Hitting my hand on a door knob

I want to know
what it feels like
as a spiral.
Velcro, for instance, spin spinning
concluding at the center, or never.
A dog in the air.  A small dog, a scottie dog, floating, not speaking, there are two pine trees in the scene, the sky is clear, and he is barely above the trees, no humans present.

Zaney and the Chocolate Mystery: Part the Flist

Zaney had posted an advertisement in the classifieds one day in hopes of selling his beat-up old car. The God Dammed thing overheated like All Hell, and he'd had Enough Already. But when push came to shove, it was a pretty Dammed Good Sidekick. He had trouble letting go, to tell you the truth. Ahhhhhh, dammit Tetsuo, it's not fair! Fight with your bare hands! Ehehe, haha, ehaahaahaahaa!

KanedA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND NOW YOUR BOSS TO, OF THIS PILE OF RUBBLE!

BeeeeeeeeeeshoWWWooooo
ooooooooooooooooooMMMMMMMMMMccccccccccccccccccccccccccrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

A low din.

Case Closed.

The Sudden Death of Mr. T.S. Alexis

The Black Iron Kebbels stood tall over Mr. R.J. Kestler, as though it were a strong, tall woman. This woman was not your typical titties 'n milk mother, though, not by any means. She was in fact an imposing, chilling meanie. The building was constructed of iron extracted from the blood of purebred black cats (these cats had no white patches, believe you me!) Throughout the premises were laced the thought "These Iron towers, They're to be the death of me!"
This thought, of course, thoroughly enthused Mr. Kestler, who, although having undergone a rather "liberal" education in college (Thompson Island Business University), was a cold, heartless, shrewd dealer at heart. He sympathized with the emotionless and fear-inducing image the building presented. This is evidenced by the following conversation with his erstwhile encumberance, Laury Herdenbrurger.
"R.J., why don't you ever take out the garbage when I ask you to!?!?" said Kestler's unfortunate fixture.
"Pluto's jumpers! Lemme getta loada this here work, Johnny!" replied the important and thoughtful Kestler.
"George Q.B. Kestleman (her pet name for him), you come take this garbage out right now!"
"I've this important communique to write for my counterpart in the Former Soviet Republic of Belgium," hoping to pull one over on the (presumably) uneducated Joanie (Kestler often forgets Laury's name. For immersement, I will do the same).
"Shoobie doobie blunt, catcher in the blunt," ended Jublee."
Hopefully this doubtful excerpt from Kestler's personal life will help to shed some light on Kestler's character.
After Kestler's first impression with the Black Iron Kennel, he was approached by several nosy (denoting the fact that they were dogs with long snouts) security guards. One introduced himself as Kenneth Hezzlejew the third. The other, Kestler intuited was to be called Flabbergaster the Firedog.
Kestler, a well-known lover of dogs, made passionate love to each dog in turn, then both together in a rather smooth menagerie a trois. This act brought him into the viscous cycle that eventually lead to an awful fate for him and everyone around him.
For, at that very moment, the woman at the head of the Black Iron Kennel, Flisty McMysjacobs (the j is pronounced as a Y here, so the pronunciation would be something like "Mickmissyacubs"). Lustful Flisty watched with awe at Kestler's passion and skill. She respected Kestler’s physical prowess, but she was filled with anger by his actions.
Without hesitation, she rose from her seat overlooking the premises of the Black Iron Dog Kennel and flew down on the wings of thirty thousand undead bluebirds. At once she unleashed her hidden hipster, who took the fight to Kestler. Kestler was bowled over by the hipster’s sudden onslaught, but fought back valiantly. However, he was quite undermatched against his hip foe. Launching one last donkey kick to the hipster’s soft underside, he fled the alley in haste.
Lubels the woman stood frighteningly above the doorstep as Kestler crept thoughtfully home. She was worried, worried as a son of a bitch. Kestler hadn’t taken this long to come home since he was a boy with short legs.
Finally, Kestler, bloodied and bellyful, crept into Korplie’s waiting soft expectant flesh. They embraced.
“Oh my hezzlebelt, bristlies!” cried the upset Wendy.
“[Kestler attempts to speak, but is unable to make meaningful sounds]”
Keslter continued gurgling and Ayisha resumed her soft mother-noises.
As they cried in each other’s arms, the personified abstract concept of consumerism entered the room. It had been staying with Kestler for a few weeks, as its dad had kicked it out of the house. The two had gone to university together, and had been good friends. Now, however, it was starting to get on Kestler and Laury’s nerves, and she had been pestering him for months to kick it out. Kestler still had a soft spot for the poor guy, though. May this be the straw that breaks the Jubel’s back, as they say?
Consumerism looked pretty embarrassed as it walked in and saw the two embracing, Kestler bleeding profusely. It walked awkwardly and stiffly to the refrigerator and got a Coke. “I was just, uh. . .gettin’ a coke. I’ll be on me way, then. . .” It audibly let the sentence trail off into the void, as noted by the ellipses.
This seemed to have no immediate effect on the mourners, but it had worked itself dangerously into July’s subconscious.

The Sudden Death of Mr. R. J. Kestler's unfortunate female companion

John Bullshit snacked a bit before midnight, alighting onto the fiery rooftop just before dawn. He threw down his meteoric shellacking glove and leapt into song (Alex Hi@'s ghost on the dawntide) Throughout his mysterious travail, the unassailable Bullshit flew gloriously, his slippery tresses flowing like soft mad children, smug in the soft black hearts of infancy. You think you know better than John Bullshit? You don't KNOW Bullshit!
"I apologize for that," lapsed RJ's thoreau onbullion Kelli, "while T. S. Alexis maybe be a genius, he's most certainly also insane. I'm not insane though, surely not. Not even a bit."
It was the first time Alexis has tasted fear. He was in shock therapy, receiving his regular induced epileptic seizure.
Perhaps I'd better explain. You see, Alexis was a doppelganger. The curious thing about doppelgangers is that they originally exist in other universes created by extremely powerful emotions. The occurrence of doppelgangers in our universe was rare, occurring only when women learned to play the ghost song on the baby grand, stuttering cheering, smattering wildly. However, several people knew of secrets that would allow one to bring doppelgangers from one universe to another. These people were the witchdoctors of yore.
In the historically accurate story of the witchdoctor I told earlier, the souls of the murdered pagans created an alternate universe in which the inhabitants were limited to the tortured souls, the witchdoctor, and the murderous crusaders. Time was distended, and as such, did not factor into things in the traditional sense. Also, the universe spread only the size of the shrine during the fire, but in reality it is not possible to limit the size of a universe. Therefore, the infinite size of this universe was forced inside the building. There is no limit or set plan to the passageways and catacombs of this enflamed shrine.
The Christians gained power over the world, and they believed doppelgangers to be evil spirits, out to get us, and witchdoctorism a form of necromancy. Therefore, they tried to rout out the intentional transversal of doppelgangers into our universe. However, the underground managed to keep the knowledge alive, and eventually, through a backstory I'm sure I'll explore later, Kestler discovered the secret.
My period; it's Catholic heaven.
Lying on wretched sheets with a bloody virgin, we could start a religion.
Kestler modified the knowledge and created a machine. This was far more efficient than magic, but it caused unfortunate mental side effects. You see, machine-grabbed doppelgangers can see beyond the universe.
This may not make much sense to you, since you could never do it, but it is certainly possible and true, believe you all to me.
Her cunt gripped him like a warm friendly hand.
Impossible concentration.
The ability to see beyond the universe showed the doppelgangers the transitory nature of everything, and also the insignificance of practically everything. They were nihilists in the most extreme sense to all of us, but in truth, they sought a meaning for things far beyond what we could perhaps ever comprehend.
This is what allowed T.S. Alexis to become a fascist; he held no stock in human rights because humanity is nothing for him; he is a metauniversal traveler.
A further note on machine-grabbered doppelgangers. They are not sealed into our universe through the normal magical measures. This is why they can see beyond the universe. However, not only can they see beyond the universe; they can also move beyond it. This is bad business for R.J. Kestler! He forces each and every one of his doppelgangers to recieve regular shock therapy. The weakest among them go completely insane; those slightly stronger lose the ability to see or travel outside the universe. Stronger still, some can still see out of the universe. T.S. Alexis, however, was the strongest of them all, and could actually maintain his ability to travel beyond the universe. He remains in our universe for purposes yet to be revealed to the gentle reader.

The Spooky Bastard: A Glowing's Beyonder

This is a short, politically satirical, work I wrote some centuries ago:

A small, stringy Red Coat shifted down Memory Lane one evening, every so often sipping from a pouch some certifiably delicious organic milk that I bought last week - costing $4.29 for a half gallon! He gribbled (?) and groaned, remembering a Spirited Philosophical Debate that he had with another Red Coat, JT Ketterboobs earlier that night. Ketterboobs undoubtedly had won, and while our protagonist understood this, and did not particularly mind this, Ketterboobs' demeanor that night angered him. Ketterboobs was then a ghost, and nobody had warned our protagonist of this, whom it turned out was certifiably mortified of ghosts. And as if that weren't enough! Ketterboobs had poked fun at our protagonist the night through, whom had done seemingly nothing to provoke the attacks. Our protagonist, after sucking out the last drop of milk from his pouch, and shaking it desperately in the air in an attempt to siphon even a little bit more, threw it frustratingly over the railing of a bridge as he walked over it - well, on it.

"Hey, Adam Shiverbelt!" came a shout from the river. Adam - our protagonist - peered over the bridge railing into the water. "Oh, it's you," said Adam. He began to move faster. "Come on, Adam, stop," said JT, as he floated up from the water and on to the bridge. "And why should I!" exploded Adam, spinning around to face his pursuer, "you've done nothing this night but barrage me with your Catapult Tongue!" "Now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now," JT repeats, "I meant not to Kalashnikov your glappers." "Well you did a right good job at that!" whimpers Adam, "I did nothing to provoke your attacks!" "No?" JT asks, menacingly and playfully, simultaneously. Suddenly, and with relatively little warning, JT grew to the size of a Demon Windmill and thundered "YOU'VE MURDERED ME!" Adam slammed his face into his hands, and tears streamed down his face. He started to run from the Ghost Fiend of his Former Friend, but was no match for the specter's asteroid-esque speed. Before long JT had overwhelmed him, and, picking him up by the top of his top hat, threw him over the side of the bridge into the fiery torrent of the Nile River in Egypt.

Well, what have we learned?

Mutualist Economic Theory Part One

I wrote an essay on Mutualist Economics for the website http://www.theanarchist.org.  I'll post it in parts because I don't want to flood this place with all of my SHIT.  If anyone sees this that doesn't know already, please visit TheAnarchist.  It's a fine site with a lot of info that a good friend of mine is working quite hard on.  I've also been asked to be a co-editor/contributor, so I'm sure there will be more from me there in the future.

I. Basics: When is property right, and when is it wrong?
Human beings have a set of self-imposed standards or “rights” ingrained in themselves by whatever force any of us choose to believe placed us here on this Earth. Among these include the right to live and the right to voice oneself under any circumstances. Also among these is the right to have something to hold. Anyone old enough to earn money by any means knows what its like to hold something in ones hands, and think, “this is mine, damn it, and I’ve earned it”. The experience is the same for almost everyone at first. You’ve perhaps gotten your first paycheck from your first part time job, and you’ve gone and treated yourself to a new CD, book, or whatever you would choose to purchase. This feeling is right, and it is good.

But we must pose the question: Where is the line drawn between earning and taking? A sixteen-year old boy works for eight hours in the back of a grocery store, and he has earned whatever he has purchased. A thirty-eight year old Wall Street savvy business man who makes the decision to fire a couple of hundred people so his stock will go up 25 percent is taking whatever he acquires (this is aside from the fact that his “stock” is essentially imaginary anyway). But the exploitation doesn’t have to be on such a grand scale, either. A fourty-year old, five foot eight inches tall white male forces African American slaves to pick his meager amounts of cotton for him to sell at the market, and he is taking what he gets no less than the savvy business man is.

Property is right when it is earned through an amount of labor equivalent to the value of said property. A man builds a small cabin next to a stream, and that small cabin is his and his alone, and he has the right to do what he wishes with it. He may live in it, and so may his sons, and so may the sons of his sons. Or he may trade the house away for something of equal base value. The decision is in his hands, the same ones that built the house.

Property is wrong when it is gained by conquest or exploitation. A man rides in on a pristine white horse, slaughters countless natives, and claims the land as his own. This is wrong. A man wrings another man for all he is worth via an insurance scam and then purchases his house when he puts it on the market for next to nothing. This is wrong. Now that we have done something so bold as to clearly define right and wrong (though admittedly in a limited context), we’ll move on.


TO BE CONTINUED

The Sudden Death of Mr. R. J. Kestler

One blimey day, as the fanciful doppelganger magnate R.J. Kestler walked home from his job micromanaging the numerous doppelgangers of him and his close friends and relatives, he was torn asunder (emotionally) by the sight of several identical dogs marching in lockstep from the newly installed Black Iron Dog Kennel. The dogs were driven by a frothy woman in several human hair coats, who wielded a well-concealed hipster. As they marched, they sang cadences to stay in step with each other. These cadences were all inspired by the works of well known Fascist poet T. S. Alexis.
Mr. Kestler recognized the inspiration of these cadences immediately, as he was responsible for the administration T.S. Alexis. The reason for this is simple. T.S. Alexis is the doppelganger of T.S. Elliot, whose poems about cats inspired the Broadway musical Cats. Mr. Kestler continued home, slept calmly through the night, and returned to work in the morning. He had forgotten the incident entirely by the time he arrived there.
That night, he walked home again by the same route, and saw a much greater number of dogs this time. The increase in their numbers could be explained by the mere accumulation of dogs in a kennel, not overnight. Astute Mr. Kestler noticed this curiosity, and decided to take a trip by the Black Iron Dog Kennel.
The Kennel had been built on a location many considered haunted. The history of the location was certainly a suspicious one, and many urban legends had arisen about it over the ages. In actual fact, the location was originally the site of the consecration of the town during pagan times. This consecration had been performed with the sacrifice of a number of animals, and, more importantly, many of hostages taken from nearby tribes. After the consecration, the pagans' shrine was built on the spot.
Of course, when the town was Christianized, the crusaders, in their usual cruel manner, herded all the pagans who refused to recant their beliefs into the shrine and locked them in it. They then lit the shrine on fire. As shrieking townspeople rushed to the shrine to attempt to save their loved ones, they were slaughtered by the crusaders. After this had been done, and all the surviving townspeople had fled to the forest, the crusaders discovered the town's store of wine. They became incredibly intoxicated, (This is where legend comes into the story, and the proceeding events were long thought to be exceedingly unlikely by snooty intellectuals until the recent disturbing occurrences.) and fell into an extremely long and deep sleep.
During this time, the bodies in the shrine were picked at and decomposed by various creatures, until a rabble-rousing witchdoctor came to town to hawk his wares. Seeing the massacre that had occurred in the town, the witchdoctor, a sly con man, saw his chance to make some money.
He intended to cast a spell on the crusaders and ransom them back to the church. He intended to use the souls of the dead pagans to power and seal his spell. However, the spirits were hostile to his intentions, and he was not powerful enough to control them. They turned his spell into an entirely different one, locking the crusaders and the witchdoctor into a self-contained Hell, in which time had frozen and space had become reduced to the area of the shrine.
Mr. Kestler had heard this story and many variations of it, but had also discounted them. He was a strict pragmatic realist. That is, he refused to believe in anything unless he saw it or he could gain an advantage from it. Therefore, he had no trouble believing what he saw at the site of the Black Iron Dog Kennel.

Alex's Review of JT Ketterfool

The Fountain -------> "RIPOFF of Jodie Foster's film 'Contact'," at least, according to JT Ketterer."

Has nobody seen 2001: A Space Odysius?

Those Fucking BioPorts/BleedThroughs

300 is getting some very spiny reviews. March 9th it comes to theaters, I think. I'm going to see it alone, and nobody goes with me, this time. Zodiac also looks really, really good. One review I read said it's Fincher's BREAST.

Notes on "Raga Bageshwari" from "Call of the Valley"

Many, many years from now
black hairpin and false wood grain
one will enter the other
the way which doesn't matter
and it'll all be one.

The Funeral

Dancing around a body
that once held them together.
Sipping at old feuds,
That keeps the status queue.
A room full of people,
Giving each other one last chance,
While dancing around a body,
To bite the bullet, at last.

A Conversation Between Schizophrenics.

The following is an excerpt from The Politics of Experience by Ronald David Laing. It's an actual conversation between two diagnosed schizophrenic patients (That is, two separate people, not merely two "split personalities.").

Go:

Jones (laughs loudly, then pauses): I'm McDougal myself. (This is not actually his name)

Smith: What do you do for a living, little fellow? Work on a ranch or something?

J: No, I'm a civilian seaman. Supposed to be high muckamuck society.

S: A singing recording machine, huh? I guess a recording machine sings sometimes. If they're adjusted right. Mm-hm. I thought that was it. My towel, mm-hm. We'll be going back to sea in about-eight or nin months though. Soon as we get our-destroyed parts repaired.

J: I've got lovesickness, secret love.

S: Secret love, huh? (laughs)

J: Yeah.

S: I ain't got any secret love.

J: I fell in love, but I don't feed any woo-that sits over- looks something like me-walking around over there.

S: My, oh, my only one, my only love is the shark. Keep out of the way of him.

J: Don't they know I have a life to live? (Long pause)

S: Do you work at the air base? Hm?

J: You know what I think of work. I'm thirty-three in June, do you mind?

S: June?

J: Thirty-three years old in June. This stuff goes out the window after I live this, uh-leave this hospital. So I lay off cigarettes, I'm a spatial condition, from outer space myself, no shit.

S: (laughs) I'm a real space ship from across.

J: A lot of people talk, uh-that way, like crazy, but Believe it or Not by Ripley, take it or leave it-alone it's in the Examiner, it's in the comic section, Believe it or Not, Robert E. Ripley, Believe it or Not, but we don't have to believe anything, un-less I feel like it. (Pause) Every little rosette-too much alone. (Pause)

S: Could be possible. (Phrase inaudible because of airplane noise)

J: I'm a civilian seaman.

S: Could be possible. (Sighs) I take my bath in the ocean.

J: Bathing stinks. You know why:? 'Cause you can't quit when you feel like it. You're in the service.

S: I can quit whenever I feel like quitting. I can get out when I feel like getting out.

J (talking at the same time): Take me. I'm a civilian, I can quit.

S: Civilian?

J: Go my-my way.

S: I guess we have, in port, civilian. (Long pause)

J: What do they want with us?

S: Hm?

J: What do they want with you and me?

S: What do they want with you and me? How do I know what they want with you? I know what they want with me. I broke the law, so I have to pay for it. (Silence)

The End

Apparently, this book is a life-changing, existential look at society. But I haven't gotten very far, so the review will have to wait.

(Hey JT, maybe a short for Giavonni III?) ;(

Alex's Review of Norbit

Eddie Murphy plays characters three. "Like to slip me off a big of that cake."

Come On Tangiers

Heroic couplet, crabgrass dreamt of it

walking in a pseudo dawn, with the leeches.

field of tall grass bringing about

a new

painfully ideal ideal

only to later conflict

with the plan,

spurred on a stretch of highway

with trees on both sides.

Changing my eyes, knowing billboards told lies,

And here is the merger.

 

Intro to Lauren

I'm the only fmaele on this blog. crap. you jkres.

I'm dyslexic, sorry.

So I work at a local grocer. a FAMILY grocer. They incorporate families into their food somehow, I have yet to witness it. Its full of the horrors of the service industry (where oncsumers, instead of saying, "ok, what else do you have" complain and insult and throw their soda cans on the floor) and horrors of the human race (where people take something off the shelf and stick it into a bag hwen they think no one is watching and try to return in for being deficient). A lot of interesting thoughts occur while I am servicing these people. A lot of swear words occur too. I'll write them down to share with you if I remember and this will hopefully allow you to be more polite to the person who works in your local grocer.

I try and follow taoist teachings, since buddhism became too nonsensical for me to follow. I reccomend The Tao of Pooh, since JT reccommended it I think it makes more sense than most of my teachers. I'm not an anarchist, ufnortunately, since everyone else is. I like socialism and capitalism (liking both the same amount). I am a vegetarian and fast food....is gross.

And I do have to defend myself from Adams post since I kind of like the fact that my BREASTS are so sexualized, since what else am I supposed to do with them? They're there, they may as well have a use, and it may as well be confusing guys enough for me to escape. Like a parachute.

In closing, my middle toe is flipping me off. I would assume he is mad that I allowed a hole to grow on my sock.

A Short Introduction to Anarchism

As an associate editor of an up-and-coming website, dedicated to raising awareness of the pervasively misunderstood philosophy of anarchism, I've furnished an elementary introduction to the philosophy and politics of anarchism.

Tell me what ch'all think:

Anarchism is a diverse, idealistic, and often disparate grouping of political philosophies that, despite common presumptions, has a solid historical and scientific basis. Rather than slinging firebombs and breaking the law for the sake of breaking it, anarchists argue peace, cooperation, and freedom, and desire a future society based on these principles. There are very many different shades of anarchism: there are socialists and capitalists, collectivists and individualists, theists, deists, and atheists. Because there are so many politically motivated groups today that brand themselves "anarchist," there is no single uniting doctrine or manifesto. However, all of the various denominations share some core ideals.

To be considered a proper anarchist, one must necessarily hold to at least one very fundamental tenet. This is the complete opposition to authority; more specifically, hierarchal authority. Anarchists call hierarchal authority "irrational authority." (Some that label themselves as anarchists claim to oppose all authority, but this is a rather immature stance, and is fortunately a pretty uncommon one.) Irrational authority is authority that is achieved and maintained not through merit, consensus, and circumstantial appropriateness – this could include for instance a doctor, a parent, or a movie director – but through force, deception, inheritance, or a combination of any of these. This type of authority – whether in government, the workplace, the highschool classroom, or the church – is restrictive and unnecessary (see Bakunin, God and the State, Liberty and Authority). It transforms man into a mindless tool; of production in the case of wage-labor, of death in the case of compulsory military service, or whatever. Then this tool, a human being, is to be exploited for the material enrichment of those that direct him from above. So long as any man is controlled by the whims of another, anarchists hold, a just, truly democratic society simply isn't possible. So, anarchists demand that these exploitative relationships be removed from every facet of social organization.

Then, the anti-authority treatment is applied to the state: the anarchists' common enemy. The state in any form is an unnecessary, and necessarily restrictive, institution, existing not for the maintenance of general order, but in fact primarily for the maintenance of the status quo. That is, the maintenance of the current distribution of wealth and power, which is to say the very least, quite unequal and arbitrary. Unlike "liberals" and mere libertarians, anarchists deny that the state's inherent despotism can ever be sufficiently restricted, whether through precautionary mitigation (the US Constitution, for instance), or through the periodic election of so-called "representative." All governments eventually become - if not exist in the first place as - primarily self-interested plutocracies, looking only to perpetuate through force and/or mass deception their own wealth and power. An angrier description of government can be found, among many other places, in the writing of WM C Owen. He writes that the government is a "machine; dead to all human sympathy, as are all machines; bent only on increasing its efficiency as a machine, and enlarging its power; organized expressly to keep things, in all essentials, precisely as they are. It is the arch-type of immobility, and, therefore, the foe of growth. It is the quintessence of compulsion, and, therefore, the enemy of freedom. To it the individual is a subject, of whom it demands unquestioning obedience. Necessarily we Anarchists are opposed to it… we hate the State because it deprives men of personal responsibility, robs them of their natural virility, takes out of their hands the conduct of their own lives, thereby reduces them to helplessness, and thus insures the final collapse of the whole social structure." (Anarchism Versus Socialism)

The capitalist socio-political-economic system receives perhaps the most intense opposition from anarchists today. Opposition to capitalism of course is nothing new, and certainly not original to the anarchist tradition. Anarchists, even if some would rather not admit it, often borrow their criticisms of capitalism from Marx. The cases made against capitalism by anarchists are usually the same ones made by socialists: they acknowledge the class struggle, the problems in economics, the evils of property and capital, and the exploitation of the masses through wage-slavery. If socialism means, as one dictionary defines it, as "a theory or system of social organization that advocates the vesting of the ownership and control of the means of production and distribution, of capital, land, etc., in the community as a whole," then anarchists are most certainly socialists. Indeed, as the anarcho-syndicalist historian Rudolf Rocker wrote, "Anarchists demand the abolition of all economic monopolies and the common ownership of the soil and all other means of production, the use of which must be available for all without distinction." For, he argues, "personal and social freedom is conceivable only on the basis of equal economic advantages for everybody." (Anarchosyndicalism) Along the same lines, Alexander Berkman wrote that "true liberty is based on economic opportunity. Without it all liberty is a sham and lie, a mask for exploitation and oppression. In the profoundest sense liberty is the daughter of economic equality." (The ABC of Anarchism) An anarchist economy would be based on cooperation and mutual aid. It would be egalitarian, assuring an equal distribution of material goods to all participants.

It might be true that for every anarchist there is a different idea of what an anarchist society might look like. Just as there has not been a unity in ideals or practice among the many denominations of anarchism, there has been no real "blueprint" of sorts, of what exactly the anarchist movement of a whole is actually looking forward to. While most of the major anarchist thinkers did have rough pictures of what "their" societies might entail, it is generally acknowledged today that not only is "planning" a future anarchist society an impossible and unnecessary feat, but in fact might be a careless, dangerous thing to do. Anarchists, rather than adhering to strict doctrines of revolution, prefer a more progressive, experimental approach to social change. Concerning some of the possibilities of life under an anarchist system, there are a few aspects that most anarchists would probably share. There would of course be no governments, no national borders, no multinational corporations or super-national financial institutions. There would be no concentrations of wealth anywhere to be found. There would be no social classes: no rich, and of course more importantly, no poor.

Obviously (hopefully), this all sounds very nice, but is such a seemingly utopian future plausible? This is one of the most difficult and pervasive skepticisms anarchists today face. It would be an awful shame to witness a global anarchist revolution dissolve into decades of bloody chaos, after all. Past socialist revolutions have often turned out this way, which, rightfully or not, has haunted romantic visions of populist uprisings since. Either way, there have indeed existed societies in the past that are often considered anarchistic in nature. Perhaps the most famous example of anarchism in action was the creation of autonomous collectives in Spain, during the civil war, in the 1930s. In places such as Catalonia, entire cities were collectivized and life carried on very decently, given the surrounding context of war. The infamous novelist and revolutionary socialist George Orwell fought against the fascists during the revolution, and in his writing describes a scene in Aragon, a city he visits during his travels: "I had dropped more or less by chance into the only community of any size in Western Europe where political consciousness and disbelief in capitalism were more normal than their opposites. Up here in Aragon one was among tens of thousands of people, mainly though not entirely of working-class origin, all living at the same level and mingling on terms of equality. In theory it was perfect equality, and even in practice it was not far from it. There is a sense in which it would be true to say that one was experiencing a foretaste of Socialism, by which I mean that the prevailing mental atmosphere was that of Socialism. Many of the normal motives of civilized life – snobbishness, money-grubbing, fear of the boss, etc. – had simply ceased to exist. The ordinary class-division of society had disappeared to an extent that is almost unthinkable in the money-tainted air of England; there was no one there except the peasants and ourselves, and no one owned anyone else as his master." (Homage to Catalonia) This should provide at least a preview of what anarchists look forward to.

And, be sure to check out the site. Read some material, join the forum, and be part of the community! www.theanarchist.org