#anarchist poetry

[love-ardour-anarchism]

urban anarchist type autism is i know all the plants on my home street i recognize all common graffiti tags and i have favourites

i can tell you 16 places off the top of my head that the tag "333" in this one specific archaic style is found

i notice new tags, i see you unheard souls

i watch the tiny sapling, canadian maple, it has spent months trying to force its way through sidewalk concrete and i'd try and rehome it if its roots weren't caught there underneath

i have the city council queer representation person on e-mail speed dial, i carry 12 types of pen to cover up hateful graffiti and i carry industrial cleaner and a scraper to get rid of bigoted stickers and nazi propaganda

and in an envelope that i was given by my lover/friend i carry uncountable amounts of stickers

the cops stop me for random "check ins" when they see me remove graffiti and i'm white and i'm aware of what that privilege means, despite the tattoos on my fingers and all the things inside my bag i have never been arrested

and i have brought you food when you were sick, i took the city bus with tea and vegan ginger soup to help you rest and cure

and i have fixed a bench myself with my own hands and tighter screws when it came clear that between the city council and the store in front of which it stands nobody owned it and therefore noone cares that senior citizens could injure themselves sitting on a broken bench

and on another street the senior citizen residence, they know me cause i've asked for their maintenance ladder to remove some fascist shit high up on a streetlight right outside their building

i count the seasons based on what the bramble hedges do

and every full moon new i silently rejoice, O Máni, that the wolves have not yet caught you

:SCRR

[kn0w-h0p3]

poem a day 12-22-24

[anarchistpoet]

#my personal demon

[manwalksintobar]

Meeting // Katerina Gogou

Listen, I walk barefoot thru a world I’m trying to change, leaving bloody footprints on the ground. Slowly but surely I run out of energy and today Tuesday 5 o’clock it’s dark again. The safety valves in my brain have loosened, so be it. I feel like I’m eight again on a boat bound for Tinos Island and its miracles. Angle iron, concrete, and cheap blankets hermetically seal off people with zero hope who lock themselves in stalls to weep. I have to deal. You go over everything you want to say, word by word, and end up pale yet determined at the meeting waiting for the right moment and you are indeed there, my brother but you miss your chance—you lose your cool you hear yourself shout: Proletarians of the world, unite! —everyone stares at you like they’re watching a western, and even though a cowboy never takes his hat off, you nervously try to take yours off but you’ve never even owned a hat and you stare at your shoes, embarrassed completely alone at this general meeting. But you were right. At least one person was . . .

(translated from the Greek by ΔT and JC)

[wulfinna]

Individual Inklings

Should I make it home, should I live,I will not allow even the Black FlagTo define my aspirations after.Only the ever-evolving “I”That belongs to me.   Complete text here (PDF) Print books available soon, contact for a physical copy.

[allegrasloman]

Meditation on the two anonymous fash Who set themselves on fire Whilst being fashy In Bakersfield, California In the first week of 2024

Capture, reframe and deny

a sequence of bad choices presents itself The first rule is that when fascists are making fools of themselves You don’t get in their way

But how do you communicate about it without broadening their reach?

Engaging with fash online is so appealing when you’re young. You’re doing something! some get older and get more fiery still I think of you two, blazing in your actions – always the bias for action – never immobilized by doubt, or your derogation in social media or anything, really, except illness, and often not even then

Or you’re on a different path. I spend my days parcelling outrage in stanzas What is the artificial distance between the beginning and end of a tweet, (or bleat, or skeet, or whatever the fuck they’ll call it, tomorrow)

but a stanza of a long, insistent, halting song?:

The song of resistance to the urge to conquer others

*** seen by enthusiasts as a demonstration of strength, eugenic fitness, cultural reclamation, the special blessing of good god y’all, the hat tip by whomever in our kicked-through motherfucker of a global pantheon has told you to take your self-benedictions as fact or just plain old, well-coached, hatred of the other ;with you at the centre of a well-ordered universe and everything that squicks you on the far side of a soundly constructed wall

dude, you can do that without killing us, ask us how

and the thing is it never lasts. Fascists have consistent cognitive issues which repeat, repeat in large groups repeat over time replicate like bunnies made of bloodlust and incompetence they don’t trust each other AND THEY ARE RIGHT NOT TO TRUST EACH OTHER

And after Troy’s burnt down - or - current equivalent Trust is revealed once again – one more time – oh boy, another encore –

as the great grease of civilization

And what is a civilization {A REAL ONE

not a colonized decorticated Frankenstein’s monster of lawsuits, ugly currency, a standing army and a few other bobs and sods

if not the instantiated and curated daily reality of prosocial collective power once again we must be cleansed of the luxury of looking away from how a good civilization is to be maintained Which is in t r u s t Which is in permeability Which is in the personal

I know I should love all people Because they’re alive; because they’re people XD When the fash set themselves on fire I must arrange my riot dogs of affect into doggerel - for this is the truth: we’ll win in the end when we take advantage of their incompetence by not dying (wear a mask) and by continuing to fight whether we march today or no younger legs than ours will march and older too bear witness & sing

allegra sloman 2024 cc by 4.0

[rottenpoetofthelord]

a little something i wrote last night that i felt like sharing.

blah blah blah yeah anyway eat the mother fucking rich.

[mkzariel]

Watching the inauguration? Don't.

Here are ten better and gayer things to do: https://debatemebro.substack.com/p/10-things-to-do-tomorrow-if-youre

[r3n0-5]

The church wanted you to believe in God so you won’t believe in yourself

[love-ardour-anarchism]

As I am inching towards being 30 years of age I think I found some utmost truth that I will cling to for as long as I will live

I think that hope is like a fungus, its growing in the crevices of everything that I believe in

and I will hold it like Antonio Gramsci said: the only way that we can truly lose as revolutionaries, as progressives, as people who wish nothing more than for a better world is if we give up hope and I won't sugar coat this mess we're in but I will rise each morning and I will do the dishes and I will ask you what we can do today to be less miserable tomorrow

and I will hold it just the way that Terry Pratchett said, and he made Death the one who said it: I'd sieve the world to finest grain and I will show you molecules of mercy, I'll show you atoms of all of the good things I believe in and I will tell you that that kind of hope starts with the little lies that I choose to believe in cause I think he was right if I can make myself believe in what I say each saturday at our game night table then I can rise another day and I can do the laundry and ask you what we'll do today to make sure that our friends will have enough tomorrow; all capitalistic deprivation will be damned as long as we're together

and Ursula K. Le Guin wrote that any human power can be resisted by our human resistance. She wrote that all these systems of oppression that we've been living in won't always stay the same. That they are as unchangeable as was the right of kings to rule. They said that it was godly-given and yet it did not last. And in the spirit of the same I think that I am holding on to hope because to me its all that I can do. Le Guin wrote that resistance often starts in art and I feel called to that. And everytime that someone says that something that I wrote impacted them I know that I have reasons to hold on aplenty. And I won't act like all is bright and like there's plenty lights on the horizon that don't form mushroom clouds; and maybe all the world comes to an end in horror and in agony but I refuse to yield until that day is here. I still believe in better worlds, and I believe there's dishes to be done and friends to call and lovers' lips to kiss; once there is not then maybe I can have a look at apathy.

:SCRR

[kn0w-h0p3]

Ghosts and Empties

or, no more dead friend

[anarchistpoet]

[bananarchy4ever]

New zine in my ko-fi shop. A mini zine of found poetry and collage art. The original zine is made from playing cards and bound by small metal rings.

About queerness, sex and anarchism.

[Image IDs: Top image shows front cover. Reads "Breathtakingly penetrating revolt, make the Gods weep" and is the Joker card. Bottom image shows two interior pages opened up. Left page reads "Sex rebels hunger for Ancient voids and Mystery slime" with two naked people and some flowers. Right page reads "The most popular of the hallucinogens - sexual freedom" with a peeled banana./End IDs]

[manwalksintobar]

Our life is knifings.. // Katarina Gogou

Our life is knifings in dirty dead-end streets rotten teeth worn-out slogans dressing rooms smell of piss and disinfectant and fetid sperm. Torn-up posters. Up and down. Up and down Patission St. Our life is Patission St. Detergent that doesn’t pollute the sea and Mitropanos who entered our lives then Dexameni and chic women gobbled him up. We keep going. All our life is craving, we travel the same roads. Humiliation-loneliness-despair. And vice versa. Okay. We’re not crying. We’ve grown up. But secretly when it rains we suck our thumbs. And smoke. Our life is hyperventilating at conventional strikes, snitches and patrols. That’s why I’m telling you next time they shoot at us don’t run away. Stay in line. Don’t sell out so fast, dammit. Don’t. It’s raining. Give me a cigarette.

(translated from the Greek by ΔT and JC)

[crmsnmth]

Don't Tell Me What to Do

"Don't tell me what to do" is the bark of the young anarchist until they see those with doctorates using them to plan war strategy. Remember that it's the pawns we take first But in the youthful exuberance of being a part of something something that feels big and powerful and real

like revolution?

It blinds us into believing in No gods, no masters unless that PHD is in philosophy and the mouth that uses tongue tangler terminology Flows into the ears like milk and honey enveloping a developing mind that, in all honesty, is just happy to be here

And they'll follow rules in a place that outright condemns the rules And when the paranoia hits and they start accusing everyone of being a snitch you'll still stand behind them, fists raised Burning a black flag

"Don't tell me what to do" The line that births that rebellious heart a DIY scene converged itself entirely in a dingy basement there's an acoustic guitar with only five strings and it's way out of tune But we all know some guy will get drunk enough to pick it up and put on a show

And he'll play songs by Pat The Bunny and the mountain goats You'll get that tattoo right on your wrist because, dammit, this phase is going to stick You just know it.

[wytaiwinter]

The quote that led me back to my love

- “The trouble with being born” by Emil Cioran