A Day in the Life of an Anarcho Social(ist) Punk
It had been seven months since James moved onto the Anarchist Compound known as the Black Flag Nation: location – northern Oregon or Remote Mountain area in Europe, the specifics are still unknown to mainstream society. He had been involved in the Anarcho Socialist internet forum for a few years, and had finally made the commitment to move out to their secret compound to live “off-the-grid” as he so put it to his family seven months ago. The Black Flag Nation was still wholeheartedly attached to this grid, because the Internet connection is its only weapon. He walked out of his modest hand-constructed home, and took in a huge whiff of morning air.
“Good morning, world,” James exhaled across the grassy field below him, the sunrise crested over the mountains on the horizon, illuminating the organic farms surrounding the compound.
James waved to his neighbor and trotted to check on the local crops and animals, he was not required to, but he did it out of the need for the society to work smoothly.
HE met up with an old forum friend, and they reminisced about their punk-rock albums of yesteryear. James showed off his leftover collection of cd’s. They were in his high school shoebox.
James went to the Internet café. It was one of the few reliable electricity sources, run by solar and wind power from up the hill. He updated the nations website, and conducted more social exchanges on the digital marketplace that had helped the society flourish in its early days. He was inspired by the vigor of some youth located across the world. They were contributing to the Nation’s efforts, spreading anarcho socialist ideals to societies that might not know little of their efforts. He smiled as he logged off the computer, walking to the mess hall.
Frederich was the chef tonight, making a big paella, a recipe he learned from a South American member. Frederich still laments this friend, a casualty of the more violent aspects to Anarchist revolution. James cursed the bureaucratic pigs who have been holding the proletariat down for decades. He began to wonder if living separate from society really changes anything, but quickly made his mind travel elsewhere.
James marched home after the Nation’s Town Hall meeting. Many words were exchanged, and new recruits were introduced. James entered his home and lit a few candles. He was content, but he knew something bigger was necessary. He didn’t know what, or when, but he just knew: it was coming.