Toward Primal Fires

Hovering in the minds of those who toil, tend the gears and muster a convincing smile is the pulsating notion of passionate upset. Of everything failing, of everything coming to a halt, of going home early, possibly to be out of work completely. Teeming just below the facade of civility is the solitary rationale behind setting fires and drawing blades. That flickering, hateful urge for change amidst crushing monotony, amidst horrendous norms will become the lifeblood of persistence against stupefying odds.

Poetic anticipation for the dawn has failed us. We ourselves must become the daybreak. We ourselves must find the strength to raise up our own stars, to act in the light of our revolutionary unique for self-glory, for self-illumination, for the sweet tinge of having delivered a heartfelt blow to everything before and since.

What stands now, what has stood for millenia, can only ferment deeper into a more nauseating brine for all of us to wake up each day and inhale. The empires play their same old games with new toys. The sweat on their brow comes only from the stress of maintaining excuses for war and slavery.

If you do nothing, or do more of the same, nothing new will sprout to nourish you.

We learned this quickly when first envisioning life without parents, and later without masters. We are the children who sifted through tatters of forgotten, forbidden thought and came to assemble our own minds. We are the bitter students who found brilliant intellectual tools reduced to their employment in the existing, sacred power structures. We are the elders who recount heroic, nameless strikes against the organs of everyday business. We are the succeeding inevitability of the free individual.

Proudly godless, proudly wild, proudly defective to every metric of economy and collective symmetry, every outraged accusation is absorbed with an affirming stoicism:

“Yes, we are infatuated with life. Yes, we are self-centered and orient relations accordingly. Yes, we endure towards the abolition of every system, of every righteous decree, of every political section. Yes, our enemies are the ‘god’ of Abraham, society, dogma, morals, prisons, police. Yes, our ends are boundless prairies by means of unthinkable subversions, relentless upsets and mercilessness for universal mercy.”

No system of thought can come close. No school of philosophy — even one belonging to anarchism — can articulate the violent impulse to overcome and weave for oneself their own peace. Anarchism may issue its various claims; the substantive anarchy of the individual is all that those -isms truly point to.

Nothing can be greater, nothing can be more real than the lone individual who has gripped the rod bearing the black flag — and rammed it into the eye of god himself.

Nothing can be stronger, nothing can be more durable than the silent contemplation of the daring anarchist who carries a sovereign universe and territory within them.

Nothing can sound the last whimper of archy like the sharp blade of self-realization against its every stagnating appendage.

Anarchy is the black vessel in which freedom’s fire consumes the old and leaves a welcoming aura ’round the new.

Brilliant fires, unnameable hues and intoxicating vapors impress upon the young rebel and her band of merry life-lovers. They with other cells will raise the dead skull of the unified logic of all archy and plunge it into the ocean. They will fertilize their gardens with the ashes of old masters. And they will surpass all notion of heaven with immediate life made greater than any divine.


Contribution by Anonymous

Untitled

1.

Fairy faggot,
Growing tits and wings
and fangs.

I sharpened my pocket knife on the real thing this time
replaced a scream with the glass shattering
positioned my feet in the fire
scribbled it on the walls
first burn the museums,
then kill the public.

all it takes is a little bit of ket
and an ate pussy and suddenly
the sky is blue and the grass is green.
this is the real herstory.
I don’t tuck, I fuck,
Bitch.

2.

what a way to make music
smash glass against the wall
my discontent blisters
another wound, another tragedy

I invert despair into absurdity
grasp at my body
and move to act

the song resounds so clearly
filtering thru industrial noise
the static destroying me
and cicadas fill the air


Contribution by Anonymous

Eternal Renewal

The new society established, we will return to its margins to live our lives dangerously as noble criminals and audacious sinners! Because the anarchist individualist still means eternal renewal in the field of art, thought and action. Anarchist individualism still means eternal revolt against eternal sorrow, the eternal search for new springs of life, joy and beauty. And we will still be such in Anarchy.

— Renzo Novatore, Anarchist Individualism in the Social Revolution, 1919

Art, thought and action’s renewal, their consistent evolution out of static orthodoxy, rests on the will of the living to depose the cruel conservatism of the ruling death cult, to incinerate their every spore thereafter.

Those who presently annul the possibilities of the body moved by the free spirit, instead declaring that the body will work and be without spirit, shall feel the counter-cruelty, the amplified inertia of all they have struck us with. Let them be cruel now — ours will be ten, a hundredfold.

There is no sooner or later about it.

Our blood is black with negative impulse.

Our minds are throbbing with intellectual armament.

We are renewal. We are anarchy.

But we shall never know the cleansing rays of sunlight until the smog of order is cleared forcefully. Until the instinct of the soul is audaciously lifted above the stale moralism of all who pursue authority over others.

Until the most sacred is attacked, erased and prevented from ever being made again.

Until the sacred is no longer conceived of.

Until the real lives that create useful or enlivening matter exceed the corpse of the sacred and realize their own uniqueness.

Speak nothing of “order—” to be ordered is the piecemeal death. To take on being ordered — or giving orders — as one’s noble calling in life is the certain surrender worse than any death.

To worship an orderly existence is to celebrate sorrow, limitation and retrograde ideals murdering joy. Such well-regarded delusions of a certain order being inevitable, calling everything with vibrancy a delusion!

What has one’s precious order brought!? Poisoned salmon, undrinkable streams, gutted mountains, concrete drowning everything . . .

Such preoccupation with damming the rivers, clearing the forests, saving the jobs — all for your bosses’ profit! Or, on the other hand, all for socialism! The sacred new order! All for a vocally “progressive” yet truthfully conservative idea of “the society to-be,” of “the good economy,” of “the exalted collective.”

How often has the ruling class — socialist or capitalist — envisioned their new panopticons, their new subjects, their new territory. Every generation sees a new frontier for the rich or the politburo to conquer, brutalize and exploit.

How often has the intrusive mass of idiots called “The People” approved and encouraged further encroachments on the crevices of breathing room.

Nobody asked for these things. They asked only for what they were told is all that matters: One’s right to be left alone in the liberalism that allows only a passive life unconcerned with death encroaching on all joy.

Soon that tepid deal will come loose; the disposable luxuries will cost more, the power will go out, the fires will be ignited, and it will be time.

It will be time to make yourself sufficient for yourself, to become a destructive monster for your own selfish want. In selfish intercourse, we find something to pursue together — without any sacred togetherness.

We meet them in the fields, in the hollers. We ready our rifles, secure our perches, plant ourselves. But we do not fight fair. Fairness given to those who have only known unfair advantage is giving oneself defeat.

We become truly ungovernable.

We raise ourselves up as lives larger than the mountains.

Our deeds as victors and martyrs ring louder than any sorry drivel at any desperate podium.

Our lives are now. What seeks to end them is rule. What shall move us?

There is no Doctrine of Renewal in me or any anarchist who knows what I mean; this would only be a more spiritual progressivism. Our renewal is done not for the satisfaction of any necessity, but by a will to seize joy.

It is done by every child of horrid parents (slave masters,) it is done by every student of stuffy, rigid instructors, it is done by every fem and gender non-conforming person in their constant confrontation with patriarchy and so-called “normality,” it is done by every organism pushing against all crushing weight.

Our renewal is one of spaces presently occupied by unhelpful stuff made open to those thoughtful, precious lives who mean only positive development for themselves and negative transformation of society into ash — the greatest creation of new space!

Reader, let the paradigm of Now be your testbed in which experiments with life can breach and fracture the enclosures that disallow growth in all important fields of living and creating.

When we assert our living contents, when we mind the present world with creative wit, conspiring in ourselves as individuals, melding ideas with those in whom substance is found — life, joy and beauty will be grown and harvested at the intersections of our abodes, in the gathering spaces of wholly untamed lives.

That is our renewal. A life of adaptability and ease, a life of space and fresh air, a life of richness and friendly intercourse.


Contribution by Wulfinna

The Patriotic Psychosis

“There are too many idiots in this world. And having said it, I have the burden of proving it.”

— Franz Fanon

There’s a specter haunting Ireland, and that specter is backwards ultra moronic patriotism.

The phantasms of patriotism and nationalism have been on the rise throughout the globe over the last number of years, people becoming possessed by false idols and fantasies creating a growing collective mass delusional psychosis. Even Ireland isn’t immune from this spreading disease.

Over the last year there have been riots, numerous assaults on individuals and a wave of arson attacks on buildings earmarked for refugees. Just yesterday (15/7/24) in the deprived area of Coolock in Dublin anti-refugee violence broke out into a riot on the street lasting hours. Ireland has a long history of anti-colonial struggle and emigration so how can the Irish who have suffered a similar kind of discrimination and racism now be the oppressors. Some may wonder how oppressed people can become possessed by lies and such levels of hate after such a long history of colonial oppression.

To echo Franz Fanon, the first thing the colonizer does to subjugate a people is to plant the seed in the minds of the colonized that they are savages living in misery and insecurity while the colonizers are actually saving them from themselves, helping them gain social-economic and technological progress. Colonial domestication creates a psychological disorder of a self-hate inferiority complex. The colonized believe they are stupid and inferior and the only route to salvation is the civilization brought by the colonizers and so imitate the colonizers.

In neo-colonial era Ireland the recent decades of catholic cultural hegemony, combined with the added psychological harm and alienation created by the rest of the power structures and constructs of civilization continuing the domestication process started by British colonialism.

Adding to multigenerational trauma and socio-economic insecurities and poverty furthering inferiority complexes affecting people in the same way as under direct colonialism. It’s becoming a mainstream belief that modern civilization causes mental illness with all its sensory stimulation gadgets and false realities of social media keeping us glued to phones, TV, and the promises of a better life and wealth to chase after, but most will never receive. Some turn to drugs, substance abuse and the many other addictions of civilized life, some to the false realities of cosmetics and materialism, others direct their inferiority/self-hate outwards taking on the abusive characteristics of the oppressors directing their anger towards those around them and lower on the societal hierarchy and individuals perceived differently than the norm. So this growing hate against minorities and the marginalized is a byproduct of civilization. How civilized many Irish truly have become.

Ultimately the system of civilization is the root cause, but the actors in all this also bear blame and responsibility. Even with the psychological effects of domestication and the influence from socio-economic poverty, individuals can still make some choices. But instead of directing anger and frustration at the oppressors and the power structures, many of the oppressed are turning to patriotic nationalist ideology for a solution to their problems.

***

Patriotism can be found in the same realm of the mind as Christian mysticism. Opium for the gullible.

But what is Patriotism exactly? The feeling of love, devotion, sense of attachment to a country or state. This patriotic love is a false love in the same way an abuse victim may feel love for their abuser.

This supposed love for the sacred ideals of patriotism and nation – to live for, to die for if needs be, to kill for if necessary. To sacrifice yourself for an idol built on lies and manipulation. How can this be love? Love for tyranny, chains, an illusion, pure fantasy.

This psychosis like self-deception for the psychologically weak, frustrated by lack of meaning in their life and alienation from an unequal society, gorge greedily on the lies and fantasies, feasting on nationalist ideals turned sacred in cognitive dissonance.

The patriots pledge allegiance to an abstraction not having the courage or the brains to live their own life on their own terms, and so feel the need to knock down those that do.

Patriotism and nationalism have different meanings in different places and points of time. Currently in Ireland it’s used in the sense of a past time in history of simpler times reminiscing of The Quiet Man¹ Hollywood depiction of the emerald isle of picture postcard perfection. Nostalgia for a time that didn’t really exist. A fake memory built on fantasy, the Irish Free State was never great.

Ireland from the 1920s right up to the 21st century was a place of non-stop housing crisis, poverty, inequality, political corruption. The exact same issues as now were around from the very birth of the Free State in the 1920s. The differences Queers had to hide in closet from fear of annihilation by pretty much the entire population; unmarried mothers were locked away blackmailed to give their baby away to the catholic church who sold to the best bidder, when a woman got married they were slave to the husband divorce outlawed no way out or escape, domestic violence was viewed as legitimate punishment to correct the behavior of your wife, by law a husband couldn’t be found guilty of raping his wife; there were no refugees or immigrants stealing the jobs because there were none, but that didn’t stop the city dwellers of Dublin blaming the chulcies* for the lack of employment opportunities and housing. Mass emigration was the norm scattering Irish across the planet in the search of a better life In Ireland’s past, patriotism was used as a means of uniting a colonized people against the colonizer. When P.H. Pearce² proclaimed “Irish belongs to the Irish”, he meant it in the sense of anti-colonial rebellion. Now it’s the battle cry of the hodgepodge ragtag of idiots that makes up the numbers and supporters of the far right, ethno-nationalists, Christian crusaders and out right fascists. Anti-colonialism bastardized to suit the fantasy of fools.

Marx was wrong to lay the blame on capitalist exploitation for creating alienation, although partially true. Stirner completely pulled the veil away when they wrote the Unique and Its Property; an in-depth description of how alienation stems from the social constructs and abstractions which birthed civilization and all the horrors that came with it. Nationalism, patriotism, states, borders, racism, classism,xenophobia, queerphobia, patriarchy, culture and a whole host of other malicious anti-individual fantasies are all civilization creation weaponized to justify invading, enslaving, exploiting, murdering, raping and pillaging every corner of the globe.

***

The far-righter rant about “our” culture being destroyed. The culture they are referring to isn’t even real, it was a creation of post-British occupation mostly influenced by the Catholic church. Repressing women and queer people at it’s core and society generally through theocratic hegemony of the Roman Catholic church.

What are the specific attributes that can be narrowed down to describe a culture? Most of the cultural attributes that culminate in description of a supposed Irishness have come from other places and cultures across the globe. Humans like many other animals are a migratory species we have always moved around even as far back when gatherer-hunter lifeway was the norm; people existed and lived through vast interconnected networks of tribes. No culture is static, cultures are in a constant state of evolutionary flux. Culture is a multigenerational overlapping of trends, traditions, values, beliefs, etc . Let’s look at Irish traditional music which has a big place in what’s described as Irish culture, tunes such as jigsaw, reels, hornpipes and the likes, many of which a mixture are from across Europe and the US, although with some indigenous aspects.

Banjos (an African invention), fiddles and mandolins (Mediterranean) don’t come from Ireland but are synonymous with Irish traditional music.

Another example is in Irish Celtic design such as triquetra the trinity knot. It spans across Irish culture; the book of Kells uses it in all sorts of images, but is it Irish, or even Celtic for that matter? It can be found spanning across multi cultures of Europe and into the middle east all the way back to the iron age. Far-righters use such designs as part of their propaganda and symbolism and mostly don’t know it’s history.

Even the contents of the book of Kells is an importation, a Christian bible. Christianity the first colonizers of this land started the domestication process 1600 years ago assimilating Celtic culture into its fold turning Pagan goddesses and gods into Christian saints and sacred places into places of Christian prayer.

Before colonization the people on this island had a Celtic ecological animist culture based around the unwritten Brehon law, which wasn’t like bourgeois law, it wasn’t to protect private property of a minority against the majority. It recognised divorce and equal rights between the genders and also showed high concern for the environment. Homosexuality was provided for and was only criminalized on this island in the early 16th century when British king Henry the VIII took over the monasteries taking control of the courts which had been ruled by the Catholic church previously.

Irish myths and legends also have a Queer and immigration undertone to them, in which the patriots wouldn’t like to recognise. The mythical warrior hero Cúchulainn is believed to have been bisexual. The Aos Sí (Sí meaning she in Irish Gaelic) were fairies (Pucas in Gaelic) that were shapeshifters between human and non-human animal forms, they were non-binary/gender fluid shifters. They cannot be pinned down as male or female; they were beyond the binary. They were descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann also known as the people of Danu. Danu is believed to possibly mean the Danube, one of Europe’s longest rivers. So the Tuatha Dé Danann could be in reference to the first Celtic people that immigrated to Ireland. Queerness in Celtic cultures across Europe was acceptable; there are many references from Roman text confirming this. Queerphobia is an invention of Christianity and was the norm in many cultures before Christian colonization.

Even the Patriots hero Micheal Collins³ is rumored to be closeted gay or bisexual. And the flag they love so much, the Irish tricolor, itself is an importation, from France. The Tricolors meaning is of diversity among different cultures to coincide living in peace on this island. And likewise the ideology of Republicanism is an importation inspired by the French Revolution and its motto, Liberty, Equality Fraternity ( Liberté, Égalité Fraternité). These homegrown patriots have forgotten this in their nationalist fever that Irish revolutionaries who took up the ideology of Republicanism were fighting for diversity of cultures, organized religion, slavery, and all forms of tyranny.

In the very same way culture is multi generations overlapping; ethnicity can be viewed in the very same way. A clear example of this in the context of Ireland are with surnames, many of which people would think are of Irish origin but are actually Anglo Saxon or otherwise, such as Barrett, which coincidentally is the surname of one the most well known far-right and neo-nazi agitators in Ireland. So this proud patriot is actually from British colonizer descent not fully Irish, as is nobody really because most people classed as Irish have ancestry from all sorts of places.

And likewise community, another sacred construct weaponized as a tool for oppression and conformity. Each collectivist ideology from left to right has different meanings for what community constitutes. A term readily used to justify all sorts of heinous acts against any individual deemed enemy or subhuman. “We don’t want outsiders, foreigners, unvetted males in our communities” – the delusional patriots proclaim.

John Zerzan was right when he described a community as an elusive term. What constitutes a community exactly? People that live on the same street or apartment block? Or individuals who share a common characteristic?

In the hellscape concrete jungles of civilization people live beside others mostly not out of choice. People could live next door to each other for years and not even know one another’s name, many people in estates don’t even talk or like one another in fact. No mutuality and no voluntary association exists here. Iv heard community my whole life but never felt part of any of this supposed thing.

Cities, towns, housing estates with their alienation, social isolation and exclusion are an invention of colonial civilization along with private property, which also didn’t exist on this island prior to colonization. People lived in tribal clan structures based on mutualism of loved ones and extended family living with the environment and animals in kinship. In all, the closest to an authentic Irish ethnicity and culture that partially survives today would be the Irish Traveling people also known as Pavees. Who lived in nomadic clans for at least a 1000 years, it’s not known for sure how long their culture spans back because of the lack of written records there are different theories and vast oral history by Travelers themselves to where Travelers originated from, such as: they were predominant culture before the Celts arrived here, refugees from Cromwell’s genocides who took to land, the people who refused to give in to British colonization and domestication living in the traditional way.

***

The nationalist psychosis engulfing Ireland over the last few years culminates in idiotic stupidity that would be laughable if it wasn’t having serious consequences. In one such case a few months ago fools possessed by patriotism attacked two Croatian men, beating one to death. All because they weren’t speaking English. These warrior patriots of Ireland while stomping on the skulls of these unfortunates didn’t seem to know just a few generations ago British colonizers inflicted cultural genocide on the island to enslave and assimilate the inhabitants into their colonial system. And one outcome from these horrors was the near annihilation of the Gaelic language. So the language they love so much they’d kick a person to death for not speaking isn’t even “Irish”.

The patriots burning buildings earmarked to house refugees proclaim “house the Irish” and “house our homeless”. If they are so concerned for their beloved Irish why not squat the buildings and hand them over to Irish homeless people? It’s because the patriot warriors couldn’t give two fucks about homeless people Irish or otherwise. These begrudging fools even have issues with refugees sleeping on the streets.

How many of these brave fighting men took up arms against the British occupiers or loyalist death squads stalking the streets executing Catholics at random. Where were the heroic Irish warriors when loyalists assembled to block Catholic school girls attending primary school in Ardoyne, when mad bigoted loyalist grannies shoving porn mags into the little girls faces while their men folk threw bottles of urine and pipe bombs at defenseless primary school children and their parents. Where were these brave men then? It wasn’t that long ago, many of the patriots were of “military age” but yet did nothing.

Not one of these fascists have I ever heard say anything about the very real oppression of British colonialism that inflicted hundreds years of genocide and which is very much still alive and well occupying this island. Patriotism, nationalism, loyalism, colonialism, fascism, Catholicism, Christianity, leftism, all collectivist moralities with their social constructs each believes in refusing to allow the individual to be considered as a unique being, instead every single individual is put in social category boxes for the benefit of their identity politics lies: which is the cause of so much misery and all sorts of shite in the world.

“The people is dead. Long live me!” – Max Stirner

 

Footnotes

¹ a movie starring John Wayne made in 1952 depicting a highly romanticized version of Ireland

²was a revolutionary republican and one the leaders of the 1916 Easter insurrection. And was also closeted gay

³ was one of the leaders of the IRA during the Black and Tan war. He betrayed the struggle accepting partial liberation of Ireland which split the country allowing the Brits to remain in the north of the island. He was assassinated in the vicious civil war that folded. The far right hold Michael Collins up as the nationalist founding father, strangely considering it was his actions which partitioned the island instead of gaining total liberation.


Contribution by Renzo Connors

Barbarian

(From Individual Inklings)

The “Evil” calls to me,
For my “Good” will was debased
One singular time too many.
(The betrayed naïveté as a child
Had indicted every possible lie
Every upright authority will tout.)
Now the floodgates are breached —
The shattered jaw of the white Jesus Christ
Is my latrine!

*

Once I cowered under the renunciations
Of life put forward by the gospels.
Now I raise my boot to quash Every Idea
That employs and negates me.
Once I was an acolyte
For what simpletons call “The Lord.”
Now I am the torch-bearer
For my heathen trek to Kill him.

*

The Antichrist? Der Übermensch?
Call it what you must. I call it barbaric will:—
The will of the Barbarian against the Roman
To secure one’s own and sack all empires.
I want the boundless resolve of my ancestors.

*

The ancient axe of my foremothers
Used to open the skulls
Of their kings and patriarchs
Lies before me, sharp and sturdy.
Now my will soars over the thunder
And careens like lightning onto god himself.

*

In all my honest hatred, I will be the device
That implodes Abrahamic resignation
And punishes pastors for propagating
The Highest Lie, The Chief Falsehood:
The plastic “Grace” of toothless submission.

In all my hell-bent creative rage, I will live
As everything they detest, or deeply desire;
I will scale the walls of everything
They pose against me and leap into the sea
Of my boundless determination.


Contribution by Wulfinna

Determination Against New Destitutions

I cannot care what the lot of homebrew politicians are conversing about when it comes to their definitional games of the new politics of the new democracy. Nor do the radicals convince me of their program of interwoven communes. I am not a radical in their set stance on the fringes. I am not a player in the alternative game of resituating governance along some “more fluid” line. I am my own person pursuing my own will against the coercive will of others. This means that I do not differentiate between patriot or nationalist or fascist, nor between liberal or conservative or centrist, nor between social democrat or marxist-leninist or collectivist “anarchist.” I consider them All to be my foes, because they All renounce the full quality of a fully untethered life and are the sincere pushers and proselytizers of Nonsense. What I make heartfelt urges for are self-creation, self-reliance, and self-determination in the face of Every Competing Power. What an individual separate from me does with these is beyond me. All I can know is what I intend, and I intend for genuine freedom to become infectious from the roots of this logic.

What sets this apart from those I have mentioned? They each make eschatological calls for adherence to something that denies people’s lived contents and makes use of their mere presence in something touted as Greater than those involved: The organization, the creed, the nation, etc. They function as channels for dedicated body power to flow back into the sustenance of the whole, the cause, the purpose one is sacrificed for, instead of directly enriching the ones putting in the effort. Their members are duped into being obedient cogs for one group-system or other because it makes them feel empowered while in truth stripping all agency from them. They are always on a grand mission to “save” or enslave everyone they can, doing so with an aura of entitlement to power or a rugged instinct to simply be a savage for nothing at all worthwhile. Be it race, class, gender, nation, law/order — it’s just another violent delusion imposed on others aimed at destroying their unique potential.

What my own affair rests on is never needing anyone but me (choosing to make a nuanced exception for those I hold close,) consistently breaking the chains of every rule in every act (e.g., I will not serve your god. I will actively kill him in every breath I take in the context of being told to bow,) choosing defiant happiness, and thereby in sum proving the origin of freedom to rest in the slaying of what would hold one down. When one articulates their own freedom in these terms, when one recognizes freedom to be inherent in life, when they understand that freedom is taken and not granted, they begin to break free of everything that has denied their ever-present tools of being an ungoverned agent of self-will, daring to do everything necessary to fare decently here and now, whether or not the state and capital exist. (This is not to say individuals shouldn’t strive to undo a system of systems that aims to destroy all life on Earth for its own enrichment. Quite the contrary. But there must be anarchistic means done well for anarchistic ends — which is not to say we should “wait for the right time to act.”)

These political religions can only make promises said to be fulfilled at the eventual end of the current conditions and the beginning of the glorious installment of new ones. My lack of political religion is not out of a desire to have the most radical position, but to surpass the entire playing field of any position that tries to make exceptions for the boundlessness of my being, which all politics are. My hoisting the Black Flag is not to worship its color and shape, but to demonstrate a lack of national or political flag: To practice defiance in all areas needed.

The left continues its toothless masturbation with theory and no helpful practice while the fascists are marching unimpeded in cities around the world. We are truly sorry bastards to be in the hands of such morons steering “radicalism” in the present day. No more. I don’t want fascists running my life anymore than I want the renewed destitution of a “renewed society.” I don’t want any same or different normality. I don’t want any fixed community or group or ideal being held over me.

I want the bounds of social consideration itself removed. I want every conceivable border to be dissolved, and for every individual to be aware of their own power in the absence of everything that denies them this. My stance, my own movement is one of living my fullest and happiest here and now, in conscious spite of what mandates my sorrow.

Life has always only been here and now. This is the reality that is too painful for our radicals to accept. There has never been a future to build but a present to embrace without second thought. Too many people formerly close to me have ruined themselves by worrying about a future that doesn’t exist; one that is only imagined by present-day fears accelerated by a submissive whimper that “It’s only going to get worse—” doing Nothing to take the initiative and change the course one is on, refusing to digest new information and strategies.

To hold determination to live and thrive here and now is to find the power to surpass every potential and present order when one utilizes wit and creativity against their obstacles. To make freedom infectious is to demonstrate its imminence through its truest form. When leveled at everything that stifles it, freedom becomes the only organic commons.


Contribution by Wulfinna

Dionysian Fragments

1. Destruction is the Dionysian spirit taking a hammer to Apollonian fictions.

2. Life is frolicking in the woods, hoisting the black flag, and tearing apart wild beasts.

3. Freedom’s taste is sweet like honey to Dionysus, but bitter to the herd.

4. God is not dead but on life support; pull the plug.

5. Morality is the great domesticator, the suppressor of will.

6. Society wants freedom with rose-colored chains.

7. Man has only attempted to sculpt Man with negation as its chisel.

8. Liberation is born of dynamite’s fiery spark and nursed by rain.

9. The Dionysian looks at the underworld and laughs.

10. Those who choose to dance under the black shadow of Leviathan look mad to the cattle. Oh, such is life!


Contribution by Mother Liberty

Everything In Upset – A Short Rant On Queerness

Morons think we’re “confused” because they are confused, as is the function of queerness. It is to unsettle, to disrupt, to make noise and to bend, warp and shatter the imposed reality of norms, roles and functions. Nobody at all should be comfortable in a disgusting system where we impose a caste on babies based on genitalia and then demand that they only love people with the opposite configuration.

At the end of the day, my labels, my pronouns are carefully laid gunshots escorting my trans/queerphobic foes out of the life they never once deserved, ringing in my fabulous entirety that neither the state nor medical institutions nor the average passer-by can aptly parse.


Contribution by Anonymous Anti-Everything Extremist

Gender Horror

I

We are beset by monsters,
And images of monsters.
They live in our heads,
And on the lips of our accusers.
They seduce us softly
With teratogenous bodies;
And taunt us nightly
With diabolical capacities.
We fear them,
We desire them,
We are them.
Dead undead,
Inhuman humans,
Androgyne abominations,
Ill angels only,
The sin made flesh.
We are prodigies
Of a bastard world.

II

We are monstrous in our own eyes:
We are unfinished and mutilated,
Sallow and scissor-fingered
Revenants stitched together
By mad doctors,
Auto-Frankensteins
Who dream of strange births,
Or shudder at the thought
Of alien infiltrations.
We are bodies without organs;
Rubbery appendages
And soft slippery matter.
We pull the dusty drape
From the mirror and see
Our dead twin
Staring back at us.
We uncover truths on hidden websites
That drive us insane.
We are dreamers
In a simulation of hell
Waking up into our true flesh
And screaming.

III

We are monstrous in the eyes
Of the voyeur, the prurient columnist
And the bourgeois novelist.
Chained to a pop-star’s radiator,
We writhe silently
In illegal pornography;
Offering our hits for free
We tempt the good children
With bottles of Mexican pills.
Half-people, we inhabit a half-world.
We are the crime lords of Weimar
And the children of Midian.
Clad in leather and latex,
We are vampires in a nightclub,
Strange faces hissing
Under strobe lights
As we menace from neon shadows
We are pierced and scarred,
Pursued by Charles Bronson
With a scoped revolver
Through litter-strewn
Cities of decay.

IV

We are the monsters of the institutions,
Objects of the speculum
And the mirror.
We defy categories and forms,
We break the spreadsheets;
We have special files
That only the initiated may read.
Our records are all lacunae
And palimpsests;
Logic loops that crash the system.
Incurable, awkward, embarrassing
Screaming oaths from the attic
We are locked away
In strange corners of the hospitals;
The prison guards look the other way
As we are violated.

V

We are monstrous in the eyes
Of our abusers.
Doppelgangers, changelings,
Wearing human skin we
Slither through their nightmares.
Like witches
We seduce them in their sleep.
Hermaphroditus;
The female penis,
And the male vulva.
Snakes in Eden,
Neovagina dentata!
We infect them with a queer plague;
We turn their offspring into more of us.
We are the leper race;
They must put us back
Into our black boxes
Before our alien beauty
Compels them to defile us;
And then, in shame, to kill us.

VI

We are monsters to the despots,
The dead-eyed men,
The stranglers of the world.
We are uncontrolled;
Mutating and evolving.
We castrate their little soldiers,
And close up the wombs of mothers.
We must be outlawed, beaten,
Shipped away and killed.
We are the fall of Rome,
The fascist’s nightmare;
We are a shadowy plot
Of the old enemy.
And though limp wristed;
Our victory is practically assured…
Which is why we must be wiped
From the surface of the earth.

VII

Yes, we are the monsters!
Outsiders and exiles,
Romantic, untamed, defiant.
We are cyborgs, werewolves,
Superhumans.
Evil powers behold us in dread;
And bend their will against us.
Witchfinders and perverted priests,
Sadistic doctors and corrupt inspectors,
False philanthropists and awful artists,
Conman preachers, tyrants, rapists,
Executioners and landlords,
Klansmen cops and tabloid journalists.
Actual fucking Nazis,
In actual fucking jackboots,
And skulls on their fucking hats,
And all of them are doomed!
Because we are coming.
Because we are here.
Because we are the future…

Because we are horror!


Contribution by Sydney Cardew

(We fucking love this. Thank you.)

I Willed It So

My Gender Egoism

I hear the somber roar of two distinct sounds.
The weeping of Life and the laughter of Death. How eloquent they are!…
But why does Life weep? Why does Death laugh?

— Renzo Novatore, Spiritual Perversity, 1922

Against all the strict names and rigid functions, we lashed out. We cut throats, broke hearts, desecrated truths, survived what was sure to kill us and became whole new people — while only realizing what was evident, deep in the vital experiences of the very same creature.

The nagging constancy of a sad, static world had inspired the blossoming of a truth to rival that of the god said to have full jurisdiction over the definitions of our bodies. This blossoming would spell his suicide.

A long sequence of awkward, discerning motions through the hallways of our inner labyrinths had led to a point where the disgusting configurations and conventions of the body and the spirit as mandated by the godly state and its ilk no longer suited our selfish longing for the richest possible self: A self that extends its focus beyond that of perfect “woman” or perfect “man”, of perfect “human” or perfect “animal”, situating its contentment on namelessness, unnameability, vivacious androgyny and passionate ungovernability in all spheres.

The slimy lot of christian nationalists, white supremacists, delusion worshipers teem around the most vulnerable and least likely to hit them back. They want law & order enforced in the most intimate confines of living by the cruelest ways imaginable. They have a project to annihilate the most fabulous impulses of being alive and embracing one’s colors. But these are not demigods . . . these are hurt puppies.

They look upon our nihilistic black bloc of gender terrorists and shit themselves, screaming prayers and bible verses as rapidly as possible. They rush to their mob of college bros to come to their defense when just one of their bitch asses can’t take six or eight or twelve of us. Their diapered god-king writhes in his legal woes and cries “DISGRACE!” We cackle at all their desperate flexing of dying manhood, their urgent sense of bravado, their toothless tantrum for purity and submission.

Their world is ending. Their patriarchs are in hospice. Their white aryan dream is corroding.

Clammy palms, racing heart, defeat closing in — “WAR ON THE TRANNIES AND FAGGOTS! WAR ON ALL THAT IS BEAUTIFUL IN LIFE! ANYTHING TO SAVE OUR EMPIRE FOUNDED ON JESUS!”

Their sons are careless: Longing to prove their precious testicles, seething with unfocused testosterone. To them, we are the Antichrist. We gladly assume such roles. They have named the players. “God”, “Angels”, “Demons”, “Satan.” Let it be so!

Let us be the imps of hellfire and desecration!

Let our pride be the anarchic, demonic gala of being alive!

We win nothing by tagging along with liberal “acceptance”, “equality”, “visibility.” We win only the chains of a technologically streamlined hell-society seeking to make its walls a bit more colorful. I want iconoclast freedom, ownership of myself, and wrath!

As the sole anarchist of my life — my aim is joy, and my method is hostility.

Hostility to the mandate that I must follow someone else’s order.

Hostility to the pearl-clutchers bemoaning my freedom.

Hostility to the pundits seeking a one-sided “debate.”

Hostility to the politicians wanting to demonize or uphold me.

I am the apocalypse of liberalism and conservatism. In me is the spark of Lilith to devour the christian empire in flames.

* * * *

The nature of my gender egoism’s success for myself lies in its simple praxis: “I do what I want.” By extension, and by all my negations of what is called “the truth,” I conclude “I am what I want.”

None will find a dense tome of philosophical justifications rightly ascribed to me. None will find in me any extrapolated pleas to be “accepted” as a woman. They will find this treatise and one from my first inklings of myself. (The She-Wolf And Her Own.) They were born not from a need to be perfectly clear, but from a need to destroy everything around me with incendiary declarations.

I do not care — in my heart of honest statements — if “in truth” I am “in fact” a male. I know that I could never be a male . . . because I don’t want to be one. So I am not one! If this doesn’t satisfy you: Die! Yes! Die! Because you ought not be alive when this world lapses into dust!

You ought not witness the beautiful eclipse of the bright sacred sun of desperate reified truths coming to pass when the crux of submission is tarnished and burned! Already, our self-realizations are weaving the final push of civilization off the cliff by our adorable faggot limp wrist hands.

My justification to myself as a mangled bitch is that I did not choose to be this, but I chose to nourish the reality of who I am.

It is a choice to be oneself or to only steer a facade of a person for the rest of your life. Just as it is a choice to continue the slow death of breathing or to cease any further inhalation, one chooses what one is to be: A pyre of living audacity, or a mere unit accounted for in society. Everything is a choice.

Such memories of early bliss. My life was meant to be precisely what it is now.

I remember being a child and wandering myself: Stealing bliss and excitement however I could. (Nothing has changed in my mid twenties. Nothing will change if I am to reach thirty or forty.) One day nobody was home. My urge was burning. Gnawing. I donned the white lace of my mother, relishing in the sin of it. I relished in the sin of being a girl by screaming desire, and only abiding boyhood for the convenience of stability. I knew early, that I am what I say I am. I knew then, the only truth is my own. I smirked when she came home, clueless. Her precious baby boy had reborn herself as a sinful libertine daughter!

How the pure do fall into the most delicious aspects of life! How the innocent virginity of life’s daring spastic orgasm leads one to the chambers of self-configuration.

I remember freedom at last. I remember my first abode to myself, my first wardrobe of fabulous outfits. Incense, cannabis, estrogen. All defining the scent of my becoming. All shaping the curvature of my honesty.

I remember the first time being treated like a girl, being respected as a girl, having fun and sinning as a girl. I remember the early bunches of sapphic loves that came and went. I remember the honing of lonesome. I remember the purpose of solitude.

I remember the sublime rush of bliss when my breasts first bore milk. When all the facets of womanhood that called to me made themselves at home in me. When all the longings of self became real and irreversible. When my life had finally been shaped as I desired. When only the best of things were to perfect themselves in me.

Renzo, my beacon, says— I know I am a luminous point that goes uselessly through the gloomy futility of all things. And it is this, my conscious desperation, this my awareness of the futility of being, that makes me deeply love Life. But don’t you see, my friends, that my futile joy merges into your futile sorrow, so that later both will merge into the futility of Death?

I am the vindictive spirit that simultaneously consumes this world and uplifts the sovereign universe of the individual.

I am the enemy of everyone who wants life to be a job, an allegiance, a creed.

I am the transfeminine spirit of destructive disobedience and intellectual iconoclasm.

My freedom is now, and my bliss is eternal.

HAPPY PRIDE, BEAUTIFUL DEGENERATES!


Contribution by Wulfinna