Anarcho-Cellularism: A Discarded Manifesto

By Gregg Booney

In the sweltering summer heat of Bakersfield, a homeless philosopher finds a working laptop, a tool that becomes the vessel for his manifesto. Gregg Booney, an author living on the fringes of society, intertwines his scathing critique of American governance with the harsh realities of homelessness and mental illness.

As the protagonist pours his thoughts onto the digital canvas, the narrative alternates between Booney's manifesto—proposing a radical form of anarchism—and the raw, unfiltered experiences of the hero's daily life. His story unfolds in the shadows of society, revealing the struggles faced by those often overlooked.

Anarcho-Cellularism: A Discarded Manifesto weaves a compelling narrative that challenges conventional norms. Booney's musings, both philosophical and personal, invite readers to question their perceptions of governance, mental health, and homelessness. This short story grips the reader's attention, offering a unique blend of fiction and manifesto, provoking thought on the fringes of societal norms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tarmac Books & Music
• Release date: Jan 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224249619

Gregg Booney

Residing amidst the National Forests of California, Gregg Booney is a homeless and mentally ill author. As a writer and an old punk rocker, he crafts both anarchist philosophy and captivating fantasy fiction. Remaining dedicated to his late husband, Booney navigates the complexities of life in solitude.

Book preview

Anarcho-Cellularism: A Discarded Manifesto

Gregg Booney

Published by Tarmac Books & Music, 2024.

For Humanity.

The man had no shame in his eyes as he asked the well-dressed woman for change when she exited the convenience store. There he was, standing between the propane tanks and the firewood on the sidewalk in front of this wannabe 7-11. The sun was high in the Bakersfield sky, and the temperature in the triple digits.

Our protagonist, upon receiving an answer to the negative, thanked the woman anyways, a slight sarcastic edge to his voice. He was dressed in filthy blue jeans and a graphic tee advertising some construction company that he probably never worked for. You can find many of these shirts at free clothing distribution centers for the homeless. He was holding a half-eaten hot dog in his hand.

Undeterred, he meandered down the sidewalk, the hot pavement radiating waves of heat. His worn-out sneakers slapped against the concrete, and he occasionally muttered to himself, oblivious to the bustling world around him. The laptop he carried, a treasure scavenged from some forgotten alley, seemed incongruous against the backdrop of his ragged appearance.

'Bitch,' he thought, 'Driving around in a fucking Range Rover and she can’t even afford some fucking pocket change? I swear to God, whoever invented money should be raised from the dead so that he could be shot.' He was angry. This was something that happened sometimes without even a reason. 'Dammit! I took my fucking meds last night; I need a joint.' Stopping at a corner, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his daily earnings. 26 Dollars. Enough to buy a pre-roll and some dinner.

He was walking past one of his favorite panhandling spots. Not the greatest for