Welcome to Poetic Terrorism--a new method of communication. A new vocabulary for resistance. We're opening a new front in the war against soundbytes and corporate catchphrases, because it's impossible to think when your words are controlled by discourse that is manufactured by imperialist corporations and sold to us wholesale in our schools and TVs. Bullshit shoved down our throats by government spokespeople and paid advertising--WE (you) have something to say, SAY IT!
Poetic Terrorism is profoundly nonviolent. It is the resistance of our voices. We are controlled by a submersion tank of manufactured ideas--by the media repeating the talking points of the government.
Poetic terrorism is about bringing the art of resistance into every facet of our lives. Live your life loudly. 'There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you're the monarch of your own skin--your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.'--Hakim Bey
This blog is open to anyone's words and ideas. If you would like to post, email jed.bickman@gmail.com to let me know--I'll give you privileges and then you can post whatever you want.
What a 4:20 trip that was. Our only holiday, for us teaheads. She discharged me delerious at fourten in the morning, me high on her, delerious very confused. by the time I breathed and put on my shoes, it was 4:17--I had to get to the main green, I ran there. i forgot to get the people I said I was going to get, started this trip on my own, alone, running through fratrow alone in the death hours of the morning. I got to the main green to see a cluster of stoners, none that i knew that well, I smoked with perry and Arjuna, more quicker fivebowls in fiveminutes. By the end, I was spinning around in circles, disoriented, saying "what?" to a tree. Arjuna had a bubbler, cop walked through, we began to walk out. Moment of decision: which way to leave the green. In my delelrium, I didn't follow perry, walked towards the rock, hoping to hit my favorite smoking spot, but not able to vocalize that, just walking. Arjuna followed me, carrying the bubbler. Moment of decision: I wanted to say "give me the bubbler, I got a pocket, there's a cop behind us" I didn't say anything, my mind moves slow. he spat the water out, cop behind us yelled something authoritarian, and Arjuna, bless him, bolts off running across the quiet green, through the college gates, up hill up the street, cop hightailing it after him, him carrying the bubbler like a baton. He was clearly outrunning the cop, but then again, who outruns a cop? I felt horrible, shouldve been me running, why are people always taking the rap for me? have I no karmic responsibility? I lead him into that situation, perhaps, and by the time I realized, nothing I could do. I walked home alone when I most needed to someone to keep my mind grounded. I didn't sleep until 7:30, driven insane by alone thoughts in the early morning stillness.
Woke up to a bright and beautiful Earth Day, spent the day making hemp chords on the grass and smoking blissfully. Climbed a tree with Alex and realized I might be acting like a heavy duty asshole right now, began to make plans to beg for forgiveness. Or maybe I should just ride this thing out, whatever the hell that means. Heavy communication problems right now.
I saw Bob Weir doing the greatfuldead thing last night, orgastic show, drove me to the edge of my endurance and capacity for beauty. I need sleep, but I've got mad real life shit to do today.
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" Thursday, April 21, 2005