Rolling Allostasis (-ix)

Swiftly, without hesitation, she swung the scythe to separate the one she saw as ringleader from the flock of followers. The flock drew to the bloody scene like animals to a feeder. In service of the macro, some blood in the margins would need be shed. She didn't thirst for violence, but in some cases there was no other way to silence the force of opposition.

Nonviolence, she knew as a full-blooded American, was an idea and practice which had been used demonstrably by proponents of peace for centuries, for sure. But the state (in all of its bloody glory) had also been protected by the nonviolent movement. There was no time for explanation, but one could easily find essays written on the subject. The common redirect for any questions was google it . She allowed for proper burial of the subject, per dictates of tradition.

Any failures to uphold traditions and rituals of the subjugated minority, would be treated as class #0 sedition. Class zero translated to disappearances. Disappearances seemed like  brutal way. But the express intent of these disappearances differed from those commonly associated with the way. Traditionally the tactic was implemented to strike fear in the hearts of those who defended free speech. Unsparingly. She used the tactic sparingly, to speak truth to power. Abuse of power of any kind, was to be prosecuted to the full extent of the new law brought over the land.

She was not interested in reinforcing alliances throughout the system. They would dissolve or strengthen, based upon how she called for decisive action. She knew all too well of time strung out on anarchy. And anarchy was not much fun. Neither was high-financed militarization. Five of ten generations in her bloodline fell to knees, to steady the rolling allostasis of culture in a state of shock, somewhere between the two. This was her inheritance. This was her ground.

Rolling Allostasis -vi)

She was a history junkie. A doctor. phd.
Examining old cultures and wars was her rush.
Anthropology was her fix.

She found what she needed to know while tabbing through her cerebellum's internal ledger, set to siddhartha style scrolling, which kept her mind rolling. Her attention was set to its highest ceiling, steady conscious, you know the feeling. Urgent were these matters she had to attend. She wanted to bum rush the majora with the minora. Do the hundred yard dash toward the cash money stash.

She liked to focus on that heated point where marginalized culture unite, center of the heart of the body of any creative work in motion. After studying each slide of her mind, she would leave it behind. Leave no trace. She set fire to the scrolls after thumbing through the seat of memory with a fine-toothed gnosis comb. You know, right beside the garden gnome. They both stood there, in the corn rows of her dome. And watched the paper separate at its perforations, fold up toward the center as the edges caught fire. The scarecrow shuddered. The crows, they flew away. The margins moved in to drop trails of smouldering ash. The paper chase got chased right out of town.

The revolution was on, like a wheel that's been trued. Effortless and unglued. This was where her mind joined the mind of the people. Territorial boundaries became blurred like some communist conspiracy coming into view. Empowerment via numbers was mathematically guaranteed. They hunted the bloated dumpster raccoons until they were treed. Reduced odds down to one, aka: no other possibility.

She prepared herself for rain. Premonition kept her sane.

Rolling Allostasis -v)

She was a student of hypnosis.
She knew many things.
How to take a moment in time.
How to crystallize the moment.
How to take the frozen product to the bank.
How to hypnotize.
How to capitalize.

Meningitis could not break her. She had specialists who handled these kinds of cases. She always saw them coming. A skin rash. A concurrent fever. Just barely into triple digits. Slight chills. An aching pain that rents space behind the eyes. Blurred vision now and again. Photosensitivity.

Please! she asked politely, no cameras! 

Whether they decided to listen and abide, would be major. Could be the turning point. Those with experience in dealing with her, understood. They turned their sights down. Lowered their guns. Disabled flashbulbs, at the very least.

You did not want to fuck with her.
She would take your ass to court.
WIthout hesitation.

Rolling allostasis -iv)

She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere, mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).  So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. If water had hands... then prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way before her. And she takes her damn time. You don’t hurry a glacier. You age it, like wine. Or wait for her to melt, to reference empirical evidence of global warming. Melting butter at room temperature. She never left the kitchen table. Painting her daily bread. Turning and turning yellow over time with the wallpaper. Gotta get worse before she gets better. Baby blue with white flowers, soft and malleable. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human again. As she wishes. As they want her. Sorry says the fight inside her, delivering the roundhouse Queen Anne Victorian style. Round one...TKO. From a frozen warrior #2 asana. Feel the heat. Sauna.