Date: Thu, 1 Nov 2001 06:00:51 -0500 (EST) From: Jamal Hannah <jah-AT-parsons.iww.org> Subject: Diary of Frank Zippalo--Life in an Anarchocapitalist Society (fwd) ---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 14:23:18 -0500 From: Justin The Great <karmer-AT-idworld.net> Newsgroups: alt.society.anarchy Subject: Diary of Frank Zippalo--Life in an Anarchocapitalist Society Monday, September 17, 2050 I write this entry to my diary with tears running down my face. A profound loss has overtaken me today... It has been a good 10 years before the anarchocapitalist revolution. Me and my family were just starting to get adjusted to our new way of life. Mother had to get a job as a prostitute to support me and my two younger sisters after father died. He was killed by Tony Camaro, head of the local "defense organization". My father was working with some of our neighbors (we live in a very poor neighborhood near an industrial area) to build an underground tunnel to the local Water Supply Store so that we could go buy our daily water supply without having to go through the numerous toll booths that are on the roads. We simply don't have enough money. Anyway, our landlord found out about the tunnel and hired some of Camaro's thugs to go take care of the situation. I woke up yesterday morning to the sound of my mother screaming in her bedroom (which is not uncommon. Many of her "clients" liked to show up in the morning, since it is easier to get around the city at that time. The moisture in the air makes the smog less thick). I went to the bathroom and deposited twenty-five cents in the coin slot on the toilet, and finished my morning rites. I could still hear my mother screaming ... at this point I began to worry. What if she was in danger? I walked upstairs and stood next to her door listening. I could hear loud thumping noises, screams, and swear words coming from the filthy mouth of a disgruntled factory worker who obviously had not bathed in a long time and was living on a diet of whiskey and hemp seeds (hemp is the only plant that will grow in the soil around these parts). After a few seconds of listening, I heard a loud slap, and my mother screamed louder. This one was a scream of pain, not fear. I could no longer take it. I barged in screaming at him to leave my mother alone. My mother was lying naked on the bed with an enormous bruise on her face that was beginning to bleed. The man turned around and looked at me. One of his eyes was bigger than the other, and his face was twitching (most all of the factory workers are inflicted with the same kinds of ailments). He had a crazy look in his eyes. He rushed me and wrapped his hands around my neck and began to choke me. My mother screamed and bashed him over the head with one of my father's boots that was lying near the bed. He then turned around and resumed attacking my mother. "Get help!" she cried. I ran to the phone downstairs and called 1-900-911. It was hopeless though ... by the time I was done entering my credit card number my mother was already dead, and the man had fled through one of the windows. Today I am going to apply for a job at the factory. I need to somehow support my two little sisters. The landlord said that either I start paying my rent in 2 days or I'll "end up like my father". Sometimes I wonder what exactly we have gained from the revolution. From the stories my grandfather used to tell me, the world in the past sounded much more free than the one we have now ... dwelling on these things is useless though. I need to worry about survival.
Display software: ArchTracker © Malgosia Askanas, 2000-2005