Ruminating rather than conjuring, searching for an opportune moment to bring forth well-kept emotions, the anarchists have spread out in the reunion. Tables, the folding kind, have been set up in order to facilitate the collections, garnered from the dropped-off miscellany, presumably to make found-object art.
Some of the mostly older emotive types (post-dead and before the days of “found-object art”) have pulled up chairs and apparently expecting a Thanksgiving feast.
As you might presume, anarchists of bygone times have a tendency of being “old” (post-living) and beyond the daily need for food. But, as they are old, the topic of comforting food is constantly on their mind. And with it a need to demand – thicker stews. Apparently the ghostly and skeletal varieties have some hope of the stew adhering and regenerating life – if it were less watery. Thicker stew also has a class character, the higher the class the thicker the stew; and as many of the ancient artistics came from the upper crust, a thicker stew seems a rightful demand.
However, we have not completed a suitable commissary, and so, as much as this early winter might provoke the taste for thick stew; we have none to offer. And we have no servers, except for some of the younger (pre-dead) artists; many on-leave from restaurant jobs (so as to be part of the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture) and so they have serving skills. But probably they are “serving” for a moment, a socially acceptable moment, an opening, to push their emerging art, (as original as a fart from a shared pot of stew), into the milieu.
Social class of course is the determining factor of how one eats, more often than what one eats.
So if the post-dead anarchists want comfort food; conjuring superior thick contents in a soup bowl (empty to our eyes) – it works.
Thankfully conjured, by the condescension of being served…by their lessers.
Join us next Saturday to consider what is worth considering and deception.
Anachronistic Anarchist by Herb Eaton 