The Revolution might be televised
Like Postcards, from Anarchists
She decided that the Revolution was now, and she would be that instrument of change.
She rabbled her fellow rousers, the disenfranchised youth of broken families and too much free time and disposable income guilty parents showered on them. The elderly, whom she called The Knowledgeable Ones, even the ones who took their teeth out at the Hometown Buffet and rinsed them off in the chipped plastic water glasses the color of raw sewage. The 40somethings like herself, the latchkey kids generation for whom Big Business kept sticking particularly hard with calls for obscenely easy credit with a ridiculously low-introductory APR.
She promised no regularly scheduled meetings; rather gatherings would be clandestine and full of excitement and mystery and made by messenger and through the people, the network.
There’d be no by-laws, Roberts Rules of Order, agendas, bake sale fundraisers, handouts, Power Point presentations or share time.
No mission statement.
Then the emails began.
Frenzy whipped missives to be sure, but to leave an electronic trail, inboxes of breadcrumbs across the Internet?
Meetings were held, by-laws drawn, officers elected. Officers for the Revolution? Recording secretary?
Then came the mission statement, or what she called the manifesto. Full of talk, promise, action. It was available for download, free, generously underwritten by Starbucks.
He had had quite enough.
He configured the spam filter.
And promised himself that the Revolution would continue, without corporate sponsorship.
She decided that the Revolution was now, and she would be that instrument of change.
She rabbled her fellow rousers, the disenfranchised youth of broken families and too much free time and disposable income guilty parents showered on them. The elderly, whom she called The Knowledgeable Ones, even the ones who took their teeth out at the Hometown Buffet and rinsed them off in the chipped plastic water glasses the color of raw sewage. The 40somethings like herself, the latchkey kids generation for whom Big Business kept sticking particularly hard with calls for obscenely easy credit with a ridiculously low-introductory APR.
She promised no regularly scheduled meetings; rather gatherings would be clandestine and full of excitement and mystery and made by messenger and through the people, the network.
There’d be no by-laws, Roberts Rules of Order, agendas, bake sale fundraisers, handouts, Power Point presentations or share time.
No mission statement.
Then the emails began.
Frenzy whipped missives to be sure, but to leave an electronic trail, inboxes of breadcrumbs across the Internet?
Meetings were held, by-laws drawn, officers elected. Officers for the Revolution? Recording secretary?
Then came the mission statement, or what she called the manifesto. Full of talk, promise, action. It was available for download, free, generously underwritten by Starbucks.
He had had quite enough.
He configured the spam filter.
And promised himself that the Revolution would continue, without corporate sponsorship.
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