The Sadness of July
Katie Jean Shinkle GR Man, 27, Kills Himself in a Standoff 3 minutes and 21 seconds WoodTV-8 broadcast: Grand Rapids, Michigan July 2011 [0:00-0:23] One man is dead and another behind bars after a stand-off . . . that lasted for hours in the peak early of a good July morning a luxury only afforded white men between fireworks and fireworks or gunshots because here in this neighborhood you can’t tell the difference between pop and pomp and each circumstance an American flag waves next to the militia flag lo, the angel of death is near It all started . . . with a home invasion and assault and ended when the suspect killed himself . . . a couple miles away A couple of miles away, the reporter says, but really what is a mile to a city block, and what is a city block to every stretch of distance from one scene to the next. On July 3, 2011 a dead body rises out of bed to greet me,
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a holy corner, holy lot here he is sinew and syntax what rises from between letters and rests in the grave of kerning, what parenthetical in space of rest and time, each curvature a scant stance of recognition for the way our bodies move, how in horizontal I spread so wide I can take up every inch if given it and then some, too. Here on this eve of America’s birthday, the dead body sits on my bathroom floor smokes thick out of a broken bulb blackened base and says the lights in Vegas were always my favorite neon as far as the eye can see I knew people out there who actually thought they’d been to France because they drank at the replica of the Eiffel Tower at Paris Las Vegas and he chokes, hacks, coughs, a heightened vocal drowning, holding himself under, cradling the smoke suspended in the back of his lungs, tongue to the top of his mouth, tightening his chest in the midst of suspension the feeling will elongate and stay forever
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(0:23-0:50) . . . killed himself . . . in this home . . . after a several hour long standoff with police . . . In less than 8 hours, there will be a home invasion and assault with Paris Las Vegas fresh in the back of your mind and you tell me through smother smoke about how your parents took you to France as a teenager and you hated being with them so much you never smiled for any pictures even though the trip saved your life showed you what the world contains in droplets of moments on locks on a bridge in a rain where you left yours and dropped the key into the Seine and there you are with your hair wide and your jean bottoms wider, the world is yours don’t you see? We don’t know what to believe Did you actually go to France? Or do you simply wish it were true? He and one other man were suspects in a 4:00 a.m. . . . home invasion . . . The crime, police say, the two men allegedly broke into that house, tied up the people who lived there, assaulted them, and then ransacked their home all as the couple’s three children slept right upstairs In flee we jump time, each period a new becoming, each comma a respite.
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On my bathroom floor, you ask if I have anything to drink and I know what you mean so I hand you a half-pint of whiskey and say wait for me tonight outside the bar wait for me won’t you wait for me
(0:50-0:60) You and another nameless man, but we know the man you were meeting at the bar that night. I told you not to go, to wait for me, pleaded and begged and bargained for you to make another choice. You were lost in remembrance, nostalgia, real or imagined, of yourself above the Seine, the horizon in black and white sparkle. There you are. Will you stay? Will you go? Now we do know that [he] . . . had a criminal record . . . and we also found out tonight that he served time in prison . . . So now here we are, with the breath in between brackets a life line whatever you fill the space with let it be yours a criminal who has served time how the curve of the c crimps into the r which overhangs the line and dot
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the two humps of m small in comparison with the line one dot another hump of n and back to curves of a, sweet belly and straight back and back to vertical, l— crush the pucker of your lips and push the small short air out the curl of the tongue (r), pull the lips back smile-like, pull the lips back and open, tongue to top of mouth and rip the tongue away, an elongated lull Crim-in-al Crim-in-al You are a criminal here in this city who has served time. You are a criminal here in this city, a city that loved you until it no longer loved you. A city you wanted to be in more than any city. Your home. In prison, all you wanted was to come home. Welcome home. And one of the things he did say to police tonight during that several hour negotiation was that he didn’t want to go back to prison When the body says I don’t want to go back to prison When body of the body decides and decision decision decision until you are nothing but smoke and indecision.
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The freedom of surrender or forfeit, of not being killed by the hands of the police, now or never, I can’t go back to prison, man, I can’t go back to prison, I always said I’d kill myself if I have to go back to prison What makes this body so much more deserving to live than all the others The body as negotiator says it is time when the body knows it is ready when is the body ready When does a body become a stand-off We all know what happens to an incarcerated body. And what do we do when we know we should not be doing what we are doing how does the body react but flee and choke and hold the smoke as long as it can even when the chest compresses concave forward push and pull to live
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the body wants oxygen and how can the body take the breath with all this smoke? Who were you with and why were you with him and you tell me on my bathroom floor after I hand you the half-pint you say you have plans and I say are you sure are you sure are you sure you can’t wait for me are you sure are you sure and you say yes of course I’m sure
(0:60-3:20) Your face looms in the background. Interviews with witnesses, neighbors, those who take home video, those who hear yelling and gunshots. Here is what is not being said, the kerning and parenthesis, the brackets of missing: How two bodies, once together, can feast and fugue such conflagration and subterfuge, and in the spaces live you, in front of the mirror, saying, I’m too high for this right now, the reimagining of what could have been, of putting a gun to someone’s head the possibilities of firing of a man and woman like your parents and children like your siblings and what does it mean to bring something upon ourselves the American fruits for swallowing
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what does it mean to stay alive and to leave life by choice how you get to live until you no longer want to how so many black and brown people die at the hands of police how you are not one of them those who will die by the gun of an officer and for hours they will coax you into living the patience of police to negotiate with white, male criminals is astounding disgusting immoral Dozens of sheriffs . . . police officers . . . blocked off the streets for hours. More interviews with witnesses, a neighbor who laughs To curl the lips in laughter at witness, how between the brackets one bullet shot or two lives in ricochet. How feral a comma, how violent a period. The unspeakable cruelty of a witness who laughs, at the presence of a gun, of a life on the edge of existence. How lost must one be to take and take, into oblivion. When the body says: It’s you or me. You or me.
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A finality comes in the two touch of tongue to lips, the old creak of vocal vibration of forced gut throat ha hahah hahahah You are dead, how funny it all is
Evacuating neighbors setting up a command post and negotiating with the two suspects inside the house. The same suspects who’d [sic] shot at them minutes before . . . Neighbor voiceover: At one point in time, that was implied, it was either he was going to come out and have the officers kill him or he would kill himself . . . Your mugshot lingers in the background. One of the home invasion suspects did eventually give himself up to police the other . . . 27-year-old . . . killed himself inside the house The sheriff says: The deceased was kind of a roller coaster ride . . . and didn’t want to go back to prison . . . wanted to talk to some family members What is witness more than watch, a twice removed view from a camera shudder red dot blinking Is this thing on? Your mother waves at you in front of the Eiffel Tower, and you, so unaffected, say in French to your sister Hey, the sign says no dogs allowed go back to America where
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you belong No, here in the brackets of the moment, the overhang of each arm sideways and inviting You think about every voice every eye through viewfinder twice removed inside his home recording everything sweet high vocal through the air like an insect zips by your ear so close you bat at the side of your face but the video catches the bullet splits the screen in fours, fives, sixes A rare 4th of July weekend for this normally quiet . . . neighborhood Your mugshot fades into the background. A final interview with neighbor who laughs (Reporter: When is the last time you saw a police car in this neighborhood? (Neighbor: Oh goodness :: ha ahah hahah ha :: uhhhh
(Sign-off: Live tonight, 24-Hour News 8)