In the basement of the world,
Where shadows dance and dreams are unfurled,
We hammered nails into the night,
Building barricades against the light.
Punk ethics carved in wood,
Solidarity painted on a hood.
No safety pins, no corporate lies,
Just hands that work and minds that rise.
Zines spilled secrets under moonlight’s gaze,
Tales of struggle from a thousand days.
A network spun by hand and heart,
Invisible threads connect the parts.
Riot grrrls with fists in air,
Shouting down the world’s despair.
Not just noise but something real,
DIY until the end, we feel.
Protest logistics, comms, supplies,
No one burns out, no one cries.
Mutual aid flows like underground streams,
Supporting those who bear their dreams.
But don’t forget the lessons learned,
The failures that must be unburned.
Visibility traps and purity spirals,
Watch them with your critical mirrors.
Bottlenecks break when heroes fall,
Exit wounds leave us all.
Pain is fuel but it’s not enough,
We need to plan, we need a rough draft of stuff.
So here’s the punk ethic in its raw form,
No moralizing, just the storm.
Do what needs doing, and do it now,
Or let the darkness take you down.
In this basement where we start,
The real work is our heart.
DIY until the end, no compromise,
Solidarity means we rise.
-- CINDER
"diy doesn't mean disorganized."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin:
telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)