Civil Anarchism is a multi-faceted false clown, with ears at the front of its face, listening to the calamatious noise of the frictionless disparity of its own wordless mouth, formed from its bat like echoing discontinuities. It faces forward, but does not see, blined by its obsessive intoxication of the slathering illusions carved out of the reconstituted echos of those windowless curved objects called people.
War upon war within a mouselike doorstep is an inverted necessity of rebellion without limitless reconverted chips sticks of strife.
The obviousness of this is paramount. It is paramounted upon the candle sticks of deep thought and deep counter illusional carefree intensities.
Not until we are all free with the frieze freeze out the horizontal deconstituted vertical ramifications of godlessness.
I have a brick.
I thow it.
The brick is a vortex of thought careering through the constant glue of Civil Anarcho discontinance.
It hits. Discontinated shards of crystalised sand gather at my War like feet.
They are shards of hope in a sea of blinkered dapple light.
The brick sees me, and it invisibly winks at me in a godless, venally acquitted pause as it rests.
A billion febrile bricks or more and the jabberwocky of non-rellion will be usherd out, and ushered in will be a new dawn.
Take that Kebele, Take that the Banks, you are all part of the same inter corrugated pattern of brickless denialism.
Love the brick.
The brick is freedom without pasteurisation.
Until all are free.
Love and kisses x