We raised enough to get them all clothes, shoes, stamps and everything else on Josh, Doug, and Connor wish lists! (Brandon just wants books, if you can get him some please check the link below) But if you would still like to donate, you can always help by donating to their commissary funds here
Books If you send and of the Cleveland 4 books, please email email@example.com to let us know so we can take it off the wishlist!
Josh's sentencing has been delayed again. It will be in October 7th at 1PM!
Josh's sentencing has been delayed again. It will be October 7th at 3pm! Judge is giving the prosecution a (short) time to rebutt the defense assertion that Josh doesn't qualify for the terrorism enhancement in sentencing.
He was never present for any meeting or discussion of 'why', and the gov hasn't proven a necessary component of the enhancement: intent to influence
Joshua's sentancing will still be infront of Judge Dowd at the Akron court house. He'll need all the support possible, so please attend! Pack the court room! There will be a meet and greet before In front of the court house at 2:30, and a rally directly after sentencing, also in front of the court house. Make sure to be on time, or they wont let you into the court room.
( I will be editing this later, adding more to this. )
"Our love transcends 20-Foot high walls of cement, the memories we share outweigh 10,000 slamming metal doors, And I am not afraid" - Connor Stevens
When I first got to Occupy Cleveland, I had never been around any sort of Activism. I had never seen it. I sat by for a few hours toting a Guy Fawkes mask, hardly even knowing what it represented. I had the vaguest of ideas. I watched what I had come to learn to be a GA. I learned the lingo, the hand signs. *Twinkle Fingers!* I came out of my shell and stopped being afraid to speak. I had found my voice. A home. Something I loved doing. I fell in love. At first I had a small tent and shared it with friends. We were evicted in less than a month. Then I spent months living in an 8'x10' tent in public square, living off of semi-frozen cans of beats and donated food from local restaurants. I don't think I'll ever eat Auntie Annes again. We warmed up food on a steam grate while also using it to keep away frost bite. For a while we had an office space. It didn't last long, but it was a place to calm down and brush my hair without being in a mall bathroom. A few months later, we got a warehouse. We built small rooms in it. We made a kitchen. We made it our own little "Anarchist Commune", which was more of a big cement room filled with people who had never lived on their own. It was our home. Many of the Occupy Cleveland members who covered most of the tent shifts lived there. We split up shifts at the tent and the warehouse was where we would rest and find our sanity. Some of the shifts felt like we were stranded on an island, forgotten. We counted the minutes until Kathy brought breakfast or waiting for the next occupier to arrive and relieve us. Our shifts were eight hours but they often ended up being longer. We were fighting for something though, right? Surely it had to affect something. We wanted to change the world.
here's some stuff i wrote recently.. Hoping to get some feedback.
The sun sets and she sits in a small cell, a modest chamber in the stomach of a world that is eating itself. The sun rises and she slowly dresses her body in a khaki uniform, clearly announcing that she is but a mere appendage in a vast and hideous organism. Some call it god, come call it a dream, still others call it progress. As the sun sits high in the sky she stares out a barred window to a landscape of concrete and concertina wire. She has known this place before, in her childhood, in the form of certain traumas suffered by her soul. A friend commits suicide. The numbness spreads as she discovers that her father is an abusive drunk. There are the boys who taunt her and threaten her with vicious sexual assault. How can she afford to remain sensitive to the world, she realizes, if it is but a freezing storm without relief? As the starless night sky still manages, somehow, to conjure memories of better times, she stares out across the gray barbed nihilism of this world, objectified. She shudders with futility, enveloped by loneliness.
He has slept alone every night for the past three years. Not quite alone, but the only one in his bed. He curls around his pillow in a tight embrace. Sometimes, as he sleeps, one can hear a faint whimpering, as if the pillow were not enough -- as if the vast reservoir of tears refused to burst forth without a warm someone there to receive them. In three years, he has cried three times. The world invites him to forget how to weep. A real man whimpers.
She cannot understand why, yet she has little choice but to accept what she's told.. The water is poison -- don't touch it. That was in kindergarten. In the third grade her mother died of cancer. In the fifth grade her best friend stepped off a very high cliff. Later the same year her uncle stepped in front of a train. In the seventh grade she stopped taking adderal and started taking oxycottin. By the end of the tenth grade she had had one abortion and two miscarriages. She didn't care much if the pill was an upper, a downer, a goner. The world had long since become a gray line. She had dreams of immense storms roiling through the oceans, as a child. Around eight years old she thought of the world as an ocean of suffering.