File spoon-archives/anarchy-list.archive/anarchy-list_2001/anarchy-list.0111, message 4


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.


   

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