Mike Disman is a crafted journalist. He carries a notepad well and moves through crowds with muffled footsteps. He often interviews the prettiest girl nearby, and she is often smart.
Mike Disman doesn’t light his own cigarettes, he doesn’t light any cigarettes at all. He holds a Flip camera with only one hand. Who knows what he’s doing with the other. Could be fingering girls. Could be texting.
Mike Disman reports about good things, like Occupy Boston and the horrors of seal clubbings. He went to a Quaker school; does his work on time. Long ago, he would sit in silence for an hour, standing up only when he had something to say.
Mike Disman stands on the hill overlooking the meeting held in Boston Common for Occupy Boston the night after the eviction. Behind him, there are skaters cutting circles in the ice to the velvet thunder of Christmas music.
Mike Disman is constantly putting new numbers into his phone. He has a sprawling network canvassing wherever he walks.
Mike Disman puts his phone in his pocket, and starts toward the bench at the foot of the hill, the Christmas thunder fading as quickly behind him as day does to night, enveloping him the way only darkness can. He lights a cigarette, and does some simple math. It all keeps adding up to 99%.
He doesn’t know where to go. He walks home. He records a couple of notes in his yellow notebook and charges his phone. Then he sleeps, dreaming of the same thing you and I dream of, but in different colors.
Mike Disman is a journalist you could consider revolutionary.
Mike Disman doesn’t light his own cigarettes, he doesn’t light any cigarettes at all. He holds a Flip camera with only one hand. Who knows what he’s doing with the other. Could be fingering girls. Could be texting.
Mike Disman reports about good things, like Occupy Boston and the horrors of seal clubbings. He went to a Quaker school; does his work on time. Long ago, he would sit in silence for an hour, standing up only when he had something to say.
Mike Disman stands on the hill overlooking the meeting held in Boston Common for Occupy Boston the night after the eviction. Behind him, there are skaters cutting circles in the ice to the velvet thunder of Christmas music.
Mike Disman is constantly putting new numbers into his phone. He has a sprawling network canvassing wherever he walks.
Mike Disman puts his phone in his pocket, and starts toward the bench at the foot of the hill, the Christmas thunder fading as quickly behind him as day does to night, enveloping him the way only darkness can. He lights a cigarette, and does some simple math. It all keeps adding up to 99%.
He doesn’t know where to go. He walks home. He records a couple of notes in his yellow notebook and charges his phone. Then he sleeps, dreaming of the same thing you and I dream of, but in different colors.
Mike Disman is a journalist you could consider revolutionary.
No comments:
Post a Comment