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facing me. If there was a stir in their lines, it was not a violent stir, it was the stir of underwater slow motion or of a beast sleeping. They were not threatening me in any overt way, they were not preventing me from going to sleep. They were not the obsessive squirrel-cage rush of cards or highway signs after a long night of poker or a hard day's driving, or the elements of any obsessive task. They simply stood there and blocked my dreams.
It is guilty, this power that lets these cops and soldiers be there in the mind and in the streets, blocking dreams, and it must die. It is guilty of blocking off and attacking to drive away that which will not be driven away, of blocking access, of blocking movement and anticipation in soul and time and history, in the relations of man to man.
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