read the small prints

our rebellion seems small, misplaced somehow – the gestures crafted for a larger arena than the ones they are forced to play out in. it is not good when humble acts designed to inspire people to seize the reigns of their own destiny appear overly grandiose. i suppose it is unavoidable when you are a big fish in a small pond; well, more like a big stone in a small puddle.
we sprayed our graffiti messages on the town hall walls and the parish council were confused becaause the people whose freedom we were campaigning for were not known to them. none of the members of the committee tasked towards cleaning up our vandalism had the vaguest idea about world politics and saw little connection between the target of outrage and them.
we wanted to make people more aware and all we really did was make them angry, frustrated, and eventually apathetic – not only about the vandalism but also about the things we were most passionate about.
some will say that we might have picked our targets better, but in truth we fored what we had at the world. we knew our short range missiles would not reach their intended targets, but they at least caused trouble for people who one might consider to be the establishment, and we perhaps made some people who weren’t aware of the issues at large what was going on, even if only for a second.
stillborn punks – that was what we called ourselves. our protests lasting as long as a flame denied oxygen. but at least we tried – we stuck with the ethic of do it yourself and we turned others on to the notion.
writ large, squinted at, but never passed over.


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