Your Feelings Don't Matter

No one is coming to save you. Are you looking for a hug? You're better off asking for one. Grievance is dead. Victims are going to get victimized; it stops being a badge of distinction the moment the shameless victimizer enters the room. Victim narratives are self-eating proofs that the victimization taking place is a fiction. Real criminals don't apologize. They're only sorry they got caught. You don't ask them for apologies; you exile them or you fight them.

Don't waste your time with groups who preach 'social justice' and use violence and pig-headed arguments, nor with any nationalists who tell you your race is being oppressed by minorities--these are the same people. They are sick with the same disease. They need others to join them in their never ending fight against discomfort.

You love The Constitution? Good. But don't wave that in the air with a smirk when the enemy shows up at your door. They'll tear it up and cut you down just as fast.

You want rights for your group? Take them. Don't ask for everyone to love you. Your existence is a crime to some, a blessing to others; don't get too wrapped up in either one.

From now on, you are the master of your feelings. You decide what to do with them. No one else is waiting eagerly to caress them.

Anger lasts a moment and can ruin your entire life. Same with lust and jealousy. Escape the mania of me-dom; not to deny  your wellbeing, but to throw away that pair of affirmation-glasses which causes you to seek and seek hosts onto which you can latch and sap their energy. This need for affirmation is parasitic.

Rather, be like a tree firmly rooted in soil. It uses the weather to its advantage and pulls nutrients from deep below. It produces fruit when it can and rests in the winter, simply withstanding hardship. It adapts to change. It realizes that change is part of the fabric of life. It doesn't hold onto its fruit but offers it up to the earth when the time is right. It is not harmed when its fruit is taken, for it knows the seasons are ample for producing more.

Give freely in kindness without a single hope of compensation. Keep things for yourself unguiltily. If you have to fight, fight without reservation, even if there is no chance to win. Through this, you encourage bravery in others. When people curse you, let them shrink to the size of mice in your mind. Let their voices sound as incomprehensible to your ears as a rodent with that small of a mouth.

See patterns, but see aberrations, and the patterns which mask themselves as aberrations. Things are often more complex or simpler than we think they are.

Let your feelings be tools, tunes to your soul, even. Listen to them like music and learn from them like numbers, and then let them go their own way. This is real freedom; not finding people who feel sorry for you.

Left Secession

Trump wants to secede in small, categorical ways. California wanting secession is the Left speeding up the process that most of the Right has always wanted anyway. The American Left is starting to get over its equation: Leftism=Globalism. Secession will soon no longer be associated with racism, but with collections of affinities. 

For people worried about the immigration issue, immigrants integrating into smaller, independent and sovereign communities would likely go a lot smoother.  

Perpetual War

'WASHINGTON — The escalating American military engagement in Somalia has led the Obama administration to expand the legal scope of the war against Al Qaeda, a move that will strengthen President-elect Donald J. Trump’s authority to combat thousands of Islamist fighters in the chaotic Horn of Africa nation.

The administration has decided to deem the Shabab, the Islamist militant group in Somalia, to be part of the armed conflict that Congress authorized against the perpetrators of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, according to senior American officials. The move is intended to shore up the legal basis for an intensifying campaign of airstrikes and other counterterrorism operations, carried out largely in support of African Union and Somali government forces.

The executive branch’s stretching of the 2001 war authorization against the original Al Qaeda to cover other Islamist groups in countries far from Afghanistan — even ones, like the Shabab, that did not exist at the time — has prompted recurring objections from some legal and foreign policy experts.

The Shabab decision is expected to be publicly disclosed next month in a letter to Congress listing global deployments. It is part of the Obama administration’s pattern of relaxing various self-imposed rules for airstrikes against Islamist militants as it tries to help its partner forces in several conflicts.

In June, the administration quietly broadened the military’s authority to carry out airstrikes in Afghanistan to encompass operations intended “to achieve strategic effects,” meaning targeting people impeding the work of Afghan government forces, officials said. Previously, strikes in Afghanistan were permitted only in self-defense, for counterterrorism operations targeting Qaeda or Islamic State forces, or to “prevent a strategic defeat” of Afghan forces. ' 

The empire inches along yet again. Trump is trapped. 

Business as Usual

 'Instead, the story of media failure comes to us from those mainstream sources we thought had some semblance of balance and reason: Outlets like CNN, MSNBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Associated Press.  I suspect we will be unpacking the failures of the media to inform our citizenry for months to come. But for now, here are three highlights.

The First Media-Created Presidential Nominee

A new report from Harvard Kennedy School’s Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics and Public Policy analyzes news coverage of the 2016 presidential candidates in the year leading up to the primaries.  The report documents the fact that major news outlets covered Donald Trump at a level that was incommensurate with his experience, base of support, and initial polling.

They also show that despite the fact that Trump consistently rattled off bigoted, crazy, and inflammatory statements, that most of the coverage was “good press.”  They conclude that the biased media coverage of Trump was directly responsible for propelling the candidate to the top of the polls.  In their view, Trump is “the first bona fide media-created presidential nominee.”

As if that weren’t maddening enough, the same report documents how Bernie Sanders was badly hurt by media neglect early in the race, when candidates unknown to many voters need to establish credibility and build a base of support. Hillary Clinton received three times more coverage than Sanders in summer 2015, during the period of pre-primary debates.

Even as late as August 2015, two in five registered Democrats said they’d never heard of Sanders. Early coverage of Sanders, when it existed, suggested he was a loser before he had even started.'

The media was unfair in this election. What else is new? Source 

RIP Leonard Cohen

'Hydra promised the life Cohen had craved: spare rooms, the empty page, eros after dark. He collected a few paraffin lamps and some used furniture: a Russian wrought-iron bed, a writing table, chairs like “the chairs that van Gogh painted.” During the day, he worked on a sexy, phantasmagoric novel called “The Favorite Game” and the poems in a collection titled “Flowers for Hitler.” He alternated between extreme discipline and the varieties of abandon. There were days of fasting to concentrate the mind. There were drugs to expand it: pot, speed, acid. “I took trip after trip, sitting on my terrace in Greece, waiting to see God,” he said years later. “Generally, I ended up with a bad hangover.” '


Passages #7

'A fundamental idea common to most poleis was that all male citizens had (at least theoretically) equal political rights based on ownership of property. In practice, whatever the political system adopted - tyranny, oligarchy or democracy - political power was dominated by a few aristocratic families who held for themselves all the important positions in the polis such as membership of elite councils, magistracies and the higher military ranks. Also, within these citizen bodies there were richer and poorer citizens. Overtime, and especially following the introduction of money, the richer class, whose status had once been based on land ownership, began to accumulate wealth from investments and loans they made, in effect increasing the difference between rich and poor. ' source

The Greek Polis or federation of them as an ideal society.

Passages #6

All of us know someone who doesn’t like to hear the word no directed at them; doesn’t like being contradicted; dismisses opposing points of view; sniggers at conspiracy theories. Their thinking, rather than free, supple and inquiring, is defensive and armored. Everybody knows somebody with a bear-trap mind. But as Mickey Spillane once quipped, no is the most important word in any language.

Many people can’t bear the fact that other people think differently than they do. But to paraphrase Alan Watts, if you and I agree on everything, then I no longer know what I think. On the other hand if I never engage others nor let them engage me, then too I am developing neither my thinking nor myself.

An article in defense of Max Stirner.

Passages #5

*What is Panarchy?*

Panarchy is that condition, when people are affected by, and can only affect, those political institutions and structures in a political environment that they explicitly agree to be a part of. Panarchy is often compared with the separation of church and state, when people were no longer forced into churches they did not agree with, and could practice their own religion (if any) in peace. Of course, the separation is only political; all these people will still interact voluntarily with others via the market, just as people of different religions do today.

The Chapter

Whether read on scrolls, leaves, pages, napkins or computer screens, every reader needs to take a break now and again. Perhaps, before the art of punctuation was invented, the ancient readers approached texts intuitively and paused where it suited them. Perhaps they were bad at this and that’s why punctuation was invented.

A period is a nice place to take a breath. But what about stopping for the night? Bookmarks only work to an extent. Chapters are much more congenial, showing that the writer is in agreement with the reader and that the book must, at some point, be set on the nightstand and the light shut off (depending on the kind of reader you are—Some people blaze bleary-eyed through a book and come out the other side of the morning tired at work or school or gym).

But are chapters not a little tyrannical, too? It is by them that the author tells you how to read the book. But then, one could argue, punctuation does much the same. Language tells us how to think just as thoughts tell us how to speak.

The chapter, as a convention, seems to arise precisely from the means by which the book is published. In the nineteenth century, it was common for books to be published in journals. It was conducive to the medium that one chapter fit easily within the binding. It was usually meant to be consumed in one sitting like a television show today.

How does one chapter a book? How does one break a chapter up? Titles of chapters varied. You could do like Dickens and go with a simple Chapter One or Chapter 1. Or, simply, One. The minimalism of 1 has its appeal; it forces fewer presuppositions on the text. The more ambitious writers title their chapters like poets do poems. The latter-period Dostoyevsky resorted to the comical habit of titling chapters things like

Chapter 17

“You lie!”

in which a character, at some point in the chapter, utters the phrase, ‘You lie!’

Dostoyevsky in particular, along with a great many others of the journal-driven variety, wrote books featuring dozens and dozens of short chapters whose breaks would, by today’s breaking standards, seem wholly arbitrary. Every once in a while, the cliffhanger would take effect and an unexpected guest would walk into the room. The next chapter would immediately feature a description of the unexpected guest’s face or some exciting news he had to offer. Then other chapters would simply find their place between two pieces of dialogue, as if to trick the reader into a sort of maieutic excitement.

With Beckett and Joyce, we reach an immensely unjournalistic kind of novel. The chapters are books in themselves, written as though to be consumed in one sitting though this is often impossible.

A book like Gaddis’s JR,which plays with the theme of communication, is not split up by any chapters in the entirety of its 700 odd pages. Rather, the ‘breaks’ are densely written vignettes between bits of exhaustive dialogue which act as mechanisms to transition one scene and set of characters to another—the book being a series of literary French Scenes.

Gaddis’s first novel, The Recognitions, though divided up more conventionally, is by no means conventionalwithin the chapter. In a chapter of this book, years might pass or days might pass, or perhaps a single meal which then turns into a meal months later. The second of two famous party scenes in the book runs to about 85 pages, making up the entirety of a chapter. Upon my second reading of the book, I realized with great amazement, after spending several hours on these 85 pages, that I was taking as much time on this party chapter as I would an actual party—a chapter written in real time.

For some writers, chapter breaks are merely something cumbersome to fit in. Certain long-winded writers of epics are always itching anxiously for the place they can finally end their thought so that they can go on to the next. For other writers, the chapter is a source of salvation—a means to switch first-person perspectives or a means to include a little aside or to issue a complete narrative rupture.

William T. Vollmann used fake chapters as a plot device in You Bright and Risen Angels by listing the names of unwritten chapters to give the reader an idea of what events take place after the actual book finishes.

The Adventures of Augie March allowed itself all the voluptuous tendencies of the old big European books to ruminate on some philosophical idea at the beginning and endings of its chapters, though the chapters themselves are quite long.

The Bible was chaptered and versed long after its writing. Perhaps writers who prefer to practice their craft off-the-cuff with no mind for cutting their work into marketable, bit-sized baby pieces would prefer the same for their own work.

Others make an art of it. Often, the structure of a book may be determined by the way its chapters come falling out of the book like cards with so many clues on them.Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship has a curious beginning. Several short chapters comprise one meal as Wilhelm tells his loved ones about his memories of puppeteeing with his peers as a child. These little pulsing spurts of story, broken up so frequently, were perhaps meant to act as a little selah in an introduction not labeled something so marketable, like ‘Prologue.’ It is asubterraneousintroduction, implied in the tone and pace of the text. As Goethe’s chapters get longer and longer, the fragmented story of puppeteering from the beginning suddenly struck me, while reading, as a strange memory, almost as though I was trying to recall a dream. I was able to recall all of the different, subtle shifts in perspective that this method of splicing awarded, which colored my view of the hero and how he acted for the longer stretches of text later in the book.

If pausing is also about reflection, it is little wonder that we impose a book-like structure to our own lives. How often, when speaking of changes, do we ‘open a new chapter?’ The forms of life and the condition of the universe have, perhaps, already planted the chapter-structure in our minds. Are the seasons not chapters? Are hours not scenes? Are our lives not stories from which we would like to take a break now and again so that we might reflect on what they mean before entering them again? Perhaps the similarity is a bit unfair. With life, we don’t have the luxury of re-reading any of the chapters.


While the question remains as to whether or not the rioters in Portland are funded directly by George Soros, the whole thing seems odd. The media, as usual, is either behaving badly, or the circumstances are. I'm willing to believe it's a mix of both.

For instance, the media is saying Portland's rioters are 'anarchists' and have broken local shop Windows, writing things like 'capitalism kills.'

Why would an anti-government group wait until the the new president got elected to riot? Something is amiss.

By some strange manner of reasoning, one could say that it would make Clinton look good if it was really anarchists--Trump's victory incites general chaos, since they can't hold Trump directly responsible. However, if they were simply anti-Trump protesters, they would make Clinton look bad.

I didn't actually see anything that said 'capitalism kills.' I only heard news people say it.

Sure, Trump could have hired them, but that doesn't seem likely. Soros has more of a track record with this sort of thing. Either way, I can only suspend my conclusions until more is known. They could be funded goons, but Portlanders got violent during Occupy as well... Not to say that couldn't have been funded.

Pretending to Write

To divulge to you the way that I go about writing, the actual mechanics of it, would be to utter what had once felt like a series of grave secrets; the kind which would suggest that all advice is hypocrisy, that all earnest top-ten lists and seven-ways-to bullet-points are worth their weightlessness in the floating click-away abstractions of the internet. I’m afraid that I have reached a point in my methods where I have become severly, obstreperously free, contingent and moveable. When I was young, I would fill a notebook with a sole novel. On the occasion that the novel took up two notebooks, I would keep them together with a rubber band. On the front of my notebooks, I would write a title in sharpie and also draw a cover. It was very important for me to create a bookshelf likeness to the paperback racks I saw at grocery stores, carrying what were, then, my favorite authors: writers of science fiction disguised as ‘biochemical thrillers’ or ‘creature thrillers.’ My notebooks abounded with movie tie-ins, originals which resembled movie tie-ins for films that didn’t exist, originals which resembled the originals of other writers, and finally, my own originals which didn’t directly resemble anything, hopefully. This is an incomplete history, certainly, but that is more or less the focal succession. Having spent more than half of my teenage years in a home with the internet, I belong to a generation who learned about a great many things from it, including, inevitably, literature. I wonder if I would have come to my current conclusion about my best personal method earlier had I not been disposed to a great many commentaries about literature at such a young age by the people who produced it. The wildly entertaining interviews of authors I admired in The Paris Review, or Powells, or Bookslutor The Dalkey Archive Press, were filled with great wars of conflicting advice concerning writing methods, fetishisms, practices, rituals, preliminaries and conditions. As an adolescent, I didn’t think it so strange to have three different notebooks in which three different novels in progress were being chipped away at, though when I got older and started to read the accounts of the world’s best, who seemed to think that writing was such a lofty, taxing business (something which most of them never seemed to spend more than three hours or so a day on), I found myself challenged by their example. Certainly, a book couldn’t be good unless it was written in segments of 1,000 words a day, worked on no more than four hours a day, always during the morning, always on a full stomach, always sober, always alone, and never with noise of any kind save the music of Wagner. If one was to follow their example, there were to be no other books written while that one was being written. It needed to be written chronologically so that it felt cohesive. A first draft would be written completely through, which would get the general idea down. A second draft might serve another purpose, such as making the dialogue pop. The third draft might be for the purpose of smoothing out the prose. If you were the kind of writer who ventured beyond the three drafts in keeping with the requirements of school essays, the fourth draft might be to strengthen symbols thrown up by your subconscious in your rambling first draft. The fifth draft might be to make your jokes funnier. By the time you get to the sixth draft, you might go through such extensive editing coupled with flights of verbal fancy that you’ll end up writing something similar to your first draft again. I would try many of these methods. I would write 1,000 words a day, feeling terrible about myself on the days I failed and feeling like I didn’t do enough when I met my quota. I’d write one book at a time and give up half way or three fourths of the way through the composition of the first draft, or halfway through the paltry second draft. I would write chronologically and rush through uninspired but oddly necessary parts of the story—those perennial parts in which a character needs to get from one room to another— promising myself I would go back and smooth them out, not realizing at the time that they were what dragged the entire novel into the declevity responsible for its indefinite hiatus. I grew tired of this pattern. I slid, ever guiltily, back into my old habits—the ones that I developed as an adolescent when I was writing what I considered to be, simply, ‘practice novels,’ if you will—things meant only to give myself a sense of accomplishment and, hopefully, entertain my family and friends. I would write several at a time. It wasn’t until I continued on one day, indulging in my crack-cocain-like habit of reading the words of writers about writing, that I came upon a few authors who wrote according to methods similar to mine. Reading John Gardner or Villiam T. Vollmann or Blaise Cendrars on the subject of writing more than one novel at a time, didn’t necessarily inspire me, as I initially thought, but, I felt at the time, allowed me to continue doing what I was already doing. They gave validity to the haphazard, whistful ways in which I was working, until a frightening thought came over me and that was this: Why did I so require the validation of other writers who, like me, are wandering out into the dark, grasping for images the best they can, articulating them in the soberest moment of their afternoons after nights of fevered dreams? I asked myself, very truthfully, if the methods by which I was working were not constraining me to my own detriment more than they were benefiting me. I stopped counting my daily word-count. I stopped pushing myself forward until I’d written ten pages or ended on an incriment of ten pages. Not only did I work on more than one book at a time, but within a single book, I wrote various different scenes, non-chronologically, while beside it I wrote the chronological version from the beginning, trusting my own sense of intuition and knowing that the scenes that I ‘wrote ahead,’ as it were, would come to my aid later when the timing was right. Even when the novels were tightly structured and had a definite sense of beginning, middle and end, I behaved like an alchemist at times, with a great deal of subtlety and caution, and at other times, like a fevered dope-fiend, breathing heavily with my hair disheveled as I prattled about for the last sentence in a thread of writing to which I could add words that seemed to enter my brain as if delivered by letter from a friend from long ago. I would tell acquiantances that I was working on a book when I was, in fact, working on four. I would tell my close friends and family that I was working on four when, upon making inventory of the works I’d actually touched in the last three months, I was working on six or seven projects, both fictional and essayistic. For times when expression seemed to me like such a paltry thing—and I admit that, perhaps, it was only my being overstimulated—and when I was in great need of encouragement concerning the abstract truths that I had written upon my own consciousness, I wrote pieces of writing that were strictly for myself. Perhaps they were not so much different than some of the greatest creative liberties I would have taken within my own diaries, though with these projects, since they possessed a somewhat ‘theraputic’ nature, for lack of a better phrase, I was in great need of a format which resembled an essay or book. In other words, I was writing books strictly for myself, for my own pleasure. You can probably imagine that I was writing in several different genres under more than one name, as this suits my temperament; it being, in my mind, not much different from the musician who has ‘side projects’ which deviate in sound and aesthetic from his primary band in order to impose upon himself constraints that open up voluminous possibilities available in a sole genre. It was by all of these things that I recaptured something which I feared I’d lost and which my work greatly needed: a sense of patience. Now, when a novel that is tightly structured and for which I feel strongly is discouraging me to any great degree, I can put it away in faith that it will call to me again, or that the working out of another problem will solve its unknown one. It is put away without guilt, for I commence work all the while on other things. You may say to me, it was a self-imposed guilt all the while. These were all self-imposed rules. Then so be it. Let me come out the other side of a novel, polished, neat and supple for the kindness I granted both it and myself during its long life and that which fed it, whether that be other novels gestating over long periods of time, or the many experiences that I allow myself to take on, concerned more about the end than the means of getting there. An artist with a clear vision as to what he wants to accomplish can allow himself a great many means of getting there. It is not for anyone else to decide what methods best suit his work. 

How It's Coming #1

I've been at work on a magazine over the past year. It's going slow but I've had a lot going on. My hope is to get it out before the end of the year or before my birthday (wanted to launch it while I was still 30, for no particular reason).

The magazine is called The Burning Block. It's dedicated to political satire, philosophy and literature. It doesn't necessarily espouse any one view, but explores different ideas by playing different modes of expression off of one another. I'll let everyone know when the digital launch date is so they can pre-order. It will also be available as a printed zine later on, and will more than likely be released after the digital copy. I'm not sure how much longer the print version will take as of yet, as my resources are limited.

The print layout will be different from the digital layout, but the content will be the same. I'll be providing more updates soon and look forward to everyone reading it.

One can expect this type of thing, without a title, as I seize upon what could have been an artistic crisis, suspended there for examination before it was able to take up roots inside me. Experience is the final authority, which is to say, I've come to distrust the concept of credibility altogether. What does that mean for the structure of a blog? Perhaps that it would end where others began--precisely where others begin to actually accomplish communication. The many tensions which comprise the artistic temperament often dissipate without borders or constraints. So rather than breaking down borders completely, perhaps it is best to simply relocate them, in the manner of Oulipo, in order to open up new channels and redistribute artistic energy. I'm not sure how this will fair with readers. Sometimes becoming a writer happens at the expense of having readers. 

The Expected Cliche Endures

Social media is blowing up with people looking for the next scapegoat. Of course it's not trump fans who put him in office. It must be the people who didn't vote.

This is a logical fallacy.

People who voted for a third party representative don't have an inbuilt predisposition to automatically vote for the major party representative who lost.  Nor do people who didn't vote necessarily know deep down in their obstinate, grumpy hearts that Clinton was the best choice. She wasn't.

It is true that a third party representative was probably better fit for the job, or at least, wouldn't get us killed or alienate anyone by gender or race. It is even truer that when it's a numbers game, quality is always sacrificed in favor of quantity and then projected onto whoever is most popular, since people only ever accept the media shills that are the two main parties.

You can interpret the sorrow of Clinton fans over the past fourteen hours in one of two ways: 1. Deep down, no one believes in democracy (to their credit). 2 They are so committed to it that they don't see its internal mechanism of division.

No magic happened at the last minute to make Trump win. The people who voted for Jill Stein and Gary Johnson were not an unexpected cog in the wheel of an otherwise potential victory.

Your level of upset is natural. It means you are a healthy individual who knows that your values are far more important than a numbers game.

What is not healthy, however, is projecting it onto the wrong people. There is no one to 'blame' but the legal process itself.

Passages #4

Yes, there is another government concealed behind the one that is visible at either end of Pennsylvania Avenue, a hybrid entity of public and private institutions ruling the country according to consistent patterns in season and out, connected to, but only intermittently controlled by, the visible state whose leaders we choose. My analysis of this phenomenon is not an exposé of a secret, conspiratorial cabal; the state within a state is hiding mostly in plain sight, and its operators mainly act in the light of day.  

Rest here 

General Politics


Politics are, in part, an extension of values. But whose? It is an extension of a generalized set of values in a highly corporeal form. Politics are, by nature, the result of reciprocal exchange.  We have all our work ahead of us to determine just to what degree the nature of reciprocation itself is violent; whether it is the king on whose land one is dependent or the crowd who votes against the best interest of a mother and her children.

The political domain is conflict in action, conflict stratified and ever circling the anticipation of itself, to say nothing of efficiency.

At its greatest points of intensity, politics represent more an absence of what is not immediate. This non-immediacy is countered by an ever immediate threat; this applies to anarchism too, which is not apolitical, but rather, intensely political.

Let general politics refer to something by which we sign the very nature of things, at the risk of qualifying politics as a transcendant aspect of social interaction. It needs not be transcendent, but simply a name given to a set of processes which lie outside the qualitative norms, whether exemplified by history or by theory. If the very nature of a state hides the event of its sovereignty, then the nature of reciprocal relationships hide the various small events which brought us at one time closest to death. Far from secret, politics enunciate death with a threat. Even in the friendly barter, there is the anticipation of theft and pillage.

One can't talk about general politics without speaking of the general economy and the general state--late though the state is in relation to the other two, it is recognized through the same mechanism of naming that thing whose perimeters was once narrow in strict definition. If privation drove mankind to the activity of economic exchange, surplus and plenty drove him to the violence of political activity--the first political activity being war. Abundance, a geological aberration, would have to be squandered even for the sake of equilibrium; tribes purchase time with goods, at the cost of lives.

I refer to this as general politics because it acts as a qualitative approximation to politics as we understand it today, which is largely statist in form. In fact, the term 'general' is qualitative, even as Bataille uses it for the general economy.

The convention of borders, if anything, lowered the stakes tied to events along with the responsibility of the people they enclosed, whilst accelerating the dissolution of mass organization to the equal measure that the respective closed economy reached a point of intensity.

Enclosed borders, usually coextensive with a state, forced individuals into economic engagement. Civilization is the story of repetition layered on repetition, whether that be a buried city underneath another city or a buried set of values similar but not quite like that of today.

If politics in miniature represents reciprocal conflict abrogation, then the statist model of politics represents the raising of crisis in miniature to the public sector. Democracy could be seen, among other things, as a semiotic replacement of unconscious scapegoatism--crisis narrowed down to the elimination of one common variable for the sake of the societal peace (but not harmony, for the variable erased only returns like Christ, or like the Dragon of the book of Revelation at the end of his 1,000 years in the abyss).

All we do is political, and all we do is dressed with the signature of that which it erases from the immediacy of communication. Decentralization, whether through revolution, war, or economic somnolence, has all the character of the unconscious being revealed as the surplus of communication through psychoanalysis. The scale of signs exhaust the centralizing potential of the political domain and it is up to those who, through some act of naming and asking, are able to read the wider perimeters of that surplus.

Anti-statism wishes to reformulate constantly to better approximate political activity to organicity without the organic stratification of organization from the top down.

From the bottom up, the political activity of the contract between individuals sees the body itself as the primary border.

Organization is needed to disorganize.

A border is needed in order for a region to keep from being a nation.

A reallocation of power through violence keeps people from oppression; oppression battling oppression.

Communication silences.

Centralization and decentralization dilate and retract to varying degrees, paradoxically, in a process which, though composed of many minds, appears mindless, just as a mind is composed of many parts which are themselves mindless.

The political domain, like the birth of consciousness itself, is the thought which, having been thought, cannot be unthought.

Don't Vote and Complain Anyway


Have you ever told anyone you aren't voting? If you have, you've probably been offered this tired cliché: 'Then you can't complain.'

In voter-mania mentality, those who win will be playing harps under their favored administration while on the outside, there'll be weeping and gnashing of teeth, but at least you're allowed to gnash, since you voted, right?

Withholding your vote is a complaint in itself.

As a matter of fact, I'd put this forward: If you vote, you can't complain. What can you say? That if only more people were like you, you wouldn't be in the minority? That's about all you can say, and it amounts to my favorite tautology: Things would be different if they weren't the way they are.

The choices offered by democracy are an illusion. Nobody 'wins.'

Often, when people talk about the importance of voting they like to throw around statistics to scare people. They like to remind people that Hitler won by a single vote. If that's even true, it's an argument against voting, not for it. One would hope that it would take more than that to put evil into office. And even if he lost by one vote, what in the world would lead us to believe that he would suddenly stop following in Mussolini's footsteps and not march in the streets of Germany anyway, as Mussolini did in Rome when he lost?

The reason Mussolini marched is the same reason elites are trying to rig the election. They know that in times of crisis, nothing works like brute force. Not only does voting on such large scale values divide people from within but when the stakes are high, fair voting is the first thing elites disregard as it suits them.

Assume it never gets rigged and it's always fair. Say one candidate wants to go to war with Russia and Iran and the other wants to go to war with China and North Korea. Don't let anyone tell you that your fellow citizens have the right to jeopardize your entire life by involving you in a war you don't want to be in. Is that an argument for voting for the least violent candidate? Hardly. 

Say it's not just war, but any number of things. A candidate endourses pedophilia being manifested into some legal form. A candidate says rape doesn't exist and is no longer prosecutable under the law. Another says to abort all female fetuses. If these things were our only options, the people would (one would hope) rise up. The reason elites don't respect the democracy they are always espousing is on the very same grounds that you wouldn't tolerate despotism from them: they know that it doesn't work.

So what do I advocate? Direct democracy isn't an improvement on electoral democracy. With electoral democracy, you at least have the element of surprise against all odds, potentially. Consensus doesn't seem to offer much hope on a large scale.

The point is, there are any number of ways to go about getting things done if decisions are made voluntarily and through constant, invested negotiation.

If your daughter was dating a gang banger, would you gather your family and friends and some of his fellow gang bangers to represent the two of you? Probably not, because you would already distrust the outcome. You'd have to manipulate the numbers in order to have an upper hand, which would defeat the whole purpose.

Rather, you'd talk to your daughter, and most likely, you'd talk to the gang banger. You'd work something out that had a beneficial reciprocal outcome for the family. Or you'd just chase him off the lawn.

The point is, who is offering you a choice and what is it for? Why do they disregard them the moment they are able to?

Voting is a way to give you the illusion that the majority believes in the decisions the elites would make anyway if they were given the opportunity. This is not a conspiracy. It's ingrained so deeply into the psychology of voting that it hides in plain sight.

Imagine making decisions on your own. Imagine despots not having a shred of legal claim over you. This is a possibility. The world is shedding skin.

You can call it a dream, a fantasy, if you like, but isn't it one worth living for?