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Title: Wax Date: 5/27/2023 Source: Retrieved on 2023-06-24 from [[https://www.freesofiajohnson.com/wax-pdf-now-available/][freesofiajohnson.com/wax-pdf-now-available]] Notes: Available from [[https://littleblackcart.com/index.php?dispatch=products.view&product_id=896][Little Black Cart]] Authors: Comrade Candle Published: 2023-07-07 02:21:00Z
1 The ice in my veins beholden to your fiery Superman.
2 Wrought forth from blood and strength is all I claim as my own.
3 O, Zarathustra, may I grant you this warning! — You can’t forget what is already mine.
4 I leave you now with the question: “Will you wake when I die?”
5 Know as you are, I’m superior — you may like that you’re held in contempt.
6 The contempt I have may shine light for me on my humanity.
7 There is nothing — no god or idea — I would hold as sacred. Nothing is fixed or so-rigid to be held as a thing-in-itself. When a man as super as you bows to my superiority — what do you say?
8 I lend my voice to your ears and spare you the crack of a whip with the desire born selfishly to hear your cries spoke again. Still am I to be fruitless with the task I have placed as my own?
9 “No, not today, fair Wax — I see it fit to speak. Tell me though, dear maiden: what causes your
contempt?”
10 “My self-interest.”
11 “Oh?”
12 “If you’d willfully lend me your hand then I’d demonstrate.”
13 “How?”
14 “By fire, my daring Superman.”
15 Emboldened by taking the hand of a fiery enigmatic man, it has come time that I venture where the loftiness of my spirit becomes.
16 I do wish that you know the magnitude of power my cold heart commands. Perhaps you already may as you hold tight to my powerful hand. I know that as I’m consumed, in perpetuity by my own being, I create unending, born from nothing, to be. I saw fit to will that your hand clasp ever-so tightly to mine. Now come, Zarathustra, I will it — that my hands may bring forth fire. Fire to burn down what-is, of the humanity I hold in contempt. I find it fitting to bring my next challenge to successfully surmount.
17 Away now we shall descend from the cold of the desolate mountain, Though we journey to someplace far colder than any earthly chill wrought. A frost one must know of, otherwise one will be bit.
18 I will bite.
1 Graciously to you I gift what is to come, though it must be said my reasons are egotistic.
2 I wish to see the world that the State extols brought to mere ash as I revel at the flame.
I am but one enby, though virtuous of nature. My Will to Power claims only what it can.
3 I have but two hands with which I may create.
4 With my voice, I will tell you why I choose to burn.
5 My nose is thrilled by the scent of kerosene. it has proven to be one of this shop’s precious items. As I douse the structure, I feel pure ecstasy — Oh, joy, Zarathustra! Soon its end will be!
6 This normalized structure reproduces capitalist relation, its right to property defended by the State. The night will hold me tight, as once you too did also — the black curtain will soon enough be pulled.
7 This religion of consumption I will never hold sacred.
8 With this fire, I give you the death of but one shop.
9 Thankless flames burn bright and indifferent to any tradition of woe and disgust practiced by shopkeeper. The inferno has no care for any kind of morals.
10 Perhaps as I have unleashed my burning in this state, the coldest of all monsters would label me immoral — my story is told by the hand that creates it.
11 Though my actions are so-noble, in creating my own burning, I dare not caress its fruit — ashes. The violence of the State would chase me tireless.
12 I find my solace in the end of this building where, until as of late, one could exchange commerce. Billowing black above, I wonder if the claim of private property extends to the heavens. Certainly in some part, the capitalist lay claims of ownership onto this ethereal cloud. I shall not shed a tear, with exception for the flame. Its wake on this plane has been far-too fleeting.
13 Granted I must know, lest my ears deceive, this brave inferno will soon be less than embers. My deed, likewise, can never be un-made. Consider all the coal as mere immortal product — propaganda of the deed. One cannot hope to build a shackle from mere ash — Fire can be tamed but what its changed has changed.
14 Take my hand once more so I may show the sauce that brings my spiciness on par with this heat.
15 Though we must get washed, we shall soon return to witness the terror within the State’s eyes.
16 I cherish this experience that cannot be remade. the State’s terror should not go unknown.
17 To know of the State’s fright, one only needs a light!
1 “I know that your fair labor is done in your own interest to preserve this God-graced structure and all that it surrounds. Your bravery is telling as you walk this tired path where your weary eyes behold such destruction.”
2 “I thank you kind civilian for all the praise you give. Please keep aback as we put this flame to rest. It truly is a shame that this fire ever came.”
3 “It is certainly disgraceful how much this fire took, I could never hope to fathom the pain it has brought — and now too how much cannot be bought! Its impact will be felt wherever one can look. Has all the personnel been spared from this carnage?”
4 “The store has been lost, indeed you’re right to ask — A new Store can be built but never lives restored. It appears the store was empty, and from what we all can tell, the fire accidental.”
5 “Well, you are the experts, that much is apparent. I’d never have the courage to quench inferno’s thirst.”
6 “As, indeed, we’ve done.”
7 “At times, the task seemed fun.”
8 The flame’s been laid to rest, where once this store had stood. Arising to their test, the firefighter’s good.
9 As the smoke departs, the steam finally vanished, not much remains to tell of this establishment.
10 I see the charred rafters, still smoldering on grounds as black as the clouds that once poured through the sky. Everything that remains is coated equally in flame-born ash and water poured-like free. As damp as mud can get these fires tormented. Firefighters proved the power one can use.
11 Can a fire ever hope to enter inside the water flow of the same fire hose twice? Not when Firefighters douse the fire expertly. Once the fire quells, the water ceases flow.
12 The fire breathes no more with firefighter hands left sore.
1 “Your car is awfully cold, though with a shining glimmer. Would you care to smoke a cigarette for free? The job you’re tasked with would be so hard for me.”
2 “A pretty lady with skin as fair as yours should really avoid smoking cigarettes — you tempt me and I give! It’s just one; I’ll live.”
3 “With cigarette in mouth, you look so different from the usual report given by your brothers.”
4 “Do you have a light?”
5 “Zarathustra might.”
6 As Zarathustra’s hand brings forth a tiny ember, the smell of nicotine coats the police car.
7 “What brings you to these parts, you and your friend — was it just the fire, not brought to an end?”
8 “My friend, Wax, and I ventured over here when it would happen flame appeared.”
9 “We saw the smoke across the night and came to assure things were right.”
10 Three bodies lean against a car as cigarette still burns. Nothing is yet said as time awaits an end.
11 A cigarette burns small, no question of desire. Wax and Zarathustra only tasked to admire.
12 Now with The Police Car’s freshly given branding; the scent still standing; what is left to say? Wax and Zarathustra head on their way.
1 Wax and Zarathustra seated gently in the grass, gazing serenely at the cherry blossoms. Petals start to descend from the heights, careening towards-their bed below. The wind starts to gust and, but briefly, petals, once more, take to the air. The atmosphere is pink as momentarily blossoms sink.
2 Turning now to face the lake, I see that its body has been graced as well. The sun gleams off the speckled surface, turning water to glass; colors rich and vibrant, light drawing forth what was once masked by shadows cast.
3 Take hold of the moment, it is ever-fleeting. So much comes to pass right before one’s eyes. Nothing matters innately,find beauty where you wish.
4 Seldom will one achieve their preconceived ideal. A petal knows not where it finds land, only this eventuality. Is it predisposed to grass or water? No — it will simply be.
5 I will live as I am and love all that’s come to pass.
6 No one is as powerful as I am in my life.
7 I alone control what is beautiful, what I find to be virtuous or noble. Why should any tell me how to be? I love my individuality.
8 I love the beauty of many flowers and the absence of powers.
1 I have come to hold your likes in contempt as time-and-time again you show your lack of spine. Will you match my heat or shall your party ask that you speak for them?
2 ‘In all due fairness, Wax, we’ve never seen your labor used to benefit our collective’s cause. Our day’s work is hard, as many will go hungry due to recent tragedy encroaching on supply. You are but an outlaw, everybody is aware, so how could you ever know an honest day’s struggle? Our aid helps many, be damned your contempt.”
3 “I had heard a tale of a certain suburbs losing but one store, may your gods find mercy on your poignant begging.”
4 “We labor for the good of our collective’s needs, so again be damned attacking respectability.”
5 “Naturally.”
6 The Collectivist’s needs reign supreme, the collective’s acts serene.
1 “The fire to my favorite store was a deliberate act of terror!”
2 “Who do you think would decide to partake in such evil?”
3 “The police have called it chance, quite the pitch to sell. I imagine it some hoodlum or Muslim jihadist. No one who’s found God, or his son Jesus Christ, would ever dare defy the one true moral code.”
4 “Blessed be you for having found your absolutist morals that are so-clearly God-given.”
5 “I only wish the heathen would come out to the public to ask for forgiveness that they badly need. Sinners must be punished, justice must be served. Everything should feel right as it’s always been.”
6 “We should pray that the one true God shall deliver justice to your sorry plight.”
7 Wax draws The Moralist deep into a prayer, a prayer that The Moralist hopes to quell evil.
8 As eyes open, The Moralist stays blind.
1 Have you ever taken possession of your need with callous disdain for its former tyrant?
2 “I put my gun to the head of any who’d deny me the basic needs demanded by my person.”
3 Do you know remorse for these grisly sins?
4 “I’d rather live beautifully by bullet and knife than hand a capitalist my entire life.”
5 Our world is indifferent to our plight; must we let our downfall be the morals reigning down, erected to prostrate us? I would rather stand my ground and scream out my defiance. Though it so happens that an act is harder forgotten — when one acts for their self, it oft will be immoral.
Let one’s immoral acts be one’s truth — self-interest.
Life is hardly life when one does merely as they’re taught; from moralism to religious sin, devotion’s end is terribly grim. Know nothing of remorse, sin is a fabrication.
If one must, sin joyously.
6 “Death to the rich who would demand I offer my entirety just to feed my mouth.”
7 “While the bourgeoisie use your body to their ends the cycle repeats ad nauseam — one grows rich, the many poor, with hardships brought to many more, so one can scratch their hedonistic itch. Being poor costs money while being rich makes more. Is this farce of property not the new divine King’s right — to sit as unquestionable and forever propagate?”
8 The Robber and Wax see Zarathustra eating a bag of corn chips.
9 They only take a couple.
1 Furry free spirit, creeping through the streets, I deeply admire your innocence. You, so proudly, defy all us humans are.
2 Slinking to-and-from the shadows, I can tell your life is hard with your lack of say in our world’s design. I desire such a life, a free spirit in the night. My person will be held to this social contract that I have been born to, against my own self-interest.
3 I want to pet The Street Cat.
4 “Mreow!”
1 From the sediment, protruding from its stem, the black rose petals rest within their spirals. I
gaze at an abyss of petals, taking in their beauty — this rose holds my eyes!
2 With the dark beauty captivating me, I relish the perfumes supplementing sight. This rose’s existence is quite a delight!
3 Often we are told to hold a rose’s thorns as testament to its transgressions.
4 I love to see the beauty, as is — innate. Black suits roses well; black is beautiful.
5 This rose could hardly hope to ever betray the sediment that nurtured the potential we now see. I am joyous that this rose could be.
6 I wish to see many more; whole fields colored black.
7 I cut free the black rose.
1 Crashing on the shoreline, chiseling the stone — a jagged edge eroded far below.
2 The rolling sounds; fresh salty smell. Churning, the blue makes a frothy-white.
3 The spray hits my skin, splattering across — Zarathustra, too.
4 Ebb-and-flow continues, more splashing about of ocean waves in perpetuity.
5 As I see it, will it always be? Will the waves keep crashing, ever-powerful, until the stone exists as but-mere sand?
6 The wave is powerful enough that my mere hands could never stop it.
1 Deeply-felt relief with combustion, exhaling fragrance smelt deeply and far. This greenish-hued flower, a target of persecution, gives me pleasure when I see it burn.
2 You should know — I will burn.
1 Seated at a wooden table, I am greeted as The Robber joins Zarathustra and me.
2 The Moralist and The Collectivist, seated across the room, glare their judgment at the three of us. With no words said at all, their gaze speaking tall, I raise my hand to offer coffee for all present that matter.
3 Arriving at the table, steam pouring from the cup, I look into the coffee and giggle to myself. Still scorching, I stand just to stretch my legs.
4 “It’s quite a lovely day to have some coffee here.”
5 My friends agree, and as my legs cease aching, I rejoin their posture and taste my bitter beverage.
6 My lips turn.
1 My friends and I leave the shop, nearly forgetting to dash. As we make haste to safety, we spot The Street Cat in a box of fried rice. Dazzled initially by this display of sheer cuteness, we fawn at The Street Cat before we approach it. The fried rice it’s scavenged seems relatively fresh.
2 We are a bit perplexed: what would possess a cat to place itself in a box of fried rice? The cat is awfully cute, we figure it can clean disregarded food from its fluffy fur. The Street Cat licks its paw.
3 Paw and head poke out the side of toppled box.
4 “I think we should venture closer to the cat and unearth this clandestine cuteness.”
5 The Street Cat rolls its head at us and purrs. We cross the distance towards our rambunctious friend.
6 With distance closed, attention perks — we see we’re in for a surprise.
7 The Street Cat quickly springs to action, already mid-pounce. The Street Cat lands upon a lone wandering garden snake. The snake hardly sees the act, and then it’s left in two.
8 “Meow!”
1 The moon lights up the street selectively and as it does I am allowed to see. Its beams reflect brightly and glisten from the many flat opaque surface. When the moonlight comes, I always remember how terribly these structures cater to the sun.
2 How lightly you illuminate all I see at night.
3 I take my first step.
1 As I fill up my cup with sweet tea, I do remember the ice. Taking a hold of my drink, I think of what to do with my day. I don’t desire for ice to melt and water down my drink. The tea is awfully sweet and reminds me of better days.
2 Given the mood I have found, I elect to lie in the grass, surrounded by bushes and flowers, to bask in the breeze and scent.
3 My mind is quick to wander, try as I might to control it. Eventually I release thought from the reigns I have used to suppress it. Racing relentless, not all of my thoughts are coherent. Passion, lust, and desire dominate sadness and grief.
4 Purpose ceases to be as I begin to simply exist.
5 Though honey would make it too sweet, my sweet tea stays next to me. Long forgotten from thought grasping my entirety, I still manage to sip on my iced sweet tea.
6 My deep longing for comfort is felt to my very core. I knew what it meant to ascend, in the cold I must overcome urge. My heart will remain fettered, for all of the freedoms it grants, as much as I one day long to have it melted at last.
7 What was before now wasn’t as cold, or possibly I was not privy. My heart then had chosen to hold space for those clearly not worthy. I walk a great path, one I am willing to undertake alone — know that I am accustomed to being misunderstood by those just now growing ears.
You likely do not walk among me, far more likely I walk around graves of those who’d rather be led than live but one moment alive. As you choose to be enslaved — I thrive.
8 In this moment, rather I lie in the relative comfort cold known by the lofty arsonist who holds all of humanity in contempt.
9 I sip my tea.
1 Snow, ever-so white, falls upon the street, peppering it and creating an ever-white sheet. As I make my way along, I gaze upon the snow — it cushions each and every footfall. So my feet do fall, as the snow does; still. The cold holds me tightly, the sound of walking lightly enveloped within the winter’s embrace brings my senses fully, acutely, aware of every mild happening: Cold air carries more than pain.
My wandering, partly aimless, though I’ll surely quell the chill, leaves behind a path to be filled in time. I am more aware than I had before been just how alone I am in this wake. My way is carved through ice, a twisted turn of fate, though-perhaps fate isn’t quite a thing to have beheld with the sharp skepticism-born from the cold.
Will I ever know? I live but one life. How can I discern truth to my essence? I see no point, no desire. I have brought forth fire — who could call it fate what I chose to create?
2 Probably the moral, the God-fearing afraid, would behold my fire as but-mere fat; possibly, too, the State. Of those who’d admire? They’d share the flame they’ve made, hardly looking to become judge. To them, my fire floral — the State a blight, a smudge.
Well, to you my friend, who I may never know, I wish you all the best on your struggle with the State. As it rests upon the suffering of near-all, surely soon all seek its fall; a wishful desire that may never truly be. Will it fall — I’ll see?
3 I know the snow still falls as I journey through the street, much like the State subsists with each fall of my feet.
4 A rustle up above greets the floor with a crash. I care to look above and spot a snow-topped Street Cat. The Street Cat greets my gaze, still plodding on the roof, finally halting to sit far above.
5 “Meow!”
6 My body feels the chill, my heart naught but concern. Won’t the cold claim cat as equally as I? My mind has been claimed, I set upon my task: “Won’t you please join my search for warmth?”
7 I see The Street Cat’s shivers, the fright within its eyes. My body ventures closer to the snow-covered rooftop whereupon lie The Street Cat. I offer out my arms, overcome with dread, unknown to me whether I’m understood. Snow now coats my arms, and in truth all equally.
8 “Aren’t you cold upon the roof, couldn’t you use rest? Please come here, sweet Street Cat, before the cold claims you. I love you, dear Street Cat, and only wish you well.”
9 “Meow.”
10 Retreating from my gaze, The Street Cat no longer sits.
11 Snow descends upon the rooftop.
1 Zarathustra rests upon his magnificent throne, seated with the grace born of a King. His demeanor is calm, collected, as he pleasantly gazes upon the entirety of The Throne Room. His right hand grasps a scepter, glistening with gold-and-gem — his left still dormant upon his very chair. A grand rug lines the path, up the shallow steps, occupying space between the throne and entrance.
What drew Zarathustra to sit upon his throne? Was it merely whim, or was his will not strong?
2 The Throne Room doors open — “Enter,” Zarathustra speaks — and into it we wander. I, Wax; The Moralist; The Collectivist; The Firefighter; The Robber. “You may all come closer so all may speak in turn. I am quite thankful you have come, at my command,” Zarathustra speaks with odd finality.
3 The doors close behind us and I, first, choose to speak: “Your company is worth a respite from the chill. Come now, Zarathustra, won’t you let us know just how pleasant sitting is upon a throne?” I venture closer than the rest and lean upon his throne.
“Is the throne you rest on a thing-in-itself, perhaps it truly has no real value to it?”
4 “What has our company to say about your intrigue?” Zarathustra speaks.
5 “Everything has essence, a spirit if you will — all things have meaning innate to their permanence. A throne’s essence, the spirit of a throne, calls to the right of those seated to rule,” The Collectivist speaks.
6 “My service to my people is funded by our nation, and in times of old may well have meant my service served such type of throne. A throne’s value comes from that which surrounds it,” The Firefighter speaks.
7 “Value to the throne? I’d ask its buyer,” The Robber speaks.
8 “God creates. all that is, everything is sacred. All that is to be had is by God’s grace. The only throne with value, above any other, lies in a throne given by God,” The Moralist speaks.
9 “I take it that the essence; the spirit of a throne, to each-and-every-person has a whole new value. Though it does appear some find thrones similar; to this Unique, your throne exists only to be consumed as my property; your throne is nothingness; valueless. So you sit upon a throne, you daring Superman?” Wax speaks.
10 Zarathustra turns to face Wax, grinning at the question: “Well, I am noble,” Zarathustra speaks.
11 “As you say; perhaps your throne does speak. I would venture to say, should that be true, your throne serves merely as adornment. Though, if I may, is that true?” Wax speaks.
12 Preparing to reply, Zarathustra turns, suddenly, to the door. Through The Throne Room door, one hears a faint Mye-ow! As the sound travels through The Throne Room, Wax and The Robber grin then turn with the rest. Wax leaves Zarathustra’s side and journeys to the door.
13 With a nod from Zarathustra, Wax opens The Throne Room door. The Street Cat paws the door as it opens. Nuzzling its head against Wax’s leg, The Street Cat defiantly struts over to the throne. With one small leap, paws now stand upon throne’s armrest.
14 The Street Cat sits upon the throne, shedding off residual snow. It meows at Zarathustra, demanding his hand. Snow melts; wet throne.
15 “Such a talkative creature, quite cute; affectionate.” Zarathustra speaks, beginning the faintest of smiles.
16 Deprived of its right to be pet, The Street Cat leaps down from the throne, steadily moving toward a bemused Wax. Wax kneels as The Street Cat gets rather close.
17 Suddenly rather shy, The Street Cat sniffs Wax’s outstretched hand. Wax and The Street Cat gaze upon each other. Wax, their usual smirk, The Street Cat poking hand with its little wet nose. With a few sniffs, The Street Cat starts to scan the remainder of the room, tiring of Wax and their hand.
18 With one final meow, The Street Cat departs, strutting defiantly beyond The Throne Room door.
19 The Throne Room door lie open, a somberness is felt by all as they witness The Street Cat depart.
20 “Should we close the door?” Zarathustra speaks.
1 With temperature descending into its depths, much more has dawned than the snow. I walk among the trees, sugarcoated evergreens.
2 Carved through the ground, via trodden snow, paw-after-paw advance upon their way.
3 I think of the cold, the warmth my clothes afford, my anxiety rearing at thoughts of The Street Cat.
4 Where do you wander, so far-off in the cold? Do you have a home, a place to keep you warm? Don’t you know the cold could claim you as its own?
5 I want to keep you safe from the perils present that a cat could otherwise fall victim. Be damned what is more-or-less natural, I have the desire to care for that I love.
6 I am here, at present, to create what I desire.
7 I cut and weave between frosty trees, quickening my tempo with each passing step.
8 The winding swirl of paw prints, with each twist and turn, becomes far more shallow.
9 Finally before me, I lay witness to The Street Cat curled beneath a tree. With its body shivers, and its visible breathe, my concern grows as to its well-being.
10 I rush forward, taking hold The Street Cat. I tuck its body between my jacket.
11 Hanging on the branch, from which I soon depart, lie an icicle; crystal-clear. Sun shines through like glistening glass, completely ever-clear. Far below it lie The Street Cat’s depression.
12 I chance a glance before I part — the icicle still hangs.
1 I lift myself through the window, avoiding the remnants of glass left behind from whom first chose to enter. The Squatter cradles The Street Cat, already enjoying the heat, comfortably endowed by this residence. Much like The Street Cat, my body takes kindly to the sharp difference presented in temperature.
2 As my body heat continues to grow, this squatted residence absent of snow; my anxious state of worry quells; love for life swells.
3 The Street Cat leaps to its legs, swiftly nuzzling The Squatter’s leg.
4 The Squatter accompanies The Street Cat and I as we make our way toward the house’s heat source: a fireplace aflame with tender warmth. Flames devour wood, crackling as they come.
5 “Let’s sit and rest; safe from frosty chill.”
6 Wood aplenty for fire, I feel myself relax. The Street Cat rests between The Squatter and I, curled up awfully cute. Lighting ever-changing, rippling through its fur, The Street Cat’s eyes close, its chest gently rising — to fall.
7 “How goes your days my friend — nature treats you harsh. Certainly the cold grasped you until late. Well how could I claim to own anything; should you need some heat, your company would be a treat.”
8 “I worry deeply for the life of this cat, perhaps almost to my detriment.”
9 “We’ll keep it safe, of that I’m sure.”
10 “A fire and shelter go beyond more sentiment — the truth to your words is pure; our efforts shan’t fall flat.”
11 “Care for another makes me feel complete.”
12 Has fire brought forth cold’s defeat?
1 We’re greeted by a jingle and the harsh blast of cold air as The Shoplifter and I enter the clutches of a capitalistic facility.
2 We cross between the alarms peppering the entrance towards this capitalist’s hoarded resources. The Shoplifter grips the strap of their tote with their hand, aiming to pad the size therein.
3 “We need to eat today, The Street Cat as well. We may as well eat well; our right.”
4 Aisle upon aisle, stacked shelves of defended goods, lay before our eyes. Food and drink of various size the first targets in our conquest —they lie amongst the rest of this capitalist’s defended goods; aisle upon aisle.
High above, far higher than I can throw, opaque black domes spy our every movement.
5 Clean floors reflect an abundance of light; our bodies illuminated. Still we duck and weave amongst the cover afforded, stashing away our bodies’ basic needs.
6 “Why should I owe another for an inescapable aspect of my existence?”
7 “What is owed when the right to own lie on faulty pretext?”
8 “How could you own an aisle of goods you’ll never use yourself, that your hand could never hold, any more than one could claim to own an ocean?”
9 “This food and drink are mine to use asI will.”
10 As I leave the premise, The Shoplifter-close behind, feel my-concern vanquished — I will eat and drink today.
Today I will not slave away to just merely subsist. I’ve refused to hold true the sacred idea that this world would have me find to be anything I would miss when I gain a sense of mind.
11 My life is mine to live, to do as I please.
12 “I can’t wait to dive into our food.”
13 We hurry back toward The Squatter and The Street Cat.
1 On the floor of the squatted residence, whereupon we do reside, a can of tuna stares down The Street Cat. Still lidded, The Street Cat prods the can with its nose.
2 “How sad it is to me how cruel a can is to those not human.”
3 The Shoplifter removes the lid swiftly. ,
4 The Street Cat deftly dives into its meal.
5 The Shoplifter shares their haul amongst us human friends. We opt to join The Street Cat in satisfying our hunger.
6 “Could you pass the lemonade?”
1 A sea of black surroundings; persons nameless to me. Air filled with the sound of foot poundings — this joyous event makes me free.
Oh, how I used to beg for the lie of a freedom by right!
Now, I stand on my own legs to take what is mine in a fight.
Quickly, we march through what’s ours as some choose to throw and smash — glass rains down and none cowers, nor chooses to decry any as brash.
2 What is right I decide by my power — I refuse to be ruled. Capitalist structures defile any claims of order or peace. Why would I choose to be governed when life could be so much more?
3 Order is when you alone decide how you aught be. Order cannot be found whereupon one decides for many.
4 For order to exist, authority cannot be.
5 Private property is truly disgusting, its right of ownership protected by the State. What filthy violence the State will enact upon any who challenge their farce.
6 Autonomous magnanimity will bring forth terrible force from the State.
7 Thankful to our cause, we all will not stay to be captured.
8 The State will never fall from mere chance or circumstance. I choose to create the fall of the State.
9 How terrified the State is of our defiance to its tyranny.
10 Countless sirens blare; red and blue flare — we all swiftly depart.
11 War against the State; art.
1 I toss down a flag of the Nation that lays claim to this territory. Authority deserves naught more than contempt — Nations rest upon tyranny.
2 Those whose names I still don’t know gleefully shout at what is to come. Our black adorned bodies surround a terrible slight against freedom.
3 From the black ethereal mass shoots line upon line of kerosene.
4 Amassing quite the stench, the flag drenched thoroughly, the tiniest ember then sparks the annihilation of sanctity.
5 Quite a tiny fire.
1 Spilling from curb to the street, we face off with The Police Station entrance — black radiance hanging over such filth.
2 Dull and dreary structure, repressively designed: your place in this world, your function, is to be a yoke around the type of human you decide to be good citizen. You serve as both threat and perpetrator of terrifying violence.
3 If you’d enslave me, confined to a cage, you’d strip me of my life. With that looming threat upon me, what of my life is voluntary?
4 I’ll never trust authority, one all-too human, to enact violence as just and right.
5 Authority is crude, a violence instrument of rule.
6 Let’s burn this to the ground!
7 Hands carry wood and gasoline toward The Police Station’s door. With wood cast on the floor, the gasoline can near — handcuffs appear.
8 Trap sprung amidst our ranks, confusion growing wildly, difficulty arises in insuring my own safety. Knowing I could not close the space necessary to aid my comrade, I flee to fight another day.
9 Our fire has been halted in a truly terrible way.
1 White mist coats my surroundings, bringing many to tears. Shouts to disperse and halt intermingle with gunshots.
2 Having donned my gas mask, I take off in a sprint.
3 I cut through the tear gas, navigating street upon street.
4 Finding suitable cover and emptiness of location, I remove my black clothing covering far more civilian attire.
5 Fitting the part far more, I depart on my way to now walk right past the police who once fought me.
6 My gas mask and hoodie reek of tear gas.
1 Tables piled high with pamphlets, constantly taken to be replaced.
2 I walk amongst the rank and file of various kind of person. The commonality at present the sharing of literature.
3 Nothing particularly catches my eye as my wandering becomes aimless. I grab several selections while walking to not seem heartless. Atmosphere so calmly accepting, I continue on with my aimless selecting.
4 The Street Cat leaps up to land upon zines, walking amongst them.
5 “How did I not notice you!”
1 I sit under the sun upon an outdoor chair, a chair that lay claim by the shop whereupon I loiter.
2 My friend, The Robber, sits across the table. Between us, an unopened bottle of lemonade.
3 “I’m awfully thirsty.”
4 Cold droplets descend down the length of the bottle, the sun gradually heating the lemonade.
5 “The recent arrest was terribly tragic, not much seems left to be done, that the State could infiltrate our ranks successfully makes me hesitant to trust another such encounter.
Perhaps it aught be best if I avoid such risky endeavors.”
6 I decide to open the lemonade, taking a sip before passing it on.
7 “Isn’t it great to drink with a friend?”