The only thing that gives me satisfaction lately is going out and getting my nose dirty. Pulling off some little act of subversion — like placing an OUT OF ORDER sign on an ATM, or taping an Ultimatum to World Leaders poster on a bus stop shelter. Once in awhile I’ll drop by the economics department of the University of British Columbia and pin KICKITOVER MANIFESTOs on professors’ doors. In future I might, I dunno, let the air out of some SUV tires; place a stink bomb in a bank; throw a handful of pixel dust in Justin Trudeau’s face. Such acts of civil disobedience aren’t exactly denting the universe. But they always turn my day around. Like, now I have the strength to fight another day.

I wonder if a lot of people around the world feel the same way. That the old activism — marching back and forth across our cities waving banners and chanting slogans — just doesn’t hack it anymore. To repair the climate, keep corporations in check, shift economic paradigms, vanquish the mindlords and fix the the really big scary existential stuff, we need a more intimate, visceral kind of activism — a revolutionary fervor from the inside out.

Taking back our lives in these these dark times is going to require a big swing. We need to rethink what the world is asking of us, and plug back in to what human agency actually feels like. So here’s the deal: Monday to Thursday it’s business as usual. But Fridays are ours. On Fridays we raise hell. We bug out, fan out, and morph into fired up world-changers who put our asses on the line in service of one message:

We don’t like what’s going on. Fuck man, we’re going to change it.

As the stakes rise, life on Earth grows scarier and more intense, and this whole human experiment edges toward hyper-capitalist oblivion, maybe this kind of individual spasm response, at scale, can turn things around.