“It’s going to be a long, hot, deadly summer.”
As the moon rises above the palm trees loud grunts of a pig frog break up the otherwise secret meeting. The shifting eyes move along with hushed tones under oak trees and spanish moss. Cicadas sing loud enough to muffle the voices. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The occasional car goes by and the shadows sweat in the darkness, talking of magic and insurrection.
“These people are under a spell, that’s what makes me nervous. First they claim nobody is being separated at the border.” The new voice coughed then continued. “Trump then says they are being separated but that it’s actually Obama’s program. Republicans then argue that things aren’t that bad, that there’s nothing to fix. Trump does a 180, claims the separations are bad, and decides he’ll keep families together–provided he can detain them indefinitely.”
“There’s a very weird game being played here.” Another voice lights a cigarette, the red dot looking like a rolling eye. She clicks her teeth and adjusts her hat. “Intentionally false statements are being made then they pretty much wait to see if people will believe it. And they do. We’re talking about a good chunk of the country just believing anything, defending anything, as long as it comes from the halls of power. That’s not going away. So where does it go instead? What does it do?”
“We know where it goes.” The shadowed heads bob along. Lines of sweat trace raised and pointed eyebrows in this abandoned lot serving as church, temple, and school. Someone spits on the ground and picks up where another left off.
“History is a story, see? When we tell a story we already know the ending so we get confused. We begin to think the people in the story are aware of the ending like we are. Nuh-uh. This species has chronic amnesia. A Wizard’s gift is to see the lines of probability and chance moving the dice rolls, shifting the cards. The natural world has ‘tells’ like any other gambler. It’s our job to study those and bring them into our radicalism.”
There were grunts of agreement as a small wind rubbed palmetto branches together. The speaker slapped a mosquito and carried on. “You want to know what’s coming? What Anarchists need to worry about? I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to happen between June 27th and August 27th, but I want to tell you a story first. Keep it in mind because I sure as shit know it changed the way I think about my own sense of agency…”