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.
This was written by Pancho Aguila as he withered away in solitary confinement in California's Fulsom prison.
THE NEW AGE…
is the distant child crying, the murmuring of insects in the brush, the long hair wound round the block, the comet come, gone and here to stay, the stars unseen lift up their skirts.
The new age is the pulse I feel in my agony, the hopes I hear from the despairing, the shadow refusing to lie down as a body swings on a rope, our lips that smile before an execution of holy bullets then part, in a desire for the age unseen.
The new age is the love of the people, the concern for caged minds, the rally cries for freedom, the assault on the old, the break out of the spirit marking in the total push out of the stomach of the shark To see once again the ancient vision of universal beauty sing a star song spilled thru the night as bonds vibrating thru our inner selves.
The new age is the imperfection of our selves pushing against the grind as we kneel to kiss the stone gushing in a spring before appearances of virigisn that will lead armies to open the gates where the muscle of a spirit lies staked to the jungle.
The new age is the insult we feel before tyranny, the powerlessness before government, the passion of twisted lives natural in a twisted world, the fear of dying in loneliness in a world of four billioin, the surreal untruth of good tongues hiding in the guntowers with a crucifixion held to be kissed, the unbound love for each other we fear-burying it in quiet less someone else think we care, the quiet torture we deny feeling miserable in our selfishness as we punch a bag vaguely familiar as our face we search fore endless by the rays of the new sun.
The new age is where our feet take us restless as our showes rattling like false teeth in an earthquake we feel deeply as others lie frozen in the icebox of television, where the american dream hangs on a hook to be buthered, sold… and eaten… in a cannibal rite of self-execution
The new age is the mad impulse of asylum houses, the strange truth of psychotic minds, the natural knowledge of children…
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" Wednesday, August 24, 2005