At the end of the film I’m on my back staring at the night sky…

The man who helped me is lying nearby—his mouth bloody…

We’re lost in a thick fog of tear gas—the sky disappears above us—the occupation failed…

Lost without a clear linear narrative—upset by temporal disjunction—and chagrined at the jump cuts. 

What I’m Reading:

Nobody in the world, nobody in history, has ever gotten their freedom by appealing to the moral sense of the people who were oppressing them.

— Asata Shakur / Assata: An Autobiography