#cover c-c-comrade-candle-wax-1.png
#title Wax
#author Comrade Candle
#date 5/27/2023
#source Retrieved on 2023-06-24 from [[https://www.freesofiajohnson.com/wax-pdf-now-available/][freesofiajohnson.com/wax-pdf-now-available]]. Updated version emailed to the library on 2023-10-19.
#lang en
#pubdate 2023-07-07T02:21:00
#topics poetry, nietzsche, anarchy, insurrection, cats, Little Black Cart
#notes Originally published by Little Black Cart
#centerchapter 1
#centersection 1
#authors Sofia de Ferrari
** Part 1: Creation
*** I. The Mountain
1 The ice in my veins beholden to your fiery Superman.
2 Wrought forth from blood and strength is all I claim as my own.
3 O, Zarathustra, may I grant you this warning! — You can’t forget what
is already mine.
4 I leave you now with the question: “Will you wake when I die?”
5 Know as you are, I’m superior — you may like that you're held in
contempt.
6 The contempt I have may shine light for me on my humanity.
7 There is nothing — no god or idea — I would hold as sacred. Nothing is
fixed or so-rigid to be held as a thing-in-itself. When a man as super
as you bows to my superiority — what do you say?
8 I lend my voice to your ears and spare you the crack of a whip with
the desire born selfishly to hear your cries spoke again. Still am I to
be fruitless with the task I have placed as my own?
9 “No, not today, fair Wax — I see it fit to speak. Tell me though, dear
maiden: what causes your
contempt?”
10 “My self-interest.”
11 “Oh?”
12 “If you’d willfully lend me your hand then I'd demonstrate.”
13 “How?”
14 “By fire, my daring Superman.”
15 Emboldened by taking the hand of a fiery enigmatic man, it has come
time that I venture where the loftiness of my spirit becomes.
16 I do wish that you know the magnitude of power my cold heart
commands. Perhaps you already may as you hold tight to my powerful hand.
I know that as I’m consumed, in perpetuity by my own being, I create
unending, born from nothing, to be. I saw fit to will that your hand
clasp ever-so tightly to mine. Now come, Zarathustra, I will it — that
my hands may bring forth fire. Fire to burn down what-is, of the
humanity I hold in contempt. I find it fitting to bring my next
challenge to successfully surmount.
17 Away now we shall descend from the cold of the desolate mountain,
Though we journey to someplace far colder than any earthly chill
wrought. A frost one must know of, otherwise one will be bit.
18 I will bite.
*** II. The Shop
1 Graciously to you I gift what is to come, though it must be said my
reasons are egotistic.
2 I wish to see the world that the State extols brought to mere ash as I
revel at the flame.
I am but one enby, though virtuous of nature. My Will to Power claims
only what it can.
3 I have but two hands with which I may create.
4 With my voice, I will tell you why I choose to burn.
5 My nose is thrilled by the scent of kerosene. it has proven to be one
of this shop’s precious items. As I douse the structure, I feel pure
ecstasy — Oh, joy, Zarathustra! Soon its end will be!
6 This normalized structure reproduces capitalist relation, its right to
property defended by the State. The night will hold me tight, as once
you too did also — the black curtain will soon enough be pulled.
7 This religion of consumption I will never hold sacred.
8 With this fire, I give you the death of b ut one shop.
9 Thankless flames burn bright and indifferent to any tradition of woe
and disgust practiced by shopkeeper. The inferno has no care for any
kind of morals.
10 Perhaps as I have unleashed my burning in this state, the coldest of
all monsters would label me immoral — my story is told by the hand that
creates it.
11 Though my actions are so-noble, in creating my own burning, I dare
not caress its fruit — ashes. The violence of the State would chase me
tireless.
12 I find my solace in the end of this building where, until as of late,
one could exchange commerce. Billowing black above, I wonder if the
claim of private property extends to the heavens. Certainly in some
part, the capitalist lay claims of ownership onto this ethereal cloud. I
shall not shed a tear, with exception for the flame. Its wake on this
plane has been far-too fleeting.
13 Granted I must know, lest my ears deceive, this brave inferno will
soon be less than embers. My deed, likewise, can never be un-made.
Consider all the coal as mere immortal product — propaganda of the deed.
One cannot hope to build a shackle from mere ash — Fire can be tamed but
what its changed has changed.
14 Take my hand once more so I may show the sauce that brings my
spiciness on par with this heat.
15 Though we must get washed, we shall soon return to witness the terror
within the State’s eyes.
16 I cherish this experience that cannot be remade. the State’s terror
should not go unknown.
17 To know of the State’s fright, one only needs a light!
*** III. The Firefighter
1 “I know that your fair labor is done in your own interest to preserve
this God-graced structure and all that it surrounds. Your bravery is
telling as you walk this tired path where your weary eyes behold such
destruction.”
2 “I thank you kind civilian for all the praise you give. Please keep
aback as we put this flame to rest. It truly is a shame that this fire
ever came.”
3 “It is certainly disgraceful how much this fire took, I could never
hope to fathom the pain it has brought — and now too how much cannot be
bought! Its impact will be felt wherever one can look. Has all the
personnel been spared from this carnage?”
4 “The store has been lost, indeed you're right to ask — A new Store can
be built but never lives restored. It appears the store was empty, and
from what we all can tell, the fire accidental.”
5 “Well, you are the experts, that much is apparent. I’d never have the
courage to quench inferno’s thirst.”
6 “As, indeed, we’ve done.”
7 “At times, the task seemed fun.”
8 The flame’s been laid to rest, where once this store had stood.
Arising to their test, the firefighter’s good.
9 As the smoke departs, the steam finally vanished, not much remains to
tell of this establishment.
10 I see the charred rafters, still smoldering on grounds as black as
the clouds that once poured through the sky. Everything that remains is
coated equally in flame-born ash and water poured-like free. As damp as
mud can get these fires tormented. Firefighters proved the power one can
use.
11 Can a fire ever hope to enter inside the water flow of the same fire
hose twice? Not when Firefighters douse the fire expertly. Once the fire
quells, the water ceases flow.
12 The fire breathes no more with firefighter hands left sore.
*** IV. The Police Car
1 “Your car is awfully cold, though with a shining glimmer. Would you
care to smoke a cigarette for free? The job you're tasked with would be
so hard for me.”
2 “A pretty lady with skin as fair as your s should really avoid smoking
cigarettes — you tempt me and I give! It’s just one; I'll live.”
3 “With cigarette in mouth, you look so different from the usual report
given by your brothers.”
4 “Do you have a light?”
5 “Zarathustra might.”
6 As Zarathustra’s hand brings forth a tiny ember, the smell of nicotine
coats the police car.
7 “What brings you to these parts, you and your friend — was it just the
fire, not brought to an end?”
8 “My friend, Wax, and I ventured over here when it would happen flame
appeared.”
9 “We saw the smoke across the night and came to assure things were
right.”
10 Three bodies lean against a car as cigarette still burns. Nothing is
yet said as time awaits an end.
11 A cigarette burns small, no question of desire. Wax and Zarathustra
only tasked to admire.
12 Now with The Police Car’s freshly given branding; the scent still
standing; what is left to say? Wax and Zarathustra head on their way.
*** V. The Park
1 Wax and Zarathustra seated gently in the grass, gazing serenely at the
cherry blossoms. Petals start to descend from the heights, careening
towards-their bed below. The wind starts to gust and, but briefly,
petals, once more, take to the air. The atmosphere is pink as
momentarily blossoms sink.
2 Turning now to face the lake, I see that its body has been graced as
well. The sun gleams off the speckled surface, turning water to glass;
colors rich and vibrant, light drawing forth what was once masked by
shadows cast.
3 Take hold of the moment, it is ever-fleeting. So much comes to pass
right before one’s eyes. Nothing matters innately, find beauty where you
wish.
4 Seldom will one achieve their preconceived ideal. A petal knows not
where it finds land, only this eventuality. Is it predisposed to grass
or water? No — it will simply be.
5 I will live as I am and love all that’s come to pass.
6 No one is as powerful as I am in my life.
7 I alone control what is beautiful, what I find to be virtuous or
noble. Why should any tell me how to be? I love my individuality.
8 I love the beauty of many flowers and the absence of powers.
*** VI. The Collectivist
1 I have come to hold your likes in contempt as time-and-time again you
show your lack of spine. Will you match my heat or shall your party ask
that you speak for them?
2 “In all due fairness, Wax, we’ve never seen your labor used to benefit
our collective’s cause. Our day’s work is hard, as many will go hungry
due to recent tragedy encroaching on supply. You are but an outlaw,
everybody is aware, so how could you ever know an honest day’s struggle?
Our aid helps many, be damned your contempt.”
3 “I had heard a tale of a certain suburbs losing but one store, may
your gods find mercy on your poignant begging.”
4 “We labor for the good of our collective’s needs, so again be damned
attacking respectability.”
5 “Naturally.”
6 The Collectivist’s needs reign supreme, the collective’s acts serene.
*** VII. The Moralist
1 “The fire to my favorite store was a deliberate act of terror!”
2 “Who do you think would decide to partake in such evil?”
3 “The police have called it chance, quite the pitch to sell. I imagine
it some hoodlum or Muslim jihadist. No one who’s found God, or his son
Jesus Christ, would ever dare defy the one true moral code.”
4 “Blessed be you for having foun d your absolutist morals that are
so-clearly God-given.”
5 “I only wish the heathen would come out to the public to ask for
forgiveness that they badly need. Sinners must be punished, justice must
be served. Everything should feel right as it’s always been.”
6 “We should pray that the one true God shall deliver justice to your
sorry plight.”
7 Wax draws The Moralist deep into a prayer, a prayer that The Moralist
hopes to quell evil.
8 As eyes open, The Moralist stays blind.
*** VIII. The Robber
1 Have you ever taken possession of your need with callous disdain for
its former tyrant?
2 “I put my gun to the head of any who’d deny me the basic needs
demanded by my person.”
3 Do you know remorse for these grisly sins?
4 “I'd rather live beautifully by bullet and knife than hand a
capitalist my entire life.”
5 Our world is indifferent to our plight; must we let our downfall be
the morals reigning down, erected to prostrate us? I would rather stand
my ground and scream out my defiance. Though it so happens that an act
is harder forgotten — when one acts for their self, it oft will be
immoral.
Let one’s immoral acts be one’s truth — self-interest.
Life is hardly life when one does merely as they’re taught; from
moralism to religious sin, devotion’s end is terribly grim. Know nothing
of remorse, sin is a fabrication.
If one must, sin joyously.
6 “Death to the rich who would demand I offer my entirety just to feed
my mouth.”
7 “While the bourgeoisie use your body to their ends the cycle repeats
ad nauseam — one grows rich, the many poor, with hardships brought to
many more, so one can scratch their hedonistic itch. Being poor costs
money while being rich makes more. Is this farce of property not the new
divine King’s right — to sit as unquestionable and forever
propagate?”
8 The Robber and Wax see Zarathustra eating a bag of corn chips.
9 They only take a couple.
*** IX. The Street Cat
1 Furry free spirit, creeping through the streets, I deeply admire your
innocence. You, so proudly, defy all us humans are.
2 Slinking to-and-from the shadows, I can tell your life is hard with
your lack of say in our world’s design. I desire such a life, a free
spirit in the night. My person will be held to this social contract that
I have been born to, against my own self-interest.
3 I want to pet The Street Cat.
4 “Mreow!”
*** X. The Black Rose
1 From the sediment, protruding from its stem, the black rose petals
rest within their spirals. I
gaze at an abyss of petals, taking in their beauty — this rose holds my
eyes!
2 With the dark beauty captivating me, I relish the perfumes
supplementing sight. This rose’s existence is quite a delight!
3 Often we are told to hold a rose’s thorns as testament to its
transgressions.
4 I love to see the beauty, as is — innate. Black suits roses well;
black is beautiful.
5 This rose could hardly hope to ever betray the sediment that nurtured
the potential we now see. I am joyous that this rose could be.
6 I wish to see many more; whole fields colored black.
7 I cut free the black rose.
*** XI. Waves of W ater
1 Crashing on the shoreline, chiseling the stone — a jagged edge eroded
far below.
2 The rolling sounds; fresh salty smell. Churning, the blue makes a
frothy-white.
3 The spray hits my skin, splattering across — Zarathustra, too.
4 Ebb-and-flow continues, more splashing about of ocean waves in
perpetuity.
5 As I see it, will it always be? Will the waves keep crashing,
ever-powerful, until the stone exists as but-mere sand?
6 The wave is powerful enough that my mere hands could never stop it.
*** XI. Marijuana Smoke
1 Deeply-felt relief with combustion, exhaling fragrance smelt deeply
and far. This greenish-hued flower, a target of persecution, gives me
pleasure when I see it burn.
2 You should know — I will burn.
*** XIII. A Drink of Coffee
1 Seated at a wooden table, I am greeted as The Robber joins Zarathustra
and me.
2 The Moralist and The Collectivist, seated across the room, glare their
judgment at the three of us. With no words said at all, their gaze
speaking tall, I raise my hand to offer coffee for all present that
matter.
3 Arriving at the table, steam pouring from the cup, I look into the
coffee and giggle to myself. Still scorching, I stand just to stretch my
legs.
4 “It’s quite a lovely day to have some coffee here.”
5 My friends agree, and as my legs cease aching, I rejoin their posture
and taste my bitter beverage.
6 My lips turn.
*** XIV. A Snake Torn in Two
1 My friends and I leave the shop, nearly forgetting to dash. As we make
haste to safety, we spot The Street Cat in a box of fried rice. Dazzled
initially by this display of sheer cuteness, we fawn at The Street Cat
before we approach it. The fried rice it's scavenged seems relatively
fresh.
2 We are a bit perplexed: what would possess a cat to place itself in a
box of fried rice? The cat is awfully cute, we figure it can clean
disregarded food from its fluffy fur. The Street Cat licks its paw.
3 Paw and head poke out the side of toppled box.
4 “I think we should venture closer to the cat and unearth this
clandestine cuteness.”
5 The Street Cat rolls its head at us and purrs. We cross the distance
towards our rambunctious friend.
6 With distance closed, attention perks — we see we’re in for a
surprise.
7 The Street Cat quickly springs to action, already mid-pounce. The
Street Cat lands upon a lone wandering garden snake. The snake hardly
sees the act, and then it’s left in two.
8 “Meow!”
*** XV. Striding in Moonlight
1 The moon lights up the street selectively and as it does I am allowed
to see. Its beams reflect brightly and glisten from the many flat opaque
surface. When the moonlight comes, I always remember how terribly these
structures cater to the sun.
2 How lightly you illuminate all I see at night.
3 I take my first step.
** Part 2: Consumption
*** XVI. Sweet Tea
1 As I fill up my cup with sweet tea, I do remember the ice. Taking a
hold of my drink, I think of what to do with my day. I don’t desire for
ice to melt and water down my drink. The tea is awfully sweet and
reminds me of better days.
2 Given the mood I have found, I elect to lie in the grass, surrounded
by bushes and flowers, to bask in the breeze and scent.
3 My mind is quick to wander, try as I might to control it. Eventually I
release thought from the reigns I have used to suppress it. Racing
relentless, not all of my thoughts are coherent. Passion, lust, and
desire dominate sadness and grief.
4 Purpose ceases to be as I begin to simply exist.
5 Though honey would make it too sweet, my sweet tea stays next to me.
Long forgotten from the thought grasping my entirety, I still
manage to sip on my iced sweet tea.
6 My deep longing for comfort is felt to my very core. I knew what it
meant to ascend, in the cold I must overcome urge. My heart will remain
fettered, for all of the freedoms it grants, as much as I one
day long to have it melted at last.
7 What was before now wasn’t as cold, or possibly I was not privy. My
heart then had chosen to hold space for those clearly not worthy. I walk
a great path, one I am willing to undertake alone — know that I am
accustomed to being misunderstood by those just now growing ears.
You likely do not walk among me, far more likely I walk around graves of
those who'd rather be led than live but one moment alive. As you choose
to be enslaved — I thrive.
8 In this moment, rather I lie in the relative comfort cold known by the
lofty arsonist who holds all of humanity in contempt.
9 I sip my tea.
*** XVII. Snow-covered Rooftops
1 Snow, ever so white, falls upon the street, peppering it and creating
an ever-white sheet. As I make my way along, I gaze upon the snow — it
cushions each and every footfall. So my feet do fall, as the snow does;
still. The cold holds me tightly, the sound of walking lightly enveloped
within the winter’s embrace brings my senses fully, acutely, aware of
every mild happening: Cold air carries more than pain.
My wandering, partly aimless, though surely I'll quell the chill, leaves
behind a path to be filled in time. I am more aware than I had before
been just how alone I am in this wake. My way is carved through ice, a
twisted turn of fate, though perhaps fate isn’t quite a thing to have
beheld with the sharp skepticism born from the cold.
Will I ever know? I live but one life. How can I discern truth to my
essence? I see no point, no desire. I have brought forth fire — who
could call it fate what I chose to create?
2 Probably the moral, the God-fearing afraid, would behold my fire as
but mere fate; possibly, too, the State. Of those who’d admire? They'd
share the flame they’ve made, hardly looking to become judge. To them,
my fire floral — the State a blight, a smudge.
Well, to you my friend, who I may never know, I wish you all the best on
your struggle with the State. As it rests upon the suffering of
near-all, surely soon all seek its fall; a wishful desire that may never
truly be. Will it fall — I’ll see?
3 I know the snow still falls as I journey through the street, much like
the State subsists with each fall of my feet.
4 A rustle up above greets the floor with a crash. I care to look above
and spot a snow-topped Street Cat. The Street Cat greets my gaze, still
plodding on the roof, finally halting to sit far above.
5 “Meow!”
6 My body feels the chill, my heart naught but concern. Won’t the cold
claim cat as equally as I? My mind has been claimed, I set upon my task:
“Won't you please join my search for warmth?”
7 I see The Street Cat’s shivers, the fright within its eyes. My body
ventures closer to the snow-covered rooftop whereupon lie The Street
Cat. I offer out my arms, overcome with dread, unknown to me whether I’m
understood. Snow now coats my arms, and in truth all equally.
8 “Aren’t you cold upon the roof, couldn’t you use rest? Please come
here, sweet Street Cat, before the cold claims you. I love you, dear
Street Cat, and only wish you well.”
9 “Meow.”
10 Retreating from my gaze, The Street Cat no longer sits.
11 Snow descends upon the rooftop.
*** XVIII. The Throne Room
1 Zarathustra rests upon his magnificent throne, seated with the grace
born of a King. His demeanor is calm, collected, as he pleasantly gazes
upon the entirety of The Throne Room. His right hand grasps a scepter,
glistening with gold and gem — his left still dormant upon his very
chair. A grand rug lines the path, up the shallow steps, occupying space
between the throne and entrance.
What drew Zarathustra to sit upon his throne? Was it merely whim, or was
his will not strong?
2 The Throne Room doors open — “Enter,” Zarathustra speaks — and into it
we wander. I, Wax; The Moralist; The Collectivist; The Firefighter; The
Robber. “You may all come closer so all may speak in turn. I am quite
thankful you have come, at my command,” Zarathustra speaks with odd
finality.
3 The doors close behind us and I, first, choose to speak: “Your company
is worth a respite from the chill. Come now, Zarathustra, won’t you let
us know just how pleasant sitting is upon a throne?” I venture closer
than the rest and lean upon his throne.
“Is the throne you rest on a thing-in-itself, perhaps it truly has no
real value to it?”
4 “What has our company to say about your intrigue?” Zarathustra
speaks.
5 “Everything has essence, a spirit if you will — all things have
meaning innate to their permanence. A throne’s essence, the spirit of a
throne, calls to the right of those seated to rule,” The Collectivist
speaks.
6 “My service to my people is funded by our nation, and in times
of old may well have meant my service served such type of throne. A
throne’s value comes from that which surrounds it,” The Firefighter
speaks.
7 “Value to the throne? I’d ask its buyer,” The Robber speaks.
8 “God creates all that is, everything is sacred. All that is to be had
is by God’s grace. The only throne with value, above any other, lies in
a throne given by God,” The Moralist speaks.
9 “I take it that the essence; the spirit of a throne, to
each-and-every-person has a whole new value. Though it does appear some
find thrones similar; to this Unique, your throne exists only to be
consumed as my property; your throne is nothingness, valueless. So you
sit upon a throne, you daring Superman?” Wax speaks.
10 Zarathustra turns to face Wax, grinning at the question: “Well, I am
noble,” Zarathustra speaks.
11 “As you say; perhaps your throne does speak. I would venture to say,
should that be true, your throne serves merely as adornment. Though, if
I may, is that true?” Wax speaks.
12 Preparing to reply, Zarathustra turns, suddenly, to the door. Through
The Throne Room door, one hears a faint Mye-ow! As the sound travels
through The Throne Room, Wax and The Robber grin then turn with the
rest. Wax leaves Zarathustra’s side and journeys to the door.
13 With a nod from Zarathustra, Wax opens The Throne Room door. The
Street Cat paws the door as it opens. Nuzzling its head aga inst Wax’s
leg, The Street Cat defiantly struts over to the throne. With one small
leap, paws now stand upon throne’s armrest.
14 The Street Cat sits upon the throne, shedding off residual snow. It
meows at Zarathustra, demanding his hand. Snow melts; wet throne.
15 “Such a talkative creature, quite cute, affectionate.” Zarathustra
speaks, beginning the faintest of smiles.
16 Deprived of its right to be pet, The Street Cat leaps down from the
throne, steadily moving toward a bemused Wax. Wax kneels as The Street
Cat gets rather close.
17 Suddenly rather shy, The Street Cat sniffs Wax’s outstretched hand.
Wax and The Street Cat gaze upon each other. Wax, their usual smirk, The
Street Cat poking hand with its little wet nose. With a few sniffs, The
Street Cat starts to scan the remainder of the room, tiring of Wax and
their hand.
18 With one final meow, The Street Cat departs, strutting defiantly
beyond The Throne Room door.
19 The Throne Room door is open, a somberness is felt by all as they
witness The Street Cat depart.
20 “Should we close the door?” Zarathustra speaks.
*** XIX. Crystal-clear Icicle
1 With temperature descending into its depths, much more has dawned than
the snow. I walk among the trees, sugarcoated evergreens.
2 Carved through the ground, via trodden snow, paw-after-paw advance
upon their way.
3 I think of the cold, the warmth my clothes afford, my anxiety rearing
at thoughts of The Street Cat.
4 Where do you wander, so far off in the cold? Do you have a home, a
place to keep yourself warm? Don’t you know the cold could claim you as
its own?
5 I want to keep you safe from the perils present that a cat could
otherwise fall victim. Be damned what is more-or-less natural, I have
the desire to care for that I love.
6 I am here, at present, to create what I desire.
7 I cut and weave between frosty trees, quickening my tempo with each
passing step.
8 The winding swirl of paw prints, with each twist and turn, becomes far
more shallow.
9 Finally before me, I lay witness to The Street Cat curled beneath a
tree. With its body shivers, and its visible breathe, my concern grows
as to its wellbeing.
10 I rush forward, taking hold The Street Cat. I tuck its body within my
jacket.
11 Hanging on the branch, from which I soon depart, lie an icicle;
crystal-clear. Sun shines through like glistening glass, completely ever
clear. Far below it lies The Street Cat’s depression.
12 I chance a glance before I part — the icicle still hangs.
*** XX. The Squatter
1 I lift myself through the window, avoiding the remnants of glass left
behind from whom first chose to enter. The Squatter cradles The Street
Cat, already enjoying the heat, comfortably endowed by this residence.
Much like The Street Cat, my body takes kindly to the sharp difference
presented in temperature.
2 As my body heat continues to rise in this squatted residence, absent
of snow, my anxious state of worry quells; love for life swells.
3 The Street Cat leaps to its feet, swiftly nuzzling The Squatter’s
leg.
4 The Squatter accompanies The Street Cat and I as we make our way
toward the house’s heat source: a fireplace aflame with tender warmth.
Flames devour wood, crackling as they come.
5 “Let’s sit and rest; safe from the chill.”
6 Wood aplenty for fire, I feel myself relax. The Street Cat rests
between The Squatter and me, curled up awfully cute. Lighting ever
changing, rippling through its fur, The Street Cat’s eyes c lose, its
chest gently rising — to fall.
7 “How goes your days my friend — nature treats you harshly. Certainly
the cold grasped you until late. Well how could I claim to own anything;
should you need some heat, your company would be a treat.”
8 “I worry deeply for the life of this cat, perhaps almost to my
detriment.”
9 “We'll keep it safe, of that I’m sure.”
10 “A fire and shelter go beyond more sentiment — the truth to your
words is pure; our efforts shan’t fall flat.”
11 “Care for another makes me feel complete.”
12 Has fire brought forth cold’s defeat?
*** XXI. The Shoplifter
1 We’re greeted by a jingle and the harsh blast of cold air as The
Shoplifter and I enter the clutches of a capitalistic facility.
2 We cross between the alarms peppering the entrance towards this
capitalist’s hoarded resources. The Shoplifter grips the strap of their
tote with their hand, aiming to pad the size therein.
3 “We need to eat today, The Street Cat as well. We may as well eat well
– our right.”
4 Aisle upon aisle, stacked shelves of defended goods, lay before our
eyes. Food and drink of various size the first targets in our conquest.
They lie amongst the rest of this capitalist’s defended goods – aisle
upon aisle.
High above, far higher than I can throw, opaque black domes spy our
every movement.
5 Clean floors reflect an abundance of light; our bodies illuminated.
Still we duck and weave in the cover afforded, stashing away our bodies
basic needs.
6 “Why should I owe another for an inescapable aspect of my
existence?”
7 “What is owed when the right to own lies on faulty pretext?”
8 “How could you own an aisle of goods you'll never use yourself, that
your hand could never hold, any more than one could claim to own an
ocean?”
9 “This food and drink are mine to use as I will.”
10 As I leave the premises, The Shoplifter close behind, I feel my
concern vanquished — I will eat and drink today.
Today I will not slave away to just merely subsist. I’ve refused to hold
true the sacred idea that this world would have me find to be anything I
would miss when I gain a sense of mind.
11 My life is mine to live, to do as I please.
12 “I can’t wait to dive into our food.”
13 We hurry back toward The Squatter and The Street Cat.
*** XXII. Canned Tuna
1 On the floor of the squatted residence, where we do reside, a can of
tuna stares down The Street Cat. Still-lidded, The Street Cat prods the
can with its nose.
2 “How sad it is to me how cruel a can is to those not
human.”
3 The Shoplifter removes the lid quickly.
4 The Street Cat deftly dives into its meal.
5 The Shoplifter shares their haul among us human friends. We opt to
join The Street Cat in satisfying our hunger.
6 “Could you pass the lemonade?”
*** XXIII. The Riot
1 A sea of black surroundings; persons nameless to me. Air filled with
the sound of foot poundings — this joyous event makes me free.
Oh, how I used to beg for the lie of a freedom by right!
Now, I stand on my own legs to take what is mine in a fight.
Quickly, we march through what’s ours as some choose to throw and smash
— glass rains down and none cowers, nor chooses to becry any as
brash.
2 What is right I decide by my power — I refuse to be ruled. Capitalist
structures defile any claims of order or pea ce. Why would I choose to
be governed when life could be so much more?
3 Order is when you alone decide how you aught be. Order cannot be found
whereupon one decides for many.
4 For order to exist, authority cannot be.
5 Private property is truly disgusting, its right of ownership protected
by the State. What filthy violence the State will enact upon any who
challenge their farce.
6 Autonomous magnanimity will bring forth terrible force from the
State.
7 Thankful to our cause, we all will not stay to be captured.
8 The State will never fall from mere chance or circumstance. I choose
to create the fall of the State.
9 How terrified the State is of our defiance of its tyranny.
10 Countless sirens blare; red and blue flare — we all swiftly
depart.
11 War against the State: art.
*** XXIV. The Burning Flag
1 I toss down a flag of the Nation that lays claim to this territory.
Authority deserves naught more than contempt — Nations rest upon
tyranny.
2 Those whose names I still don’t know gleefully shout at what is to
come. Our black adorned bodies surround a terrible slight against
freedom.
3 From the black ethereal mass shoots line upon line of kerosene.
4 Amassing quite the stench, the flag drenched thoroughly, the tiniest
ember then sparks the annihilation of sanctity.
5 Quite a tiny fire.
*** XXV. The Police Station
1 Spilling from curb to the street, we face off with The Police Station
entrance — black radiance hanging over such filth.
2 Dull and dreary structure, repressively designed; your place in this
world, your function, is to be a yoke around the type of human you
decide to be good citizen. You serve as both threat and perpetrator of
terrifying violence.
3 If you’d enslave me, confined to a cage, you’d strip me of my life.
With that looming threat upon me, what of my life is voluntary?
4 I’ll never trust authority – one all-too human – to enact violence as
just and right.
5 Authority is crude, a violence instrument of rule.
6 Let’s burn this to the ground!
7 Hands carry wood and gasoline toward The Police Station’s door. With
wood cast on the floor, the gasoline can near — handcuffs appear.
8 Trap sprung amidst our ranks, confusion growing wildly, difficulty
arises in insuring my own safety. Knowing I could not close the space
necessary to aid my comrade, I flee to fight another day.
9 Our fire has been halted in a truly terrible way.
*** XXVI. Fearful Flight
1 White mist coats my surroundings, bringing many to tears. Shouts to
disperse and halt intermingle with gunshots.
2 Having donned my gas mask, I take off in a sprint.
3 I cut through the tear gas, navigating street upon street.
4 Finding suitable cover and emptiness of location, I remove my black
clothing covering far more civilian attire.
5 Fitting the part far more, I depart on my way to now walk right past
the police who once fought me.
6 My gas mask and hoodie reek of tear gas.
*** XXVII. The Book Fair
1 Tables piled high with pamphlets, constantly taken to be replaced.
2 I walk amongst the rank and file of various kind of person. The
commonality at present the shari ng of literature.
3 Nothing particularly catches my eye as my wandering becomes aimless. I
grab several selections while walking to not seem heartless. Atmosphere
so calmly accepting, I continue on with my aimless selecting.
4 The Street Cat leaps up to land upon zines, walking amongst them.
5 “How did I not notice you!”
*** XXVIII. Lemonade
1 I sit under the sun upon an outdoor chair, a chair that lay claim by
the shop whereupon I loiter.
2 My friend, The Robber, sits across the table. Between us, an unopened
bottle of lemonade.
3 “I’m awfully thirsty.”
4 Cold droplets descend down the length of the bottle, the sun gradually
heating the lemonade.
5 “The recent arrest was terribly tragic, not much seems left to be
done, that the State could infiltrate our ranks successfully makes me
hesitant to trust another such encounter.
Perhaps it aught be best if I avoid such risky endeavors.”
6 I decide to open the lemonade, taking a sip before passing it on.
7 “Isn't it great to drink with a friend?”
** Part 3: Overcoming
*** XXIX. The Tree
1 I sit beneath you kindly, you tree who brings me air
until I gaze politely, I question you to where I shall go to find the
sight of leaf once lost? O-Sweet tree you've lived through winter's
chilling frost!
Surely you ought know of winter's cold embrace everywhere I go,
I experience the cold enthralling temperate grace
I find nature rather bold!
2 Lovely still, you're latched upon
the thoughts I collect to understand
all I've learned yet from my dawn you, tree, hold me as you stand.
3 Given all of my surrounding
at least as it so seems to ap pear
I find what seems astounding—
to see life and death so near!
Brought forth by seeming chance
all that is—my existence
and even from one glance
I witness life's unending persistence
4 Growing from what frost's chill made dead
you thrive, as all before
have stilled their dread at using what lives no more
5 For life's own purpose
choosing of life's desire
what-is at life's service
existence created as life aspires
6 Metaphysical significance of the Tree
existence—life—as separate from me
7 Continuation of life as Right?—
what is Right to The Tree forgone might?
8 Perhaps as I sit by the Tree, I contemplate
life in a way not relative to mine
in this cold, eerie world, one must navigate
life's many kinds—each very fine
9 I will certainly depart before the Tree, owing to my life as mere
mortal. Yet as I depart, I may yet be allowed to foster new life.
10 I will see.
*** XXX. Pains Growing
1 My longing for even the comfort of a hug brings my mind’s thoughts to
the confines of one space. I feel the cold touch of our world as the
only sensation beknown. My lofty deeds and self cannot prevent being
gripped—alone.
2 Where will I find such a love, love beyond mere comfort I crave?
3 Does the contempt I hold for the world allow for any love to be found?
4 Oh, what a frightful cold that would wed me so to a life lived on
knife’s edge—lonely.
5 Yet as my mind’s tempest enthralls me, my noontide continues to be.
6 I decide to open my eyes.
*** XXXI. A Brighter Tomorrow
1 As Sun’s rays come to dawn, I witness brighter light than I had before
seen. Beholden to the sun, I know of tomorrow.
Light rains upon near-all.
2 I see the world in a whole new light.
3 More vibrant, more alive—a new sort of green. I gaze upon a world that
gazes upon me.
4 To feel the light’s touch; a warmth.
5 How tragic of this cold plane to be warm physically. Will the Sun melt
the cold born of humanity?
6 Perhaps.
*** XXXII. The Black Bandanna
1 The Robber and I enter the store, our aim—apparent.
2 “Give us what you have as quickly as you can.”
3 Guns aimed—visibly—the Robber and I need not command endlessly.
4 We have our desired money; our property.
5 The Black Bandanna that conceals my face
the possibility to abase
both State and capitalist equally
toward our egotistic end
we threaten willfully
given property’s violent nature
to dogmatic views, we rend
in defiance of capitalist structure
6 I am noble.
7 The Robber and I depart—our robbery done.
8 Given our existence within this capitalist economy, we’ve been
presented this problem from our dawn: sell your very life to make
another rich—capitalists will not afford you, ever, as much as you
produce.
Must I sell my very life’s activity?
My time is mortally finite. How greedy of capitalist to deprive me, not
only of my world—of my very life.
9 I’d rather take your money, discarding the morality you woul d impart
to me as Truth.
10 Why ought I see subservience as Good, Just? Even to a mere
idea—property?
11 I smile underneath my black bandanna.
*** XXXIII. The Squatter Part 2
1 I find myself within the vacant residence lay claim, primarily, by The
Squatter.
2 The Robber and I count what little we’ve taken from the store, having
already discarded our bandannas in The Squatter’s fire.
3 “You’ve certainly exposed yourselves to quite a great risk.”
4 “Yet without these funds, how will we feed The Street Cat? Shoplifting
food proves infeasible at times—capitalists would have us starve. We’ve
got funds enough to eat, us and The Street Cat—possibly enough to print
literature.”
5 “I suppose we don’t pay rent.”
6 “If we did, would we be free?”
7 “Not a chance.”
8 The Squatter, The Robber, and I have quite the tale to tell– what
could we ever print to shatter capitalist delusion?
A lifetime of self-enslavement to the capitalist’s end; voluntary? How
can one shine light upon another’s self-alienation seen as right?
9 Truly, at present, this endeavor seems hopeless.
10 Thankfully we’ve all forsworn hope.
11 “I don’t take it that The Street Cat will be much use in this
matter!”
12 “Not at all—except perhaps as an adornment.”
13 “I take it that everyone h ere is tired of the tyrannical hold
capitalism has upon near-all facets of one’s life. From housing to food
and water—let alone the beauties our earth contains—all is denied
without sufficient capital. Why should I be nothing, serve another to
just scrape by, when nature tells nothing of subservience to the few?”
14 “What gives rise to the desire to finally own one’s self?”
15 “Why must another’s rule seem inevitable and Right?”
16 “We’ve each grabbed ahold of our lives as our own. How did it come to
be? What made each of us realize we weren’t free?”
17 “A lot did.”
18 “If we’ve all had such powerful encounters with disillusionment, this
realization presents itself as our aim.”
19 “Aren’t we all exposed to a unique capitalist culture that, from
one’s dawn, asserts itself as Right?”
20 “Is a metaphysical critique too abstract to attack the very
normalized ideals many use to self-create?”
21 “Yet with a more material approach, isn’t our argument necessarily
shallow—even needlessly specific?”
22 The Squatter stokes the flames of the fire—warmth.
23 What will stoke the fire in the servile’s hearts?
*** XXXIV. The Print Shop
1 As the Robber, the Squatter, and I enter The Print Shop, we’re greeted
by the clerk who will exchange their labor for our capital
2 “Are you here today to print?”
3 Thankfully we are—the exchange is rather short.
4 I take what we’ve requested after paying the clerk of The Print Shop.
5 The copies we now have of the propaganda we’ve created are the
collective effort of our egotistic labor–union.
6 The Robber, The Squatter, and I leave The Print Shop to disseminate
our propaganda.
7 Our ideas shall propagate—by writing, word, and deed.
*** XXXV. The Moralist Part 2
1 I find The Moralist at the Church’s basketball court.
2 “Care to play some ball?”
3 “I saved some of the pamphlets my friends and I had made, should you
care to take one to give it a read.”
4 The Moralist skims through the pamphlet I hand them, bemused by the
cover featuring The Street Cat.
5 “This has nothing to do with cats, as cute as our friend may be. From
what I can tell, you or your friends sound communist.”
6 “I wouldn’t say either is the case.”
7 “Then let it be known that this reading offends my sensibilities.
Where is the common sense in asking one to not work? Should I just be
homeless, begging for food?”
8 “What would you change of this work?”
9 “Away with the idea that one must never be servile—I find much joy to
be had in serving community. As for filthy hippie nonsense of never
working, try listing some employers willing to hire so us sane persons
may earn our share in life.”
10 “Must one work to live?”
11 “To my point again—you sound communist.”
12 “Be that as it may, I appreciate your insight upon our ideas.”
13 “Some ideas cannot be questioned. Nature has led its course and given
what we have. I p ray for you and your friends.”
14 “As you wish.”
15 I leave The Moralist with our pamphlet, heading on my way to enjoy my
day.
*** XXXVI. The Collectivist Part 2
1 “Get away from me—I don’t associate with your kind. We all know what
you’ve done, now, so leave us alone.”
2 “You don’t want to read the work of my friends and me?”
3 “Not even if it were the last zine on earth. I take it you’ve written
some anti-civilization nonsense?”
4 “We were inspired by The Street Cat.”
5 “Leave.”
6 Fearing further reproach, I leave The Collectivist to their doing.
*** XXXVII. The Shoplifter part 2
1 “Owing to our common interest—theft—I offer you this pamphlet.”
2 “I love the photo you’ve acquired of the Street Cat.”
3 The Shoplifter takes to the pamphlet, enjoying the rhetoric. They’ve
taken an interest in far more than the Street Cat’s likeness.
4 “My life has been my own so long as I stay free; journey towards the
end of repressive authority.
What is truly mine to choose when I remain servile towards an authority
my heart’s calling shall e’er revile?”
5 “That was my favorite poem to write—I take it you’ve come to like it
too?”
6 “I was never free before my choice to defy Law. Now I live
precariously evading the State, violence directed as recourse for my
denial of servitude.”
7 The shoplifter’s words resound clear yet I opt to stay quiet— my
agreement seems evident in my self-creation.
8 “You’re a beautiful poet, Wax.”
9 I offer the Shoplifter my hand, to share a touch moment.
10 “Keep on stealing what ought be yours.”
*** XXXVIII. Paper Bomb
1 Along this busy street, many hustle on their way
Towards their life’s ambition—the calling of their day
I gather up my courage
to cut between the tides
here, the crowd will disparage
push the shy to the sides
and go hustling. hustling away!
2 How I wish I could shatter the haze, bring about many better days.
3 There’s an abandoned news stand that mostly lay empty.
4 I approach it and place my pamphlets among welcome company.
5 “Are these yours?”
6 “I just put them here. They’re free.”
7 I seem to have drawn attention, split some from the crowd.
8 Maybe soon some will awaken—at least unto themselves..
*** XXXIX. The Throne Room Part 2
1 “Zarathustra, I have a gift to share. The Robber and I—plus a friend
you have not met—designed this writing to share with others.”
2 “Isn’t this The Street Cat—the very same who leapt onto my throne?”
3 “The one and only.”
4 “Cover selection aside, I find your writings disagreeable. Hitherto
the elevated sort of man has required others servile.”
5 “Even firmly locking into place one’s ascent as one’s aim why must it
be the case
that my ascent remain the same
as all servility hitherto?
We do not yet know Truth,
so why assert tired tradition as true?
Can I not be superior
without alluding to nous
as all others inferior?”
6 “You seek to reduce the suffering each feels?”
7 “I strive to give all a life to lead—their own.”
8 Zarathustra stands from the throne.
9 “Then you have not heard my cries of the Superman.”
10 I never claimed to strive towards your ideal. I would rather consume
the world than adhere to fixed idea.”
11 Zarathustra gestures toward the door.
12 “Go—I’ll read your work and give it ample thought. I see nothing good
to come from continuing discussion without time to philosophize.”
13 I take my leave from The Throne Room.
*** XL. The Police Car Part 2
1 As I venture on the street back towards The Squatter, I am greeted by
The Police Car signaling me to stop.
2 I see no feasible escape so I don my bravest smile.
3 “Well, Wax, I find myself in need of a discussion so as to discern the
origins of these pamphlets.”
4 The officer, having stepped out of The Police Car, displays my
pamphlet I’ve created to me.
5 “Do you recognize this cat?”
6 “The cat is rather cute—but no.”
7 “The contents of these pamphlets are incredibly dangerous. We’ve
seized a store of them from a repurposed news stand. Witnesses cited you
as the individual responsible for the pamphlets’ whereabouts.”
8 “I question the legitimacy of that claim.”
9 “I’m afraid to tell you then—Wax, you’re under arrest.”
10 As the officer grips their sidearm, they move toward me with
handcuffs. I don’t offer resistance and soon find myself seated in the
back of the Police Car.
11 I’ve been captured by the State.
*** IXL. The Jail Cell
1 I find naught more to do than lay upon hard stone within The Jail Cell
my captors have placed me.
2 From what I can understand, through the jargon I’ve been told, I
appear to be held here as a charge is decided.
3 I’ve not said much since I was arrested.
4 Everything since that moment has been naught more than attempts to
justify my captivity.
5 What is Law?
6 The locked door of The Jail Cell opens—I’m approached by a jailer.
7 “You’re free to go as no charges stuck.”
8 I’m walked out of the jail.
*** VIIIL. Floral Pictures
1 I feel the airy breeze flow—slow.
2 Nothing quite delights my heart like the rays of the sun—that which
the State sought to deprive me for eternity.
Perhaps flowers of all sorts bring me more joy than the sun.
3 Black roses calmly shift
wind’s collective drift
courses through the entirety of plant-body
guiding gaze upon what I see to embody
beauty
4 Stems of each black rose fight the force of light gust—returning to
their standing.
5 I enjoy their appearance.
6 As the sun lends flower color, I venture closer towards the focus of
my admiration—structure. Though they’ve fought to assure standing, each
still sways. What is it in their form my mind so craves? I gently loose
a flower petal—the sun colors.
7 I know I ought not cry; I’m not dead. Yet there’s something to be said
of my experience—the State’s violence unto me. Will I ever be as free as
this rose’s magnificence?—or will I die?
I defy, time-and-time again, the State’s tyranny—and feel what it is to
be free.
How will it come to be that freedom lasts?
8 Ever fleeting remnant, distance from my present; my true autonomy.
9 My hand tenderly holds rose’s petal.
10 And I weep.
*** VIIL. The Campfire
1 “I wish we’d found you sooner.”
2 “I’m no worse nor better.”
3 “Come now, Wax: you’ve only just been freed from the clutches of the
coldest embrace. Surely enough our comfort will help in your recovery?”
4 “I thought it overwhelming to seek my friends immediately. Deprived of
my senses—staring at walls—made even my release an intense sensation.”
5 “How terrifying that our tyrants wield this power.”
6 “I’ve always grasped the grim fate afforded to the defiant— truly
terrible and traumatizing to be treated as mere cattle.”
7 “The State’s guise is surely fragile to have mere words strike such
fear; to behold ice.”
8 The Campfire crackles—as it has been.
9 “Where do we go from here? Must we give up?”
10 “I thought we already had.”
11 I toss some more word into The Campfire.
12 “I have no hope that the servile will rise up—there is no revolution
forthcoming—yet I still feel driven to, myself, rise up.
“My aim is my freedom, whether that must be solely mine or among the
many.”
13 I feel a chill course through my veins—will I never know of freedom’s
last?
14 Must my hand make my own freedom?
15 “Maybe we ought give this a rest.”
16 “Tempting.”
17 The Squatter adds more wood to The Campfire.
18 More smoke.
*** VIL. Ventures Past
1 A chill permeates the atmosphere.
2 No sense of a breeze to be found.
3 I journey through the street, despite nature’s deterrent, as without
my venture—The Street Cat’s food may soon run out.
4 Asphalt carries, early, Winter’s frost
my care for The Street Cat—beyond cost nothing will halt my
will, my aim every “Thou Shalt” proves the same obstacles to
overcome O—this ice may leave me numb
yet my strongly felt desire stays
to bring The Street Cat better days
freed from ice unto death
for all of that which I have wept
bringing life to my breath waking from desire slept
I bring joy—stability—to my heart’s calling
The Street Cat returns my favor with cute pawing
not quite a fair trade estimated monetarily
yet should the Street Cat care for value assigned arbitrarily?
5 The Street Cat must eat, yes? So—I will provide.
6 The Street Cat’s needs will not be lesser; food, water, and warmth.
7 How do many see it normal to create naught but suffering and death? My
self-interest lies in fostering mutual aid.
8 The Street Cat—my self interest.
9 I find the end to my journey.
*** VL. The Fishmonger
1 What a quaint location, almost difficult to find.
2 “The Law has made it difficult to sell as once before. Still, I remain
here—what is it that you want?”
3 “Fish for a cat, something to that effect.”
4 “I probably have some scraps from what is undesired.”
5 “I’d like something whole that a cat may have their way with.”
6 The Fishmonger’s collection of fish is a sight to see.
7 Surely a whole fish will prove to be a treat for The Street Cat!
8 I hand The Fishmonger a portion of the funds acquired by the Robber
and I—I’m handed several fish wrapped in paper.
9 “Your cat ought enjoy my selection—I hope to see you again!”
10 “Thanks—the cat isn’t mine.”
*** IVL. A Table of Zines
1 Amidst a park gathering where many give unto others freely, I find The
Street Cat near a table of free literature. The individual maintaining
the table is adorned, masked in black—their figure seems familiar.
The Street Cat rests by this person’s feet.
2 “Are you interested in anything on the table?—It’s all free.”
3 “I’m here to visit an old friend.”
4 I unwrap my provisions and set them near The Street Cat.
5 The Street Cat dives into its treat
6 “You really care for this cat.”
7 “I’ve seen it through a lot.”
8 I give The Street Cat a scratch upon its head as it continues eating.
9 “Take care of my friend—and to you: stay safe.”
10 The Street Cat’s human companion flashes a smile as I depart.
*** IIIL. Pouring Rain
1 Some distance from the vacant residence lay claim by the Squatter, I
stand amongst asphalt—drenched by icy rain, not quite cold enough to
ice.
2 I remain dry underneath my umbrella.
3 I breathe in damp, brisk, chilled air—so needed given stress born of
civilization’s ugliness.
4 Rain pelts my umbrella and coats curb and street
stress and my noontide abruptly greet
Why should I behold such a strenuous wake?
What truly lies in my power to make?
5 The rain’s cloud stretches beyond my sight, clouding the sun’s
creation of light.
6 I look upon said cloud—gray and spacious.
7 Perhaps by tomorrow, I’ll see the sun.
*** IIL. The Storm
1 I stand around our fire—protected by roof and walls—knowing our fate
may be determined as such.
2 The damaged walls of once vacant residence complain of The Storm’s
strain.
3 Above The Robber, The Squatter, and I—wind roars through broken
windows; rain follows.
4 “Will we survive?”
5 “Probably.”
6 Shelter makes it far easier to ignore The Storm’s terror. As much as
one can, I suppose.
7 “We have no say in that matter.”
8 The Storm’s force may yet destroy the entirety of such structure—yet
what is our alternative?
We have a need for shelter and defy the demands of our rulers to subsume
our life’s activity. Why should I sell my life merely to afford my
life’s necessities?
9 To our tyrants I am nothing yet I ought be worth far more.
10 “How should we pass the time?”
11 “Should we count rain drops?”
12 “Tell stories?”
13 “Anything besides planning another zine.”
14 The Robber, The Squatter, and I—huddled around our fire— idly standby
with no clear aim, survival aside.
15 I feel fire’s warmth.
*** IL. The Ship
1 Amongst the sand, far from salty spray, I behold calm tides.
2 Upon the horizon, I notice The Ship—all that rides the waves.
3 While The Ship stays afloat
water stays below
I see no other boat
hindering where The Ship may go
so The Ship stays afloat
moving ever onward
cutting toward
a fresh note
where The Ship stays afloat
4 I lose sight of The Ship.
*** L. The Fountain
1 Water flows from the Fountain in a perpetual cycle. I lean upon the
bounds of The Fountain.
2 Small jets of water amount to little splash
I stay dry despite my bodily proximity
still yet water lands with a resounding crash
I do enjoy this visible disparity
soundless water travels toward a sudden noise
bringing about mildly satisfying joys
The Fountain refrains from any alternative
displaying water—The Fountain’s prerogative
3 I dare not drink this water.
4 I still thirst.
*** LI. The Street Cat Part 2
1 A small bell jingles as I open the door of a particular bookstore.
2 Cleared of many tables—once piled high—the only literature resides
upon bookshelves lining store’s perimeter.
3 A clerk sits behind a raised counter.
4 “Do you need something?”
5 “Do you have some water?”
6 I’m handed a cup of water—disposable.
7 “There’s coffee if you’d like.”
8 The Street Cat hops up onto the raised counter.
9 “Oh right—the bookstore has a cat. Apparently the cat helps with bugs
and rodents.”
10 “Can I pet them?”
11 “If they let you.”
12 Tentatively I reach towards The Street Cat. The Street Cat shows a
sort of confidence that I’ve not yet seen—I pet The Street Cat.
13 “I guess they like you.”
14 Perhaps The Street Cat does.
15 Will I ever know?
*** LII. Dirt Roads
1 At the edges of the streets lay an assortment of dirt roads. I find
myself at these paths with no real end in mind.
2 I’ve nothing and see no purpose here nor there.
3 I venture down one of several dirt roads.
4 Nothing matters.