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The Crime of Anarchy
by Aaron Schlosser
Email: aschlosser (nospam) proctornet.com
Address: New England
18 May 2002
It's a poem. I just wrote this up; I was inspired while discussing the theory of anarchism with a rather reactionary fellow. It's in a very rough stage. Give some thoughts, if you'd like :)
I just wrote this up; I was inspired while discussing the theory of anarchism with a rather reactionary fellow. It's in a very rough stage. Give some thoughts, if you'd like :)
THE CRIME OF ANARCHY
I discuss’d such fuss with a man named Russ
Who I happened to meet while trying to eat
At a diner in the center of town.
The objection in question was that of election,
Which I denied with a fiery eye:
“The only protection we get by election
Is from politicians we choose by attrition.
We keep them in power so they won’t glower
On ungrateful subjects below.”
And hearing my ignorance Russ the belligerent
Did counter my very design.
“By the fork on my plate, you want no state!
Now this is where I draw the line.
I would surely have missed this anarchist
Had I known you’d be here to dine.
If you want your anarchy, and all that malarkey,
Form your own country far from mine.”
Rather than chime away my time
Explaining the nature of the very stature
Of anarchy the malarkey
And its antipathy of nation and state,
I placed my napkin down upon the plate.
I took his advice, that awful vice
And formed an “anarchist state.”
A farm had I, with fields of rye;
Grass as green as any you’d seen.
There was a well with water full
And a rusted old tractor-pull.
I had long since did away with grid
And purchased some panels as any would done
Had he really wanted to invest in sun.
And when the sun didn’t shine, in short time,
The wind would blow, and do you know,
Would hit the windmill and power turbine.
A practical system would power my mission –
A year went by without a cry
I was happy and healthy and cheerful and chipper
Knowing my labor wasn’t going to bidder.
Prosperous, it was, my little farm
Until one day, by my alarm
Three cars drove up and no charm
Could move the men who carried then
Automatic weapons by the dozen.
They took my arms and cuffed my hands
And put me in a big black van
Although blindfold did block my vision
I knew my destination was federal prison.
O, I wish you could have seen ’em.
They took away from freedom.
“What was your crime?” the judge asked me.
My only crime was anarchy.