My earliest memories in El Dorado Hills were watching the the karate kid and hearing whip my hair by willow smith. I remember also dropping charcoal on a mans car from the second story porch. I lived in section 8 housing for 12 or more years.

When I reminisce about those days a dark and lonely depression fills my mind. Traumatic fights fueled by alcohol between my parents , my dads blood on the wood of my bunk bed… Thousands of hours staring at screens, the computer, the tablet, a nintendo ds. My stoic self hatred of being mixed, self-isolation and anxiety plagued me for years.

The oppression of school ruined me. I could never find my voice, I was consumed by a quiet on my end, loathing of all the blackness in me. I gleefully embraced any mention of my so called white characteristics, I was most of all confused. Confused by going to a nearly all white school, confused that it was only I and a couple of other kids who came from those apartments and everyone else lived in gated communities. The confusion over who I was and why I never saw those white kids from school playing outside.

White supremacy pulled me into its grasp. This was around 2016/2017 when right wing and fascist content was swirling around all over youtube. It influenced me and a lot of other young kids, I remember joking about how paris was a muslim and garbage city. Jokes about how immigrants had taken over europe, and there was the sjw stuff too.

What isolated me a lot were grades. I luckily never had the cult of grades and college aspiration drilled into by my parents. The academics never enchanted me, I do have a liking of history but a lot of that is pop history youtube slop.

Grades are awful. I hate all that bullshit school work and tests. It is a prison, and once you get out you either go to another set of meaningless monkey bar prisons or the plantation. All that new adult freedom at college, now you’ll get to experience adulthood and the adult principals will sick the cops on ya if you don’t like their investment in genocidal nations. If you haven’t started work yet, that is all that awaits us in this sick society, it all leads up to work. Not work for yourself, but work to make the rich get richer and keep you poorer.

My parents say to me “how can you not like work if you haven’t worked a day at all?” as if a spectator to a slave plantation cannot easily make out who are the slaves and who are the masters. You work and you are the slave to your boss, the state, to capitalism.

I never did have a climatic reckoning with my racism. I got even more racist as time went on, I lurked on 4chan and an 8chan alternative through 2020 and 2021. I was gleeful during the 2020 election when it looked like trump had won the first day. Trump hadn’t done anything for me ever, but as a confused, dissatisfied, inferiority complex ridden, and fearful young person I rooted for him. Not that I agreed with his neo-con agenda or any of his politics, it was an adolescent cheering on for a fight between two dogs in a ring.

I never felt like I had a team or a belonging, I am a so called mixed person and I ran away in shame of being called black, black to me was associated with my section 8 housing and being black was not normal. Section 8 housing was not normal, curly hair was not normal, having an afro was not normal, not living in a gated community was not normal. My coping mechanism was using the computer and sinking into the digital space. A space that is still rife with racist and fascist pieces of shit, there was a belonging I felt towards that space.

I still don’t fully understand how fucked up this all was. It’s hard to articulate how american society robbed me from loving myself, I was even prisoner to myself. I reinforced racism against myself, against my own sisters and cousin.

My last year of high school in person I was a near total outcast, a shut in only going to school and staying inside all day on repeat. I talked with other students now and then, I kept to myself mostly. Near the end I ditched my weightlifting class every other day, I never signed up for weightlifting it was chosen for me. I was too depressed to consider lifting weights, there was no drive.

Before I left I was failing most of my classes. I never had to deal with the fallout of this cause my dad moved to an even more isolated, white, and racist place. Placerville, California. Granted I haven’t experienced much racism here, my neighbors are chill. But I never saw any white live matters and patriot front graffiti in El Dorado Hills…

Ironically living in this isolated place allowed to reflect on what the hell happened to me before. How I was humiliated and walked the path of self hatred back and fourth. I never embraced victimhood or a reformist mindset. It was anarchy that pulled me out from the pit of self-hatred. Anarchy gave me my dignity back. The joy of being a racist piece of shit was smashed and set alight.

I enjoyed smashing cement truck windows. When I’m in jail it’ll be anarchy that makes me smile.

The second Anarchist Book Fair in so called Sacramento was a greater success than last year’s book fair. Starting in the morning and ending in the early evening Saturday, September 7th was packed full of ecstatic and curious people from the Sac area, California, and people who want to smash the state worldwide. Friendships were made, relationships rekindled, and acquaintances enjoyed new captivating conversations.

The book fair was held at the long-standing Washington Neighborhood Center, a longtime Chicano community center in Sac, learn about and never forget the Royal Chicano Air Force! There was a large inside center and a nicely sized outside portion, it was hot as hell outside and inside respectively, the Sac heat did not let up I was sweating bullets. I’d have stood out in the sun for hours for the same opportunity to meet like-minded people. The inside and outside of the center was lively from the start, but at the start of the afternoon the center was packed full of people, shoulder to shoulder a mass of people conversing at tables and grabbing zines. Anarchist and rad locals who distro, make zines, and knock over trash cans came out in style.

The vibe was electric, a little overwhelming for me. It was nice seeing zines being grabbed, I had a backpack full myself. Tables were nearly out of zines by the end, that alone was making me fly. The outside part had a space for kids to paint, and there was a striking mural painted of the Sac police doing shitty pig-hoe stuff like they always do.

A workshop was handing out Narcan while explaining how to administer Narcan, it was also sharing information and resources about overdoses. There was a table showing how to use a tourniquet and some tips for first aid at protests, what to do if you or a friend get pepper sprayed. They also had anti-nazi stickers which I love.

Anarchist political prisoner Eric King and his friends were speakers. King spoke about the emphasis that political prisoner support needs for our movements to win, or increase tension in society. The book Rattling the Cages, a project of abolitionist Josh Davidson and Eric King, a collection of experiences and wisdom through suffering of hundreds of political prisoners over 30 years in amerikkka was also a focus.

The inadequacy of political prisoner support in movements across the amerikkkan hellhole, is killing movements. Movements that could disrupt and raise tension in this genocide sponsoring state, flounder about because those involved fall into the same pits of comfort and inconvenience that has enslaved all of society under the boots of late stage capitalism.

Writing letters keeps anarchists in the cages alive and gives them strength, the war doesn’t end for those in jail. Prisoner support is not just something to write off on an anarchist checklist, it is about making connections and friends with people. People first and foremost, human beings who are intentionally starved of new sights to break their spirit, human beings who cannot make love or touch their lovers, husbands or wives for years.

Never downplay or act like people are not in jail, political prisoners are in cages and they are human with the same needs as you. None of us are free until all us are, it’s not enough to just have a crush you have to ask them out too. Send letters to political prisoners to increase tension and make death to amerikkka a little closer to realization!

There were Speakers who talked about mutual aid. Mutual aid during the paradise fire crisis and community mutual aid during covid. There was also discussion about their failures. Mutual aid groups that are ideologically diverse can quickly fall apart once a crisis is over and the goal becomes unclear.

Libs and rad-libs were taking over their groups, because they were not clear enough that reform of a genocidal state is non-operable. Amerikkka from Guam to Plymouth Rock will be smashed, never let that message be unwoven from your banners or shitlibs will weasel their way in and outnumber you. Mutual aid is not charity, it is not mr.beastism, some white guy coming into a community not to make friends but to give out things for his ego and business. Making friends, spreading anti-oppression anti-statist education, and eating a free meal is mutual aid.

AK press, Norcal resist, Black Rose Anarchist Federation, Sacramento Tenants Union, Socialist Rifle Association, MH First Sacramento, IWW, Sacramento Food Not Bombs and a lot of other chill people were there. Comrades set up a table to speak about the falsified charges and oppression of the Mexican state against lover and anarchist punk Jorge Emilio Esquivel Muñoz aka “el Yorch”. Free Yorch! my blood boils hearing about the cages he is in, I wonder what fruit he likes and if he can get that fruit in the dungeons the Mexican state have put him in.

Don’t have any regrets cause you only live once, grasp for what you want selfishly and greedily. Fly with those you love.

1..2..3.. ANARCHY!

I was arrested for the first time, and it was fucking awful. I thought I was gonna cry when I got arrested, I did want to cry if I felt like it. No tears came just boredom and the discomfort from being put into a cop car like I was a sack of potatoes. Really the biggest shock was my bail amount, $100,000. The minimum you pay is 10% so $10,000.

The so called County of El Dorado, the government of the city of Placerville, they are greedy motherfuckers. Every county of the so called united states are governed by greedy motherfuckers, this is stolen and occupied land. They’re parasites and vampires, sucking and wringing all they can from everything and everyone they get their hands on. This is the entire goal of capitalism, the state, and neo-liberalism. All jobs are exploitation, all bridges are conveyor belts of genocide, all the cops and courts on Earth are here to oppress and exploit everyone and everything for the benefit of the rich and those pieces of shit who take the reigns of authority.

I am a colonizer myself, no different from the Israeli colonizers in Palestine. I live on stolen land, I’ve reinforced domination and authority before. I fight the system because it dominates, but I must also fight myself, the part that dominates. I don’t care about guilt, not a healthy way of going about things, I’ve killed and laid rest to victimhood. I am mixed I’ve got natty ass dreads, society perceives me as just black. What really moves me is the attack, and the beauty of daring and subversive love, how this love and even a drop of support can move me to rend and refuse all constraints as easy as water flowing down a stream.

I heard on the radio that “love isn’t really free” I want to dare to think it is free, I want to dare to smash every social norm of a society that doesn’t bat an eye to ongoing genocides funded by the state they live in, to bring what I have to the table of a war that is occurring every day. Not to try and move others, but only myself.

I was moved to the county jail, the county cages rather. I wasn’t arrested on a construction site but a nearby place I was trespassing at. Trespassing I had done a few times before, this is my first of many failures I will endure as a starting anarchist, returning to the scene of a crime. I’m a fool and a hooligan, when you live in a rural sparsely populated place without a car and nothing to do except sit inside and play video games or enjoy the comforts and inconvenience evaporating internet it is not hard to return to the few landmarks again and again.

The dorm room I was placed into had like 15 middle aged white men inside. There were a bunch of bunkbeds side by side in 3 different rows, two showers, two toilets and a urinal, two sinks. Three large tables, there was a TV so if the pig hoe felt like giving us the pleasure of watching mass media propaganda we could. Oh how grateful I am for this land of freedom and white salvation that we could even use tablets to watch shitty movies on in a concrete dungeon!

I had the worst of the shitty bunkbeds, there was a light right overhead and that light was on all day from like 6 AM to 9 to 10 PM ish. The other prisoners were luckily not assholes, I appreciated my bunk mate the most who was an old man who had suffered a stroke, I don’t know when, but he showed me the ropes. Where to put my stuff, how to ask the pigs for a pair of headphones for the tablets, when lunch and dinner was, how to not be an asshole to the other prisoners, how the tablets worked (I never used the tablets except for once.)

Sleeping was what I did most and that was the most enjoyable thing to do. I’m not a social animal, but I kinda regret not having longer conversations with the other people in there. Never forget that those in jail are people with loved ones outside, movements outside, flames in their hearts that the state wants to snuff out. I traded food with them, cause I don’t eat carcasses or drink rape juice. After days of sleeping and watching slop on the tv, I had my hearing.

The court hearing was the worst experience of it all, I felt sick my head and heart were pounding. I died in there, really I felt lifeless my energy and spirit sapped, the most dreadful and overwhelming moment of my life, this is the goal of the courts of course. To break all your spirit and will, the court aims to juxtapose your individual self with the court and then hammer down the superiority of the court in a colorful showing of violence. Really it was physical violence against me I experience in the courts, the crime of justice that has permeated and clawed itself into the human experience.

I was kicked and slapped in front of my family by the court, embarrassed and pulverized in chains handed their “justice” that set me “free” and I use quotes around free. This world is a sort of prison itself, a harsh and fucked up world but not as harsh and shit as jail. I haven’t fully lost yet bigger and more explosive losses are coming up, like more time in cages possible months.

If I could piss on all the judges I could, I have only hostility towards them and a longing to see them dead. To see all courts and police stations burnt, I’d like to use the remains as a place to have orgies and eat foraged berries. The law has less worth than the toilet paper I wipe my ass with, really I think of it like this: A stranger is constantly throwing dogshit at you, this stranger happens to be a pro baseball pitcher throwing it from far away so he can’t see if you wipe some of the dogshit off. The stranger has a gang of other strangers who are always looking to see if you wipe some of the dogshit off, and if you do they will beat your ass and throw you in a cage. Or murder you like they love to.

When I go to jail I haven’t died or stopped being an anarchist my flame is still burning, and I will fight in the cage or on the streets. Death to pigs, none of us are free until all of us are free!

“People without hope are easy to control, but those with dreams are impossible to contain” – some youtube comment

Infrastructure is a key tool of the system. More Infrastructure = more growth, more growth = happy piggies. This growth only benefits the parasites and authority figures of the so called USA, I have been strangled and dominated by the neo-liberal death cult of growth my entire life. The oppression of school that’s sole purpose is to bake capitalist brainwashing into a new generation, and beat the idea of being a happy exploited law-abiding worker into children.

The USA school system only made me depressed and self hateful because I did not fit their mold, every day I went to school I was dying over and over again. I had no friends, I didn’t allow myself to be vulnerable, and my anxiety followed me as I dreamed of just going home to play video games for years.

This is suffocation, this was not living at all, moving to bells and clocks for most of the year every day. My heart was stomped on again and again, until all I could do was just be silent and just walk the school grounds like a ghost. Schools are anti-human institutions, they are toxic and damaging to human development, people’s natural desire to play and socialize with people is not useful for the rich. The real education a person gets from school is that school is really a factory to produce a new set of wageslaves to be exploited by billionaires. It’s no wonder then that the richest man on the planet, Elon Musk, has whined on numerous occasions about population decline in the imperial core.

All I have to do is use my ears and I hear what strangles me, what killed me everyday year after year in school. Cars, the polluting and worthless death machines that dominate and steal public space. The ecocidal metal boxes are becoming more numerous every year, clawing into every valley, and every hill. All for the benefit of the state and capitalist parasites, the so called state of California.

In El Dorado County, new bridges are built these are bridges of death for all life in the area. The Mosquito Road Bridge Project, this is a harbinger of ecocide. A bridge is an unnatural and exploitative construction, it’s only purpose is to enable greater levels of extraction of resources and social control over the Mosquito area.

When I walked around the Mosquito area and found a construction site for this bridge my heart was set aflame, it was rekindled into an uncommandable beating, smashing and loving heart. Walking down roads silent of the yapping noise of cars, only crickets is what I heard. On after midnight nights of rage, my backpack full of bricks and spray paint the wonderful shine of the moon and stars rekindled my sense of wonder that the brainwashing snuffed out.

Three cement trucks, an excavator, office windows all smashed. These bricks I threw have more meaning than any second of school for me, the happiest moment of my life was to attack what has been killing me. The only job I respect is the job to give myself the best life I can, nobody else will do it. I embrace anarchy, because men seek to exert authority and I will be the one to oppose it until I die.

Birds born in cages think flying is an illness.