Suicide Note #7

Everything just got fucked up. I became angry but never had the time to focus on anger. I began hating myself, but never sat down and considered the Self. Every time I asked for space, for some breathing room, to understand myself in relation to everything else, my parents took the active step of making those decisions for me. When I said no, that I didn't wish to fall under such jurisdiction, that I want to breath life and understand for myself, they sat me down and told me I was rude, that I was childish. Every time I said I didn't know, that I was still trying to understand, that maybe the solutions aren't solutions at all, that maybe truth only claims itself to be so but suffices to offer nothing other than its own naked hypocrisy under forced circumstances, I was told I was a fool, that I was immature, that I was inactive. When I asked for the impossible, when I offered openly to exhibit my vulnerability, I was shunned, I was alienated, I was forced to consider my own stupidity. I am so angry but I don't even know why anymore. All I wanted was space, was time, for failure is not failure for me. I never imagined such simplistic categories dictating my behavior, I never imagined myself criticizing myself for not excelling, for not being a someone. I only want to live, I want to create, I want to exercise and extend myself for all that it offers. I never did anything wrong because I never claimed to do anything right, but I was never important. Everyone, including my parents, casually took it upon themselves to correct me, to uncover my follies, to play the collective game. It will come of no surprise, I imagine, to assume that these same people will come and pray at my burial, to raise praise of my character and be agitated by my early departure. Again, they will have intervened and created a spectacle, against my innocence; but this time, they will not have me entrapped, for I will fly, I will fly away free.

Useless Reflection (A response to "what is anarchy and does it still apply?")

**I offer this as a departure point for conversation, for I do not wish to share any evaluations or judgments regarding the implications. For one, you must not confuse my usage of 'anarchy' with the historically mediated concept that has undergone multiple interpretations. This is not a fresh interpretation, or a reassessment. The goal is to situate the concept of anarchy within its emotive function, or in other words, to enact a dialogue that is capable of discussing anarchism as an interlocutor between the individual and the collective, thereby accessing a realm of experience far more intimate than the saturated discourse commonly attributed to politics. In doing so, I hope to push forth two points: that anarchy, if it is to be understood in itself, cannot be criticized or disregarded solely by its inapplicability, which seeks to only understand anarchism as though its only expression falls solely under the jurisdiction of politics. Second, this is not a text reassessing the tenets of anarchism, an attempt to create my own form of anarchism. In other words, I am not concerned with how or to what end anarchism was used historically, nor am I interested in evaluating it as a concept. I merely use anarchism as an intermediary, within its psychic/emotive faculty, which under the current conditions of modernity, may be the only interlocutor towards liberation, as it escapes the allure of any dominant social structure. That is not to say the latter even be necessary, so rather than introduce new dogma, I only want to illustrate a peaceful anarchism outside its 'traditional subversive idealism'**


I wrote this piece over the course of a couple of hours overnight. I was inspired by an anarchist blog that seemed to cater to dissidents but lacked any substantial understanding of anarchy. It was more focused towards being pragmatically destructive and self indulgent, and so I hoped to leave this as a pleasant shift. It has been fitted to be read within a blog, so excuse the obvious elements included that would otherwise be discarded had the context been of a different nature.

I never got it posted, so I am sharing it with you instead.


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(I know this is really long. I really didn't mean to make a speech. I saw the thread and thought it be the best place to situate 'anarchy' legitimately outside the bullshit perspectives most people use to defend or destroy it. This piece only asks you to consider 'anarchy' poetically, so that you understand its beauty and essence outside the dogma of politics. Only then can one realize that anarchy, rather than being subversive or alternative, is much more, a way of [I]personally[/I] situating yourself within the world and not falling victim to accepting its constructions blindly).

I am a(n) (Anarchist) nobody
(Only an anarchist could exhibit such humility)

The title of this forum contrasted with the ambivalence of its own members in examining the practical implications of 'anarchy,' itself exemplifies the very complexity of anarchy as a concept. For one, unlike concepts such as democracy, communism, capitalism, imperialism, etc that presently or historically have had political allegiances, the concept of anarchy has never been one of such narrow dimensions.

Anarchy is poetry, anarchy is art, not in the producer/worker/specialize

d sense, but in the sensuous/emotive/conscious sense. To speak of anarchy in a political sense, in that a socio-cultural system is erected and defined by the precepts of 'anarchy,' seems to me a superfluous activity, and only detracts from the beauty of anarchy as I understand it. The former only presumes a collective space negotiated by the literal execution of 'anarchy' as a term, whether that interpolates as chaos, no government, freedom, etc, and thus ironically limits anarchy within the same narratives that seem to govern our current socioeconomic-cultural space (post-industrial/late capitalism/reason/etc). To discuss anarchy as though it may legitimately replace modern capitalism, or representative democracy for example, is obviously a naive argument, and yet I say, this does not in any way affect the legitimacy of anarchy, in fact such discussions further cloud and distract from the beauty of anarchy itself.

Historically, the concept of anarchy had been the framework under which radically minded individuals attempted to construct new social spaces, but under the progressive/capitalistic/rationalistic/western cloud that has seamlessly driven us since the dawn of the renaissance (I don't want to abuse language, so I'll just place myself within the arguably modern paradigm and beyond), 'politicized anarchy' contributed as much to the cultural space as any other subversive political alternative has, by being the topic of academic discourses, explored and explicated by artists and poets; in short, by failing to enact the very Revolution and Overcoming its precepts diligently specify. I write this only to distinguish, and to rectify a previous simplification, that though I may come across as a cynic, I wish only to show that the practical failure of 'alternative political systems,' specifically anarchy as a plausible solution, not only bastardizes the discussion but fails to even address the liberating consequences of anarchy itself.

It is not that anarchy as a concept is idealistic, but that in any political context, it is essentially inapplicable. Rather, anarchy is a generalization, an individual psychic response, an autonomous reflection, and if the concept is allowed to bloom in all its humility, one realizes that an anarchist is the only true individual not afraid to step back, not easily carried along the boring installations of everyday living, not satisfied with the one dimensional merry go round that ideologically seems enslaving. Anarchy does not ask of intellectual strengths, does not categorize identities, does not segregate groups, indeed anarchy cannot be tainted by politics in any way. That's what makes it so beautiful. It cannot function as a political solution, especially if we simplify the enigma of human nature, on a collective level, into the language of 'politics' (a system of power).

Going back to the opening example, the title of this forum is 'anarchy' and presumably everyone traversing its pages and posting on its various blogs in some shape or another are frustrated. Whether that be conscientiously tempered by political motives, or not, it comes down to personally expressing a sense of anger (in all its various contexts, however trivial or complex) towards the stagnant conditions under which we all seem to be stuck in. Rather than personalizing, or worse, dogmatizing my views, I want only to insist that anarchy caters to any perspective, whether violent or pacifist, indifferent or opinionated, suicidal or not. It does so, because it is a space outside that of politics, outside the reproduction of 'history,' outside the consistency of our everyday disposition, and yet it isn't dangerous. In fact, if anarchy is understood emotively, the anarchist is the least foolish, for rather than adopt a rationalistic/naive conception of moral values or orient itself within certain economic platforms for the sake of collective dialogue, s/he politely excuses herself from the entrapment and feels no need to contribute to an already convinced machine of networks.

The anarchist is a transitional state of silence. Everyone else seems convinced of their own constructed understandings of the 'world,' whether that be through the flow of capital, the particular bodies of knowledge 'necessary' for functioning in certain spheres, etc; thus continuing onwards ignoring the very intricate and layered nature of their experiences. The anarchist is the only one who can legitimately claim silence, as when in moments of mystery, confronted by an enigma of vast relations, when another assumes the authority and offers judgment coherent only under the rules of the broader socio-cultural space, the anarchist feels no such obligation. It is not a question of participation, but a question of legitimacy. If one is ridiculed for remaining silent, the indifference of the dissident is not important, but instead, the fallacious accusation itself that is only credible under the dominant 'normative' cultural conditions. Thus, in augmenting its position within the system of relations, anarchy is always addressed simplistically, naively, as though its conceptual range fails to illuminate beyond its potential political implications.


Anarchy is the only space where voicing dissonance, or being silent, or being 'ignorant,' or being 'unsure,' or 'not giving a fuck' has meaning, because anarchy, at its root, is nothing but a personal understanding of a lack, a void, a maladaption, a mystery that riddles our modern experience. Whatever your experience or trauma, aspirations or goals, anarchy, in itself, can never be denied to you, for you can never be a bad anarchist. Whether you feel the need to build bombs, petition politicians, grow your own pot, or even steal from the State, etc the extent and affects of such activities do not reflect poorly upon anarchy nor do they give anarchy values. You see, this very reduction, to find solutions and judgments from a supposed 'manifesto,' in something as simple as anarchy only naively utilizes the title while failing to uncover the breath of its spirit.

That's the beauty of it, it allows you to enter a realm that doesn't need justification, but fuels itself purely upon an individual reservation/crisis/confusion. To label me simply a nihilist, as you may do, fails to exemplify the general melancholy of my anarchism. I am not giving a polemic, attempting to convince you of some rooted conceptual system, or selling you a metaphysical idea. Instead, I want to alleviate anarchy from its watered down bullshit. It is an individual experience, and within that period of self reflection, anarchy becomes a lucid opening, where you realize yourself different from the continues crowds that all seem bent on going in one direction. Whether you radically seek to revise the constitution of Western history, or feel the need to kill all the imperialists/bourgeoisie/politicians/etc, these matters are to be understood under the veil of politics, and all such judgments stem from within the constructed space of what we now call modernity. With the preceeding cases, whether one is successful or not, whether there is justification, whether there is a definite need, whether the sacrifices are worth the result, etc, questions which certainly fall outside the 'mainstream'/dominant perspective and would be categorized under a 'radical' (somehow situated always in a negative sense) heading, finds no value within an anarchist discourse. Anarchism, on an individual level, is not a prescribed set of behaviors or beliefs, it is not a politics. If it is abused, assigned under false pretenses, engaged in forwarding certain ideas, anarchy is in danger of only being perceived negatively. It disrupts the conversation, the communication, the poetic potential of autonomous dissent.

Indeed, certain decisions made by an individual that eventually leads to damage, whether through death or destruction, will be consequently evaluated negatively within the press. To claim anarchy as the cause, a destructive idiotic extension of the individual's psychic instability for example, would only address anarchy one dimensionally, doing so only to deduce anarchy as the antithesis of the values that are essential to well-being/life/society/etc. Anarchy is not to be blamed anymore than the governments of powerful countries taking the lives of uninvolved people during wars, or education/opportunities/food/etc being unequally distributed. What do I mean by that? Only this, anarchy in its simplest, most sensuous form, is nothing but an individual revolt, that expresses nothing other than a personal discomfort.

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Am I for guns? Am I for abortion? Am I an idiot only looking to entertain myself? No, I am just not that confident, not that sure, not that foolish, not that convinced, of Life. By claiming to be an anarchist, if you were to ask, does not mean I have constructed opinions of moral systems/politics/etc, but feel no need to exert some bullshit in order to play the game and follow the rules. Instead, I have the sense to realize that whatever my opinions may be, there is a larger force that is governing this enigma, and I, individually, am not going to participate because I am told I have to, or 'keep up' because I want to be informed. It is a personal decision that doesn't impose and is only harmless, for to throw it upon anyone else would already be a betrayal of an anarchist perspective. Anarchy for me isn't a revolution, nor do I believe it will usher any radical revision, but can exist purely as a state of mind that has the potential to revolutionize and liberate the individual. It isn't about solutions, because everything else is about solutions.

Whatever anyone does under the name of anarchy should really not be taken offensively by another anarchist. For, if you truly were an anarchist, a death is a death, whether taken by the force of the State or by a small group presumed to be 'terrorists.' Anarchy isn't indifference, for anarchy exists only because it allows breathing room outside the suffocation of what we are all supposed to take for granted. If anything, anarchy is really a perspective that asks for nothing, while never limiting itself, because it isn't embroiled within certain perspectives, or with any concerted goal; it is content with asking only questions.

So, after all that, this is all I hope to share. No anarchist need defend his/her agenda, choices, orientations, perspectives as though the validity of anarchy rests upon such arguments. You are no more anarchist, in any honest sense, than the American political liberal claims liberalism, if you feel the need to translate your tendencies upon others. The anarchist is the only one capable of engaging silence as a solution to everyday problems, because the anarchist claims no authority, which is even fallacious to mention, because the anarchist assumes no role outside being observer to the unfolding play.

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In any discussion, and one that especially is as subjective as the concept of anarchy, a multitude of perspectives are welcome and necessary. I am not hoping to propose anarchy in a new light, or extensively seek to define its range. All I hoped to do, as a fellow anarchist to another, is translate how if anarchy is to be understood in its purest sense, outside the forces of politics, than it is nothing but innocent honesty and a conscientious understanding of social complexity beyond the simple solutions 'politics' seems ready to espouse. If you can understand anarchy as a lack, to any degree, then it functions purely as a point of personal liberation.

How to be an anarchist? That's a a stupid question. You can beat up people, or you can grow your own food, its all relative. I don't really give a shit. Everyday I realize how little I understand of everything, and even if you tweak on a regular basis, you still feel a certain sense of discomfort.

There is no identity or archetype of anarchy, to be an anarchist is to alleviate oneself of the trauma instigated by a presumed role in the normative/dominant/system. It's time anarchists themselves realize that to disagree fundamentally with existing norms is not a crime, but only ordained as such under the status quo.

There is nothing wrong with not knowing. Anarchy is the only place that even begins to conceptualize the sincerity of the latter.

[This is only an exploration, I don't in any way presume anarchy, in whatever form, to be the singular mechanism for liberation. Instead, I have situated the 'anarchist drive' outside the allure of the closed socio-economic system, briefly and roughly, in order to raise questions that may have practical value (i.e, anarchy, outside the hegemonic functionalism any 'practical' faculty is immediately contrasted with) but fail to appear so under normative(ideological?) conditions.]

Green is red and strictly robust
Sunder logical precepts
Synesthesia abstract
Formidable with lethargic reason
Embed and embroil within the plenitude of stark disorder
Untangle and reassemble
Dismiss preconditions
Value the valueless
Blend structural impediments

Bathe within poesy
Urinate exegesis of academic formalism
Lucidity arrives
When concepts themselves
Contradict and assimilate
Beauty of the paradox
The janus of everyday disposition
Exposes nothing
The anarchist of functionalism

Relations

Red

Language limits,
Relativism nonexistent,
The sight,
Its hue,
Its intensity,
All expressed and yet invisible,
Understanding and yet beyond comprehension,
Human reality is this that expresses itself,
Comparison,
Concrete itself indisputable,
Interpretation void

Red Blue

One,
The other,
Distinct yet referential,
Aesthetic unexplained,
Two forms,
Two abstractions,
Defined,
Isolated,
Paradoxical in its unity,
Incommensurable otherwise

Suicide Note

There is a large crowd and I sit on the periphery completely dumfounded. I am surrounded by bodies of every shape and size, of every color and hue, and I am to negotiate my place. To say I am confused, that I would rather engage directly than presuppose a certain personality, is a flaccid concept. You are supposed to be white, but I see nothing but a character constructed out of years of assimilation, while the figure over there is supposed to impregnate me with images of sexual desire, whilst I care not to reduce my experiences to such facile categories. I am thus flushed of life, of love, of any emotional feeling that I wish to express, for I am inundated with the cyclical progression of my everyday, an everyday that I try to escape. I told myself that I wasn't angry, that being frustrated was a causal reaction reflective of my constant confinement, a confinement which I must accept if i wish to continue living. I am but a dreamer who was aroused by the impossible. I wish to lay claim to no valued belief, but only to ease my humiliated consciousness once and for all.

Suicide Note

I hate walking and because of it, I hate myself.

There is an old saying (I'm making this up, I want to die an idiot; a proud idiot) that goes, the dead leaf on the road is crying. Now I say to myself, why is the leaf crying, why are you complaining about the space that surrounds you, what possibly disrupts the natural environment that you chaotically happened to find yourself in? It must be the road. Now the paved cement, its geometric alignment, oh its a novel experience indeed. Every instant I have to walk on it, touch it, or worse, drive over it, I can't help but feel a sense of fear. I understand the leaf, I know what it must feel, for I too am allergic of all roads and their static masquerade. There is something particularly disconcerting about roads, or space in general as it so happens to be, that I can't help but shit in horror about. I assume the soil and earth below resemble the twists and turns, arches and gateways that are visible to everyone, and yet something tells me that roads deceptively manipulate their space, imprinting their own banality over algorithmic chaos. Look, there is nothing good to come of roads, they only leave open the possibility of cars and trucks, herded peoples and fabricated smells, all of which further bolster my anxiety and impregnate our intrepid species with visions of rational immutability.

I can't walk anywhere because I am unhealthy. If only cigarettes weren't as difficult to come by despite a so called ten mile journey that caters to my services willfully if I bring money. Without a vehicle however, the ten miles transforms from textbook numerals into a maze of never ending banality, the peaceful huts and lawns, the paved ground dull and functional. You feel as though your recycling tasks for the sake of filling in time, a time that only progresses out of a collective cohesion that somehow continues undeterred. I smoke cigarettes because I can slow down time, and despite this, I've been told all my life to quit. It's fair mind you, my liver may fall apart, or I may fall victim to cancer at a tender age. Honestly, I am really unconcerned with such personal catastrophes, for my sense of self is continuously encumbered by the stranglehold that is modern living. It all comes down to the roads. It comes down to the fact that I can't walk. I am unhealthy because I have things I must do, obligations I must fulfill, food I must eat having no idea where it came from, clothes I have to wear having no idea where they came from, spaces I must venture with no idea the space traveled.

I'm driving and my concentration is scattered, the so called people directing their machines around the curves and hills of space are too humorous for me to mimic their blind subservience. Their eyes are all washed of curiosity, they are traveling from one destination to the other and only the consistency of their concentration will accomplish the goal. I have personally experienced this. Sometimes I feel schizophrenic, finding myself in a location and yet having no idea where I am in space. Those people get locked up. I look at maps sometimes to help me, but they always look so clean and organized, as though I am in a self enclosed theme park that floats in space. Sometimes I find myself conflicted. The sensation of driving a vehicle is something I treasure dearly, but using a car in order to keep up with Life only expands my already throbbing perceptual allergies. So I tried to walk. I tried to keep up with life by stealing from it. I would be comfortable with engaging with my environment and yet would be subservient to the nebulous play that hooked me for a role. But I can't walk. My obligations are too distant, my dealings too hidden behind the contours of clean space. I am already dead. There is nothing for me here, I am stranded in a progressive state that forces me to participate because I am flesh and bone, but caricatures my vulnerability with its complex deception.

This would all be good and well if I was a leaf. For the leaf only experiences, if even that is applicable, while I have to reflect upon my experience. That is too much to ask of me. I am ergo organized racehorse. So long people. But don't feel bad, I realized there is nothing human about us after all, we are all just animals unaware of our intricate ability of understanding time and ourselves as different, discontinuous, Human. It has all been pretty bad, but I can't say I haven't enjoyed moments.

The Beauty of Critique,
Outside the masquerade of the Environment(Of Course)

Do not imagine forms
beyond Progressive History, they say
Wonderful really in its sense of authority
But but but but
Such impunity only dulls the already frivolous humiliation
I feel

Simplicity invades relations
Why the woman beats the boy!

Domination of image
Meagre and stripped of any essentialism
Why trust the color when its value parasitically
latches its social appendage and falsely admonishes the victim?

Conversation with similar goons, hoodrats,
schizophrenics, homeless, eros beggars
calms the psychic heart

The forms are not rational, they say

But but but but
The conversation, you see, the very element
of psychic revolt materialized and bolstered by
continuous critique
Ironic only in its imprisonment
Incapable of escaping its Environment

Yes, its the exchange
Something that extinguishes at the point
of
complete

Asymmetry
Internalization
Reification
Denial