Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anarchism, discourse, dissemination, frozen, goethe, GRANAD(A), insurrection, l'insurrection qui vient, language, SCUM, tarnac 9, the coming insurrection
I. why can’t all words be beautiful? why can’t every text message be a communiqué, and every email a psychospiritual manifesto? when will we unplug our computers and throw our phones out of the 37th floor window?
II. SCUM advocated the cutting up of men. is language male; should discourse too be castrated? in the semantics of state violence, peace is the punctuation between performances of war. war is our oldest and lengthiest word poem; it does not yet and can not meet an end. we are always at war. i am at war with you as i am at war with myself.
III. goethe once said that beautiful architecture is like frozen music. how do we pull these structures down to let the polyphony play? athens is burning, and our metropolis is not, yet. if not fires then what kinds of incendiary creative devices? if rupture is to reveal structure, how can we punctuate language itself? radical hyphenisation will become revolutionary hymenisation and punctuation marx will become insurrectionary interrobangs.
IV. whose empire is it anyway? the sun set on a British empire with a full stop. will this American period ever end? today we are post discliplinary and our former imperial soap moulds have become incontrovertible modalities. late stage capitalism is a dying red star; will we all become cyborgs wired in place?
V. why is our nation in a subsistential crisis while yours is in an existential crisis? next comes the crisis of resistance, and it will not be our crisis but theirs.
VI. we are made of soil and air and hydrocarbons. each one of us could be a hydrogren bomb. every heart could be a revolutionary cell. we’re tired of language and we’re tired of talking. when we stand up we reaffirm our spatio-temporal relations to Institution and Empire. when we rise up, we flow.
- GRANAD(A)
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there will be no explosion except for a concept?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ☭☭☭, dissemination, every heart is a revolutionary cell, global southeast, GRANAD(A), insurrection, third world decadence movement
La Décadence n’a rien à faire avec Amour. La Décadence est un excellent marteau que nous employons pour détruire l’Empire.
[Decadence is not Love. Decadence is a hammer we use to crush Empire.]
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America is a series of several displeasures, beamed into our bedrooms in little increments of ketchup packets and adolescent angst. America is the kindly uncle that might violate you with his left hand even as he hands you tamarind sweets from his right. We’re feeling really unclean America, and we’d quite like a shower please, but your oceans are salty and even your rainwater runs cold. Never forget that we love you, America, even when we suspect you have mortgaged our dreams of personhood away.
We are brown and glossy and we think we have rather nice legs but our chappals are getting scuffy and that’s not going to land us an I-banking job, is it? Perhaps we should do good and queue up for the NGO-industrial complex to help you help us help them. Soon our governments will build another shopping mall, and we’ll program ourselves new dreams of getting off your global welfare state. Your cities are expensive, though and we cant afford your economic noblesse oblige anymore. We’e running out of band-aids already, yet we’re bleeding all over our new shoes. These heels are high! Slow down a bit there, we can’t quite keep up with your shadow. Yet with our orgiastic consumption and your immaculate white goods, we think we could be friends, what do you say?
Decadence is not Love. Decadence is a hammer we use to crush Empire
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anarchism, anthropology, aum, ☭☭☭, bataille, becoming, blanchot, canetti, deleuze, dissemination, eisenstein, every heart is a revolutionary cell, extincts, extitutions, fascism, frekorps, guattari, hinduism, in the beginning, insurrection, larkin, nietzsche, superman, theweleit, universe, violence, what is to be (un)done
In the beginning was the language, and the language was gravity. Before the beginning was infinite violence. When violence met language, there was conflict; at once collision and collusion. Conflict became a reproductive space of exchange, and atomisation became the original sin. We learnt what evil was, and it was the One.
Gravity meanwhile was inscribed into (celestial) bodies, becoming the first legal contract between them. So it is that particles collide to produce fragmented planets and people, in an exchange of violent energy. Humans similarly collide to exchange pleasantries, and sometimes bodily fluids. On the level of language, morphemes collide to exchange ejaculations of speed and to reproduce meaning. In the eighteenth century, these forms might have been approached through money, character and root.
Yet this beginning is simply the beginning of the rational, instinctual Man-form, and its subsequent trajectory through time and space. Following Nietzsche, the universe itself is a monster of energy without beginning, without end, not expanding but constantly transforming, in an infinite play of forces, and waves of forces which work like concepts to create embodied affects. Violence is this monstrous energy.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anarchism, anarchist bookfair, anthropology, ☭☭☭, cat party, catastrophe, dead time, dissemination, dubai, expat crisis, future gutter status, headspace, listen trotskyist, new school, situationism, summer
“I sometimes think I envy those people who know where they belong;
writers who have a language and a history that is granted them with no catches, no hooks. Theirs for the taking. Along with a nation of willing accomplices, compatriots who see their own fate and that of their nation’s history and literary tradition reflected in the mirror the writer’s labour. It is all so neatly sewn up. Of course, I enjoy no such privilege. I belong to that nomad tribe, the great unwashed, those people born in the joins between continental shelves, in the unclaimed interstices between time zones, strung across latitudes. A tribe of no fixed locus, the homeless, the stateless. I have two passports and quite a variety of other documents to identify me, all of which tell the world where I have been, but not who I am, nor where I am going to…
A petrodollar summer?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: beirut, brownbook, dissemination, headspace, july war, lebanon
[photo by Piax]
Beirut. A beautiful seaside city between cedar lined mountains, replete with forgiving blue skies and beaches. The ‘Paris of the Middle East’; the sparkling jewel in Lebanon’s crown. Breathily multicultural and sometimes painfully hip, its boxy nightclubs, falafel joints, shisha cafes and tiny galleries provide the regional answer to NYC’s ice cream, brownstones, boomboxes and beer. The city is definitely buzzing, yet sometimes all that can be heard is the faintly uneasy static hiss of a radio stuck between channels. Earnestly ignored, it continues in the background, a little like the hum of an air conditioner that you’ve already grown accustomed to
Yet in a city decimated by fifteen years of civil war, sometimes the past is hard to forget. The fast growing skyline of stylishly glassy towers remains underscored by bullet-ridden buildings – once impossibly elegant in their characteristic French-Ottoman style but now quietly falling down. Like much else in Beirut, it forms a strange hybrid: neither nor, but something in between. Like much else in Lebanon, it reflects a society of contrasts and contradictions: one that is always shopping, and one that is always at war…
