May 15, 2008
i hate my flower, he said, so he punched it and it blossomed
But this is not the beginning. When we hacked into the blog account we had no idea.
They sit in sleeping bags, talking. But they're so close, he said, I can feel it brimming on the edge of every word. Birds who clip their own wings in protest of airline food. Hidden there, an entire passage rhapsodizing on the development of flight, while they grunt shallow slogans against it.
You better watch out, she said, they'll hobble you too.
I'm not afraid of the bourgeois, their penny souls are worth too much to sacrifice.
Days earlier. he's becoming one of them, did you see. All pretty pictures, smudged toner and anthemic quips.
I'm already corrupted, as he buried deeper into his cocoon.
cocoon! cried the English majors. for shame! they drank the drying ink. Art projects spread out like the broken bones of assault rifles that will never be fired.
But if I made millions on a graphic design project I know I'd start a scenester publishing house. And I, too, would fuel your pretensions of conspiracy with my own silence. But we are not these clones of ourselves. and who will do the dirty work of hating them?
How can you tell a ninja that his secrecy is a sword pressed against your neck?
Yo. Somebody put CrimethInc's latest book online.
But this is not the beginning. When we hacked into the blog account we had no idea.
They sit in sleeping bags, talking. But they're so close, he said, I can feel it brimming on the edge of every word. Birds who clip their own wings in protest of airline food. Hidden there, an entire passage rhapsodizing on the development of flight, while they grunt shallow slogans against it.
You better watch out, she said, they'll hobble you too.
I'm not afraid of the bourgeois, their penny souls are worth too much to sacrifice.
Days earlier. he's becoming one of them, did you see. All pretty pictures, smudged toner and anthemic quips.
I'm already corrupted, as he buried deeper into his cocoon.
cocoon! cried the English majors. for shame! they drank the drying ink. Art projects spread out like the broken bones of assault rifles that will never be fired.
But if I made millions on a graphic design project I know I'd start a scenester publishing house. And I, too, would fuel your pretensions of conspiracy with my own silence. But we are not these clones of ourselves. and who will do the dirty work of hating them?
How can you tell a ninja that his secrecy is a sword pressed against your neck?
Yo. Somebody put CrimethInc's latest book online.
- The author does not recognize or accept the legitimacy of any law relating to the regulation of information.
Neither is any copyright or pretense to 'intellectual property' assumed by the author in the slightest nor will any degree of capitulation be wrestled from the author in regard to another's presumptions of authority on matters of supposedly illegal speech. 100% anticopyright
