55 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
55 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
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s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1019
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "Motion"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Obscure Images/cDc
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 01/30/00
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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The man walked out of the tattoo parlor with a pelt full of new
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ink. The night was cold, chill bleeding through the cheap leather jacket
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like the memory of his mother. After walking three blocks he turned into
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a doorway and pounded on the metal door steadily until the door opened.
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Words were exchanged and he walked into the warehouse and rode the
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freight elevator to the loft space that he slept in.
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In the morning, or what passed for it, he woke to the sound of a
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speech coming from the floor below. "Anarchy is not about bomb throwing,
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destruction or violence towards others. Anarchy is a stateless
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socialism, a net of autonomous individuals supporting each other," said
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the voice. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The speech was
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the same all the time, the price paid for being able to live in this
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place.
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The bandage came off with ease and the skin was slightly puckered
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where the needles punctured the skin. The new image underneath the skin
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was the second price of living amongst the free people in this place.
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The small black flag was a symbol of his commitment to freedom and
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responsibility.
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Out in the daylight, he sees another group of people walking
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toward the warehouse, their eyes bright with the Idea. None of them
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could possibly know what they were walking into, blinded with hope and
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desire, he thought as he turned away. The black flag was supposed to be
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a negation of all flags, a call for the dissolution of all states. To
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most everyone else black flag is something used to kill pests.
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He waited at the end of the street at the bus stop, thinking.
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They didn't understand the implications of true freedom. Freedom can
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only come from the active negation of the tyranny of consciousness, with
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its hidden agendas and biological imperatives. In the end, freedom can
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only come to those who have no use for it. For everyone else there is
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always the motion of instinct and habit under the control of natural law.
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He was shaken from his reverie by the hiss of the bus' air brakes.
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He got on, put the coins in the slot, and sat at the back. He watched
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the crowds through the windows, quietly amused by the unconscious
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patterns made by unknowing people in their cosmic machine. I'm part of
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the machine too, he thought as people came and went.
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That night, in his corner of the loft, he smiled in his sleep.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu #1019, BY OBSCURE IMAGES - 1/30/00 ]
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