tipped marker from my pocket, one I’d swiped from Trevor’s apartment, and wrote:

Afghanistan is the world’s largest deposit of Lithium.
If you own an iPhone, you are a douchebag.

It was subtle, I thought. Considering the fact that Generation Apple had organized most of the Occupy movement via social networking websites, like an Arab Spring for spoiled suburbanites, I figured there was a good chance I would offend virtually everyone I passed.

I didn’t want to debate the gross sociopolitical factors of their white, middle class existence or how it was or wasn’t fundamentally sustained by third world labor and exploitation at almost every level. It was all neo-Marxist bullshit to me, wrapped in a disingenuous skin of Libertarianism by a bunch of people who had never actually read Anarchy, State, Utopia.

Read the rest at FKNONLINE.

See also Portland Memorials by Trevor Blake.