America the liminal between life and death; police state.

I live now with this beautiful little lion of a cat named acu, he has taken me in. Quite the precious thing with the most fluffy downy undercarriage I have ever touched! He is definitely one of my more serious friends here.
I also live with Erik and that is going strangely and well unwell mostly. He is a very hurt person, as well as beautiful, kind, and mysterious. We are both standing on the precipice of each other, just sitting there feeling the pull to go down but some things hold us back. He is still in love with his old boyfriend and says I threaten his memory, Erik doesn't want to forget him. He says when he touches me he feels deep pain. 
I am not myself in all of this, a very good thing maybe. I mean I am here but am in a sort of state of grace. The possibility of love perhaps does that. New York perhaps does that. I am not trapped in my old stories, I feel the boundaries of my self have shifted, are shifting rapidly. 
I am broke as can be, never poorer. Yet I am unworried. I was arrested yesterday for hopping the subway. I spent all day trying to avoid the rain and finally decided to go out to this dumpster i know of. I was going to bike but did not want to be wet and cold having only pair of pants. So i decided i would dip into a little luxury and take the subway. On my way down the stairs i decided 5$ there and back was too much to pay. So i hopped.
I was held for some hours in a holding cell in Brooklyn. I sat there as one must. my hands slung through the bars. I thought what does this say about my life right now, where am I in this? Does this reveal something or is it just an arbitrary scene. I still don't know. Being arrested having my body held, my wallet emptied, phone and iPod gone through, photographed, fingerprinted all have contributed to this state of grace. Where I am in this? I lean towards saying nowhere. This has almost nothing to do with me. Moralizing assholes with no background in sociological analysis would pipe up here and say it is my fault.
I listened to the stories of three black men who were in the cell with me. They mentioned Martin luther king and slavery. Yes they are still talking about it, ever present on their souls and minds. I really cannot imagine. To even imagine what they feel is a small education in itself. The world is as bad as we say and believe (and as beautiful). We talked about when the american people are finally going to challenge the state. The cops: I got to witness their bodies in detail, their mannerisms, relationships with one another, thumping fists on chests guffawing, circle jerks; their brutal arrogance and ignorance. I cannot think of more disgusting creatures than the police, they truly are fucking pigs. If you stand too long in their presence they will eat you alive.
I had no idea when i would be getting out and i had no idea what they were digging up on me by looking through my phone and ipod, some who know me right now can perhaps imagine. I was in a cell where the only thing that moved was the locked door. It moved a millimeter back and forth inside the latch. In even a small world of a few hours this tiniest of movements became a source of hope. It was the only thing that moved in the whole cell besides our bodies. To push the door back and forth was to feel the possibility of leaving. It made the tiniest noise, the tiniest friction, but if I were serious enough it could make a lot of noise and I wondered if I could break out if I tried hard. Being contained is maddening beyond anything. So maddening that I had to become silent and extremely calm. 
What happened to me is dramatic but comparatively not so. A brush with the beast. Still I feel the presence of the forces around us. A million invisible strings we are constantly moving through, tripping up on, dragging, setting off. The forces are very real and I have been given another warning, be careful! "we will take you". We are not free, ha, and definitely not in the cities. Ask and you shall receive? Is this what we ask for? We are not free.
I have a court date for hopping the subway. Give us all a break. I am working on getting a job ASAP just in case I have to pay a fine. For now I will walk with my head down and not look at the police. Silence, my mother inadvertently taught me, is still strength. I will walk acting like a subdued person. I do not want to deal with them ever again. I'll do anything to avoid them touching me. When they touch me I feel the injustice of their very existence. When they touch us I feel stunned, how can this be?
We are not free. My mother who was carted off to jail repitedly. They took her and made her disappear. The child screamed at and beaten for not moving within the confines of the box called boy is still me. I was arrested when i was twelve for fooling around with neighborhood boys. I was scapegoated because everyone knew I was a fag. They took my body away from the prison that was home to another prison: juvenile jail. They would scream so loud at us that my ear would bleed at night. I am very deaf in one ear now. We are not free unless freedom lies within the confines of the game we play. We have small freedoms we can create and hideaway with, but they cannot all be displayed. How much more of our lives do we spend courting the ruling class? How long do we eat the crumbs they give and continue calling it a feast?

I am fucking pissed
I tremble with unshed tears
threatening to drown me

To be queer is truly a gift
as well as a black eye and a bloody lip.
it is everything

this country is a terrible joke,
I can't stand now
I gotta sit.