‘Romantic love, the last illusion, keeps us alive until the revolutions come.’
-The Faggots and their Friends between Revolutions
Somewhere between anarchy, the occult, and here. Anarchy, that is hopefully well tread ground. A minefield of dissenting definitions. Anarchy is what remains after we strip away everything we have been told is necessary, all that which is constrained by the label of the possible. It is what happens when all that society deems impossible blooms. Capitalism, the state, civilization, anarchy is what is hidden deep below them and far outside their withered imaginations.
Hidden.
This too, is the occult. Not what is hidden and must be brought up to the surface and destroyed by the lights of discovery and scientific inquiry. Hidden and discovered, cataloged, and understood before being buried once more by academic papers and the logic of a civilization that abhors mystery. No, the occult we are interested in is what is hidden and is beckoning for us to join, to make unknowable monsters of our lives, to become hidden ourselves.
And here. Here is the place where our feet touch the ground when we’re not dreaming, and the place where our head touches it when we are. Here is the place were a thousand calendars die on the vine and infinite seasons sprout. Here is where the Henbit Deadnettle grows, on a curb next to a busy street, choking on the fumes. Here is where we are and the place we want to become a part of. Here is, for the moment, the roads, and endless wanderings.
Anarchist Distro based out of nowhere, for the moment.