Dissent

There is nothing like dissent to get your blood going. It's that rumbling feeling in your gut when you just feel the need to go against the grain.

Dissent is an acquired taste, then a drug, then a commonplace cliche, and then your neat little post-apocalyptic bunker where you keep your books, your canned goods, your weapons and ammo and your soul.

Dissent is meaning and the lack of one. It just keeps you going. It is not a reason, it is a goal in itself. And it never runs out of batteries. Because it runs on your desire not to desire what anyone else has to offer.

You mold it like clay and pour molten bits of yourself into it and than you hit it with a hammer until the mold breaks and the final object emerges. Dip it into water and you have a blade. Must keep it sharp. And you must always have it handy. All you need is dedication. Hard work is for people building an arsenal.

It's like the machete of the soul. You're gonna need it when you'll find yourself in the bush, with wild vegetation sprouting out from every place imaginable.

Dissent, it's like a haiku that can cut. And then you realize it doesn't need to be anything. You just need to make sure it can cut.

Dissent, my instrument. When you got dissent, you've got everything you need.

And no, this is not about survival, that in itself is too small a goal. This is about breaking through. Breaking through in style if possible.

Fuck it!