Churrumburru
Flowery anarchy
One Thursday night, while the radiators burble like an orchestra tuning up, the eighteen year old comes into your bedroom clutching her half-read copy of Deschooling Society. She ignores your yawns and your pyjamas, slumps over your bed, blocking the light switch. Twenty-five minutes pass, in which she rants about the failings of an education system which she has just successfully navigated, and you wait to floss. Finally she concludes that if someone could make the writings of Ivan Illich more palatable to young minds, if only his prose style was less boring, if only kids her age wanted to lie outside in the sunshine and read this shit, if only all that… then, there would be a revolution… Sweet Dreams.
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