Tuesday November 07th 2006, 11:31 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To my dreams last night,

The aesthetic of the dream was post-apocalyptic. The anarchists had fortified inside the centers of every major metropolis. Normally one would think the enemy of the anarchist to be capitalism and the industrialization of the hegemonic systems of the west, but in my dream the enemy of the anarchists was the lower class commoners, the proletariats themselves. When the fall of modern civilization was realized, the green anarchists were prepared to survive that fall because of their preparatory life styles of living without the system. The proletariats, on the other hand, the slaves to the system, were chaotic and disheveled by the fall of an organized governmental regiment. Without a governing body to divide and subdivide official categories of constituents, clans and tribes developed by interests in survival tactics. The ironic outcome of the anarchist�s fortification was a satire on a system�s need for industrialization, and the coming to terms with the true nature of the anarchic rule: Anarchists are mirrors of the supposed system they claim to be their enemy. The poor and unfortunate only had their strength in numbers to fight against the anarchist strongholds. This set the scene for a more intimate story to be told. There was a friend anarchist who had been targeted for deletion by the proletariat faction. The proletariat used their strength in numbers wisely and attacked like a swarm of bees against specific targets, rather than spreading out their quantitative upper hand which would weaken their offense. Their planned assassination on an unsuspecting anarchist went off without a hitch, which dealt a blow to the anarchist moral. How could they be so careless to allow one of their warriors to the picked off so easily? While the head anarchists debated on retaliatory measures, within the ranks of the hegemony were quarrels and conflict between members. True anarchist beliefs, living without the system of hierarchical power dynamics, were creeping their way back into the mentality of the anarchist tribe. To contain themselves in the stronghold and to hold their egos from inflating too much was their only option for the survival of their kind. Within the stronghold there was a small room built with 6 ft concrete walls all around. Here is where the anarchist power really came from. The anarchist oligarchies put faith and trust into the decisions and predictions of one very punked-out beautiful fortuneteller. I happened to be wandering by the sooth-sayer�s room when I realized her door, a door that was never open, was cracked slightly, enough to see light coming from inside the room. Out of pure curiosity I opened the supposed fortified room and found myself face to face with the goddess of the anarchist colony. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. Her hair was green with electric blue streaks. She wore knee high steel-toed boots with fishnet stockings. Her face was slim and slender with an immaculate vampiric complexion. But her eyes are where my dream ended. Her pupils swirled like the galactic cosmos. I was mesmerized by how much detail I could see within her gaze. She was the goddess in which the elders spoke of. I immediately felt the power within her stare. I was locked inside her when the dream ended. I woke up in a panic, as if I had learned something from this illusion�s gaze, but I couldn�t piece together the meaning of the dream. I suddenly had a concern for my mother�s well being. I think I will call her today.

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