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  • Back to index of Communism and Capitalism are the Same Thing: A Story
  • Communism and Capitalism are the Same Thing: A Story

    The Philosopher Between the Capitalist and the Communist

    Chapter 15 : Alone Among Dead Flowers and Black Smoke

    By Punkerslut

    Image by LaMiche, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 License
    Image: By LaMiche, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 License

    Start Date: February 18, 2014
    Finish Date: October 21, 2014

         The Philosopher was alone, in between the hollow emptiness of the universe and the predator-filled darkness of the forest, almost in a natural place and a natural setting, between himself and the universe, when his thoughts began to flow. "There is a new contradiction in the Anarchist City," the Philosopher thought to himself, "The Militarists and the Marxists are that contradiction. There is no end to the admiration I have for both Roz and Pan, but I suspect that the Anarchist people may yet suffer from more contradictions. Letting contradictions exist is the real basis of tolerance and compassion. But hunting them down and destroying them is the real basis of thinking. There are too many who execute people when they think they are executing an idea, and there are too few who kill irrational ideas when it means saving someone."

         A bird landed on a branch close to the Philosopher's head, bringing him to a halt and a cautious examination of his new friend. The branch wagged back and forth, with the force of the landing, but as time acquainted both the tree and the Philosopher to this new creature, the force of the swinging weakened and weakened. "And maybe it's just me, maybe just I don't get it," the Philosopher said in a quiet voice. Chirp chirp! And then after a quick exchange of eye contact, the bird disappeared. "I wonder how the birds care for anarchy, or how they've cared for it among their stateless societies," the Philosopher spoke to himself, picking up his walking pace again.

    Image by Eoghan OLionnain, CC BY-SA 2.0 License
    Image: By Eoghan OLionnain, CC BY-SA 2.0 License

         After reaching a good resting point, the Philosopher reached into his pocket, and produced a pipe and a small bag containing dried flowers. "A little nicety while I walk has always gotten the mind out of any ditch that catches it," he quietly says to himself as he packs his pipe with the green substance. "Smoking helps me enjoy the quietness of my own mind, letting me reach down into the deepest of thoughts with such ease and clarity. I can't say what it has done for anyone else, but only what it has done for me. A fog to the consciousness for those who don't think, but shining enlightenment for those of us who do." His fingers carefully break apart the small pieces of flowers and rebuild them into easily-burned an structure in the pipe's bowl. "Drink to forget the bad, smoke to remember the good. And philosophy is full of the good."

         Alone as always, the Philosopher walked pasts the trees and the tall grasses, thinking to himself, "Communism and Capitalism are the same thing -- they are horrible, wretched beasts, who can be tamed and brought under control only by those with a fierce sense of liberty. But like early childhood memories, it is impossible to erase them -- it is impossible to live to like they never happened. It's now a war between one world of freedom and two very different worlds of slavery. My interference shouldn't be necessary. The people themselves should know what they want. And if they don't, then they will suffer so much from their mistakes that they will want something different. At least, I hope so."

    Image by Sterneck, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 License
    Image: By Sterneck, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 License

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