In tandem with various recent acts of brute suppression acting as oblivious vindication for anarchist critique, comfortable careerist pork chops who are paid to fuck over the people and make Stephen Miller’s darkest wet dreams come true are taking steps to conjure loopholes in constitutionally-protected materials and activities. This white colonial occupation, perpetually swimming in crimes they’ve committed, throwing stones of crimes they’ve invented for the rest of us, is engaged in gross contortions of its centuries-old claim to “Liberty” where no crime is evident.

“There have been other warnings that cops and prosecutors think they’ve found a constitutional loophole —” wrote Seth Stern. “If you can’t punish reporting it, punish transporting it.”

Background from Stern’s article,

Federal prosecutors have filed a new indictment in response to a July 4 noise demonstration outside the Prairieland ICE detention facility in Alvarado, Texas, during which a police officer was shot.

There are numerous problems with the indictment, but perhaps the most glaring is its inclusion of charges against a Dallas artist who wasn’t even at the protest. Daniel “Des” Sanchez is accused of transporting a box that contained “Antifa materials” after the incident, supposedly to conceal evidence against his wife, Maricela Rueda, who was there.

But the boxed materials aren’t Molotov cocktails, pipe bombs, or whatever MAGA officials claim “Antifa” uses to wage its imaginary war on America. As prosecutors laid out in the July criminal complaint that led to the indictment, they were zines and pamphlets. Some contain controversial ideas — one was titled “Insurrectionary Anarchy” — but they’re fully constitutionally protected free speech. The case demonstrates the administration’s intensifying efforts to criminalize left-wing activists after Donald Trump announced in September that he was designating “Antifa” as a “major terrorist organization” — a legal designation that doesn’t exist for domestic groups — following the killing of Charlie Kirk.

Sanchez was first indicted in October on charges of “corruptly concealing a document or record” as a standalone case, but the new indictment merges his charges with those against the other defendants, likely in hopes of burying the First Amendment problems with the case against him under prosecutors’ claims about the alleged shooting.

It’s an escalation of a familiar tactic. In 2023, Georgia prosecutors listed “zine” distribution as part of the conspiracy charges against 61 Stop Cop City protesters in a sprawling RICO indictment that didn’t bother to explain how each individual defendant was involved in any actual crime. I wrote back then about my concern that this wasn’t just sloppy overreach, but also a blueprint for censorship. Those fears have now been validated by Sanchez’s prosecution solely for possessing similar literature.

Important information in the first two links and links to follow in the archived article.

I have some things to say.

Broadly, (1) Write To Des, donate to legal funds and be there for those persecuted and hurting. And (2) recognize and go forward in the clear knowledge that this is only the same ultimately childish game of society in which there is no “Win” except the erasure of or escape from the entire nonsensical game. There is no prize, and there is no point but to be silent, spiritually and intellectually neutered slaves. The subtext of the entire experience is to underline either a disregard or an embrace of affirming oneself and loved ones as greater than any of it. It is bound with something transcendent, but by no means strictly religious or even “spiritual”. It is simply a sense that we were propagandized and advertised away from, it is simply a nerve that was tackled and beaten out of us since childhood. It is a “Hope” beyond the many marketplaces of Hope™ that is always threatened with burial in the bitter landfills of sun-faded, bleached plastic political promises.

Laws generally are stupid as fuck. They are all incompatible with a genuinely free existence because they are never clear indications of an obvious harm being met with an obvious solution. Often, laws enable harm and abuse. The object of this case in particular is to mutilate the longstanding constitutional law for everyone in order to make an example of people like Des, in order to continue to falsely call itself a “constitutional democratic republic”. It is the malice of self-styled angelic forces laid out plainly. It is a perfect example of anarchists being correct.

Any problem within a community, a household or a network of friend groups that needs addressing would be far, far more effective if there were no absurd sets of decorum to tolerate, no armed representatives of a hostile occupation force to attempt to get a permit from, no absurd set of “Loitering” and “Jaywalking” charges, no legal circuses around what needs bold examination, no need to combat those flagrant acts of zeal within the terms of an unforgiving maze of soul-destroying judicial procession.

Slipping a ban on federally-compliant hemp products into a spending bill because the powers that be will not allow adults to legally enjoy cannabis “because the children“, state legislation trying to ban Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) to impose age-verification systems tied to Peter Thiel’s Palantir blackmail surveillance database (archive.ph) and fighting to criminalize both personal and organized opposition to far-right terrorism in a very, very unflattering display of working to outlaw opposition to fascism. Nothing fascist happening here!

These are all underhanded transgressions on the pursuit of a reasonable human experience. Those who contort and revise the law are not interested in agreeable conditions; they want mindless reverence for the illegitimate stamped “LEGITIMATE”. These are all examples of the state and its power being illegitimate (no matter how officially legitimate), unwanted and frankly never worth respecting or taking seriously. And the state can do nothing but offer stern words or go on to completely prove the point of anarchists. They do not reflect the will of the people they claim to watch over. A friend, a guardian is never positioned in such a way that they are ready to tackle you if you think or speak “The Wrong Way”. They protect absolutely nothing but the coercive demands of gluttonously wealthy comic book villains in real life. They only impose cultural spectacles encouraging investment in what slowly tortures and kills those who set the machinery in motion in exchange for a fractional pittance of their total value.

If the state was genuinely necessary, desirable, trustworthy and authentically compatible with wellness and happiness, anarchists would simply be seen as vocal challengers of what the state should adapt to, not imminent threats purely on the merit of voicing critical observations. But it is always us working-poor folk who are forcefully adapted to the injuries arising from state power, all anarchist rebuke dismissed, unheard or, as we find ourselves now, in the iron sights of criminalization. After everything we’ve endured being buried by more shit to endure, after all the lives and land stolen, there’s always a couple spare daggers for the pork chops to jam into us. And if we don’t sit pretty and take our pain without flinching, we get time added, demerits stacked and privileges/”rights” thrown away.

We want control over our lives that is uninterrupted by the petty dictates of any self-righteous bag of shit with a badge, a presidential seal or a swastika made of the stripes of the flag of the so-called United States. Who has power? Who has funding? Who has committed acts of aggravated brutality for months on end in broad daylight? Who has a whole crybully media defense apparatus who will deflect responsibility onto those rightly responding to abhorrent acts of kidnapping, scapegoating and clear and present SS activity?

Are we supposed to ceaselessly rebuke the lies our eyes have supposedly spawned? And yet everything will be stoically chuckled away with claims of “Soros money” just like every pale “American” monkey has been trained to do. Say the special acronym, regurgitate the same moronic, nakedly false assertions, piss and shit when the reality beyond the circlejerks isn’t pampering your white entitlement.

Anarchists have never had the luxury of struggling with persecution. The nature of our intellect effortlessly invites ill-willed scrutiny, “Gotcha” politics and the birth of criminalizing exceptions to the First Constitutional Amendment. Active respect of the First Amendment is up to state actors, not me. I am not bound down by the bullying of someone misusing an allegedly sacred office; if I as an anarchist am “wrong” to feel and think as I do — do not rush to simply prove my every point. Prove me wrong. But they are perfectly incapable of this by the observable nature of their duties.

Des very clearly also had, as admitted into evidence, A CRITIQUE of insurrection as a strategic tendency. And while the parameters of First Amendment protections make no respect toward any articulation of ideas — be they in agreement or disagreement with insurrection — the parameters of the kind of bullshit that the prosecutors are trying to set up are themselves indicted by their own “evidence” of a complete non-crime.

What we see is simply a cluster of panicked, opportunist totalitarians wanting to nuke and pave the possibility of an untethered, self-organized, local DIY press, of unconstrained publishing efforts, of all associations and periodicals of dissent — whatever -ist or -ism is attached that does not give a sloppy, impassioned rimjob to the existing regime.

Ideas are screamed at, told to be strictly bound to the level of uninspired rags like the many imps of Condé Nast. But our ideas, set in choice type, stamped in defiant black ink, are not timid finches in gilded cages for show. Ours are hawks, are ravens that swoop above the valleys of slow suicides, above the spires of thought-disabling, soul-sacrificing greed; who issue their sharp calls that accuse the whole confederation of timid herds of culpability in the descent of any freed human vitality. We die by submission to stupid self-sanctity left forever unchallenged. We die by flawed systems given over to more malicious hands hitherto unforeseen.

The demand is for the potency of dissent to go away. But dissent is a human reaction to a highly sterilized, depersonalized set of institutions that systematically atomize human potential. The two are necessarily at odds; there is no precedent for this to be resolved except with a vital, social readjusting, with or without the state. The human, the vast ciphers of their aspirations, joys and creativities are not able to be computed by any state. Nor should they ever be. The state is definitively the collective force behind evisceration of not simply “Rights,” but of freedoms beyond the confines of any social body: of Freeness. The individual, the people, the international bearers of the world of extracted wealth must never be allowed to be made the bad guys. We are ultimately the check, and every officeholder is ultimately the subject-in-check. Never, FUCKING NEVER allow that to be flipped.

There will come a time when the executive, in a fit of desperation, moves to terminate all constitutional protections. In that moment, the illusion of sacred rights will fall apart when suddenly no respect is afforded from those who imbued it with power, if any, to anyone who truly mattered in the context of what truly matters.

Then what? What will become of the perception of the anarchist position? Would they continue to look like the bad guys with their black hoodies, punk patches, free literature and free vegan food compared to the fully kitted-out goon squads of a pedophile protection racket? Or will most people from the lower income neighborhoods who move the very society that disposes of them take a moment to consider and conclude “Maybe they had a point”?

If feds sincerely did not suck — if the feds’ job was not, in the sum truth, to be the high tech stormtroopers of misery’s brutal, systematic entrenchment by elite capital ventures, anarchists would have gone extinct along with the vitality of the Industrial Workers of the World some 100+ years ago. If feds were not tight-lipped nazis in their usual dress shirt plus Kevlar vest get-up under Biden, going on to be freed of all shame in being a nazi under “President” Dump, there would probably also not be starvation due to any evil GOP fuckery with food assistance, lone wolf murders of health insurance CEOs (made obsolete by single-payer insurance) or a mounting popular embrace of everything that Dump wants to designate as the equivalent of “terrorist acts” (that are labeled as “completely okay” when ICE commits them in front of daycares on weekday mornings.) It took 308 days — 10 months and 4 days — for Dump to popularize support for anti-fascist critique. Nicely done. Thank you.

This is all one massive arsenal of childish reactions to the thoroughly appropriate reactions to life forcefully made to suck and be unenjoyable. Forget each instance of documented cruelties by hugless kissless ICE pork, forget the gross toxicity of everything to do with everything since November 2024, forget every infuriating failure in pursuing harm reduction that got us here. None of it is new phenomena aside from the dates.

I never lived if I only died a victim of my era, too hesitant to spit or sing aloud, defiantly. I want to be alive, wander, write, laugh, lounge and flourish in a life after the state and capital, in a flexible balance of well-earned camaraderie and well-earned solitude. If that serene, clear-headed want, adjusted per every highlight in history, makes me “dangerous”, even though there is actually no record attached to me whatsoever, no desire to foment dangerous carnage on my part, I guess I am only dangerous to strategic stupidity. Which is, in truth, the greatest recent cause of violence, of social terror. If the state will not deal with this terror crisis, and instead embolden it, the anarchists, the autonomous formations of friends, neighbors and volunteers must answer the call as firefighters to the hopeless blaze. We have to resituate ourselves as those who steer the loads of our endurance, the nature, the practice of our resolve. Otherwise, what else is there?

I am quite dangerous, yes. An imminent threat, even. But to no direct, flesh-and-blood target, in the default, where not threatened with immediate, immense pain or immediate, coercive constraint. I and my friends are only threats to a vast array of hypnotisms, of ornate but ultimately empty constructs, of phantoms, that has made a section of flesh-and-blood persons into fools, given those fools badges, guns and batons, made those fools curse and crucify the transcendent features of flesh-and-blood human siblings as impediments to the easy swipes at careerist “glory”, with no serious thought of any future judge, any future jury.

It’s almost as if anarchists are opting for what distinguishes and describes the origins of desperation, of what human-scale solutions are tenable, if daring, rather than defaulting to those pre-planned failures of official party efforts cheering for change, running their courses, making disappointment and heartbreak everyday fixtures of this pitiful excuse for “Life”.

It’s almost like when you compress all of human life into the pressure cooker of the structural designs of predatory sociopaths, mandating that everyone can only play by their rules or be fucked forever, everything is bound to blow. And when it Does Blow, it isn’t the case that “suppressing with deadly force” is going to magically overwrite the facts of being wrong, being a rightly reviled force of Death and a stain on the notion of “service” Forever. “Service”, in the highest ideal rendering, should foremost include service to those who themselves provide service (a root grievance at the heart of anarchism even existing!) “Imposed submission” should not even be at the bottom of the list. Again: stop proving our point.

If the state doesn’t want anarchists to consistently win on the face-to-face, human-scale of addressing basic needs that build the base for greatness and potential for every person, devoid of hate, propaganda and imposed divisions and borders, they need to stop handing anarchists opportunities to be the truly likable ones.

Y’all cannot be mad at anyone but yourselves, in the end. Look at all the shit you’ve sown, all for the exciting promise of a cushy life — spoiled by the stress of conscience (or the stress of ignoring, running from it.) It sucks being brought back down to Earth, doesn’t it? Knowing that all your efforts to ascend and lord over humanity like we’re just foreign ants to be commanded and abused for sport will always feel the shock of cold water from the same reality that anarchists were only trying to enumerate. To word in such a way that every possible person could understand, without proselytizing or conversion, and be worth being friends with.

What a sad, fake ass bunch of grown-up make-believe we’ve descended into wrestling with. We should be so much better than any of this.

Why I Don’t Recognize Trans Day Of Remembrance Anymore

It’s hard to traffic inside a world that has a special sad day (Nov 20) set aside to recognize the fact that white supremacist patriarchal gender dictates literally victimize people to death every day. Amidst a casual tidal wave of state terror disappearing people based on skin color, origin and documentation status, it’s disheartening to look at a global paradigm where life-threatening violence is ritualistically cried over and never directly confronted and rooted out; only made its own little affirming societal alcove to leave flowers and candles in to remember the ones we failed to be there for in one sense or another. The most that ever happens is an impassioned protest. But once shit gets real, as in physical conflict, everyone becomes outraged and apparently surprised, unprepared, losing all sense of immediate cohesion to individually save their asses, lose ground and ultimately waste time and energy.

And here among the predetermined failures of “Community”, we suddenly need a vulnerable peace-police candlelight vigil for dead trans people generally in the lost specifics of strangers’ lives, in the dismal, banal terror of cost, hustle and protecting one’s body. Like it’s a regular conflict zone. Because it very evidently is. Everywhere.

I won’t mark Nov 20 as anything special to me ever again because I realize now that it’s just useless ritual mourning relegated to a day that removes responsibility from ourselves. We decide our world. We decide what happens every year. We decide how much more hopeless the hollowed-out carcass of life becomes. And I decide for myself on non-involvement, on negative taunts toward this bullshit “occasion”; because to simply select a day to come together and cry, without paying mind to those of us whose hearts and wills are slipping away because of everyone’s uncreative, wavering wilting into despair and false gestures of disempowered begging merely called “power”, without anyone having a clue of who they are failing is only to surrender at a snail’s pace and brag about it not being that of a turtle.

It is mourning not simply of friends and loved ones, but of oneself: of one’s capacity not merely for happiness or contentment in one’s home or in public spaces – but of all thinkable agency over greater conditions. It’s the reverence of no-win situations and the obedience to the fear that make them possible. It’s the suicidal transgression against bravery and nerve existing in each of us. It’s peace-police opposition to stepping up and standing on business. It’s popular transfeminine pathological dysphoric fear of using body power for the possibility of receiving transmisogynist rebuke, of complaints of “being too masculine”, (you know, because “real women” just let their asses get beat). It’s transmasculine people working to meet the moment how they can while enduring the weird perception of them that cis male/cis woman + trans female centric society holds. It’s surrender to the bullshit because being truly effective in destroying it is an inconvenience to livestreaming video games and other miserable, prioritized forms of wasting hours unproductively coping and chasing compliments that are endemic to the “community” I happen to only be in the outer vicinity of.

Me being trans does not make me a default proud member of the “trans community”. I’m trans, so I’m going to say it and stand on it. That “community”, while harboring perfectly innocent individuals, is brimming with unbalanced, unoriginal weirdo opportunists passing themselves off as role models or fixtures of envy or edgy bullshit. Not because they are trans, not because they endure what I do, but because those sections of trans individuals have no care to put any basic courteous clothing over their childhood traumas, Mommy/Daddy problems, obsession with control, obsession with self-image, obsession with either playing coy enough or being asinine enough to get a nibble of some new accessory to their irreparably fractured, miserable lives. I don’t care about your mental-emotional bullshit. Stop wearing it on your sleeve. I’m not obligated to take that as currency for love and sympathy. Go away. Go become the better you, possessing a focused mind and a humbled forward-facing demeanor that joins the appropriate flares that make you you. Or remain in what graves of beds you’ve chosen. I’m not obligated to throw a funeral for your heart every waking day. Nor am I obligated to encourage you to rot where you weep. I encourage you to Rise!

Separating all of these people who happen to be trans from all of those people who are trans, who are genuine and who go about life with no ulterior impulse — we should filter out the former to maximize every instance of the latter. This is to inspire spiritual sobriety, not in the religious sense but in the base instinct of having self-worth to earn and struggle to temper potential. The instinctual inheritance to exalted life, to wordless screams of ecstasy, to irreducible organic perfection without taxonomy.

I’m not going to sit here and lie and say that being gender non-conforming just automatically makes you a worthwhile person. We wade through an ample sea of self-important twenty to fifty year-old children to find those gems of living beings who know what’s up without boast or beg. And, no, I’m not going to be nice. That’s not how things change. I’m not going to be nice to an infectious mindset of self-absorbed terror, of reflexive running away from what fucks with us. I’m not interested in making smol bean cowards approve of my logic. I’m interested in actually getting free from transphobic violence, and ultimately from the systems of gender/sex caste entirely. Along with the state, the economy, the society, the civilization, the intelligible, the herd, and so forth. Whether or not you are prey to these is strictly in your hands.

All my inner circle of friends are gender non-conforming, are trans in one sense or other. But they did not earn places in my inner circle because they are trans. Some I had known and loved before they came to realize themselves as who they really are. Trans existence is something that is understood — that is not necessarily a common trait as friendly persons — between two learned, insightful people who understand life as unique ambitions and the material doings that surround them. It should not be a point of circlejerking to understand that people need to be who they really are.

People cannot be up each other’s asses about every little fucking thing around that basic understanding. I hate the cheeky reductive discourse. I hate the casual and militant medicalism. I hate the uninspired rebuke. I hate the self-loathing, the cultural mockery of bigotry without simply curb stomping it. A series of cliques is not a community. A network of insular feedback loops is not motivation for anything with potential for liberation. If we understand that reality is constructed and revised over time in tandem with culture, language and custom, we must also understand that exploited paranoia in angry, ignorant people will be something that needs proactive dealing with.

Meanwhile, all the counter-cliques of edgelords in the Bay Area and PNW will distribute zines with the same basic gist as me. They will enumerate grand negations or grand visions that miss my basic, everyday nausea with those who claim to represent me, a willful stranger to all their DIY politics. They will only be the goth cousins of the cottage core polyamorous parent activists “holding space for xyz”, et cetera ad infinitum. Shut the fuck up. Do something more fruitful and effective outside of lighting a candle, celebrating your religiously anti-firearm toothlessness and permanently seeking redemption in trendy attention whoring.

Not everyone is going to be friends, and nobody is entitled to ego-coddling. Be real about your problems, follow them to their roots and apply the solution that is obvious.

And you know what? I’m going to get shit for this, but people die. Weeping and doing art is not going to resurrect people. Stamping out the origin of these attacks, these killings is all we can go forward with.

People die of all sorts of shit that we can only begin to tackle in finding our bravery, our nerve. They die of the sour, overwhelming intrinsic self-mutilating emptiness that an irresponsible nothing of this alienated, soulless pseudo-individualism has solidly invaded our lives with since September 11, 2001, that has wiped away all remaining commons, all affordable or gratis third spaces, all incentive to wander around and meet people, all relaxed inclination to embrace the diverse nature of human life, all endearing humbleness to find oneself at home in that – to see every smiling face as that of a new friend. They die of everything around that central, basic pillar. Life is fucking dogshit and not worth living at the current rate. ARE WE GOING TO STRIVE TO CHANGE THAT? OR ARE WE JUST GOING TO CONTINUOUSLY INVENT NEW COMBINATIONS OF WORDS TO EXPRESS OUR GRIEF, GOING INDIGNANT INTO YET ANOTHER DAY OF HOPING SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT – BUT NEVER ACTUALLY IS?

You know what can be tackled right now into its grave? The warped, rotten mentality of fucking with other people who aren’t fucking with you – all because they’re different from you. That millennia-old mind virus has been hurting for a concerted and effective opposition all its life. But until those who show up to mourn the deaths of innocents across All Walks Of Life take up arms effectively and act how they’re supposed to — especially now with state sanctioned terrorists engaging in domestic skirmishes in US neighborhoods — nothing will change. Only for the worse.

And maybe the establishment and cushy DIY politicians alike want it that way.

Maybe big tech would collapse if trans people with a knack for information technology went on the offense. But will they be able to live without their digital idols, without their Twitch subscriptions and their stupid fucking Discord Nitro?

Our sorrows, our losses, our anger, our resolve is not containable in any day.

The entire paradigm of Days and Weeks and Years is my enemy. The entire expectation to ask for approval or wait for a politician to be “brave” is my prey.

I will kill it as I have killed god in myself, as I will kill god before the eyes of my wealthy and internally unwell persecutors.

I will reach for the Eternity that my unperturbed agency affords.

It should not be so that “my own people” make me fucking sick.

Nothing less than feral, unelaborated slaughter of all caste, of all caste-makers is my unwavering ambition.

Nothing less than the crazed galloping out from the confines of every imaginable herd will illuminate the hateful, creative pyres on which that old, unwanted world is made ashes in the secluded fields of my spirit, in the overhead crossfires and barricades of the streets of hells to come.

Under The Bottom Of Hell – So-Called “America” Is Not Okay

Content Warning for basically just the worst things ever.

I’m fucking tired.

I don’t think that there is an adequate introductory sentence. How can there be? The whims of cis white men rule everything around me, and all I got are my words and my hollow points if they’re needed for the safety of my person. I simply cannot believe the reflexive urge to mangle reality — to pick up and abandon asserted values, when convenient — that drives every single thing that the far-right takes up. I cannot believe it, but I am looking at it.

After making “Transgender” a more common word in their vocabulary than in my own (a trans woman), after performing mental and moral gymnastics with making single mothers go hungry to feed their children during the longest GOP-driven government shutdown in US history, after reacting to the first NYC Mayoral victory to be won by a Muslim American with utterly atrocious and absurd AI-generated racist and transphobic caricatures on par with Volksfront or National Alliance literature, after taking Every Single Opportunity to worsen the quality of life for hardworking people in this genocide enabling colonial occupation of indigenous land, their latest mission is this: downplay child rape.

Just read or listen to Megan Kelly’s words circa November 12-13 where she states that, Quote, “There’s a difference between a fifteen-year-old and a five-year-old”, Unquote, in the wake of a small batch of Epstein emails being released, already laying bare so-called “President” Dump’s involvement in the Epstein crime ring, with an extended trove of documents and potentially images and video yet to be opened up. Read or listen to Ben Shapiro training his listeners to pre-accept the worst possible revelations in the future, to act utterly foolish as if that is supposed to make documented evidence of crimes against children excusable. Just sit back and take in the fact that Mike “Grindr” Johnson has blatantly obstructed the swearing in of Arizona Rep.-elect Adelita Grijalva for seven (7) weeks because she was to be the final vote on the petition to move to release the Epstein files that attorney general Pam Bondi said she had on her desk months ago — until it suddenly got too real for the Cheeto in chief and magically stopped being important to this “government”.

The very same people who made it their lives’ mission to paint every single trans person as a predator will either, in time, (1) advocate for a lower legal age of consent and for the expunging of favored sex offenders’ criminal records, or (2) remove themselves from the orbits of these OBVIOUS SNAKES and try to genuinely find Jesus (who embraces every immigrant, every refugee, every child of god) or whatever spiritual avenue calls to them. Whatever gets them away from complicity in covering up heinous and structured sex crimes.

You have automatically lost any and all argument when you express a compulsion to say “Wait a minute” when moving to deal with someone who has objectively defiled and robbed innocence from those too vulnerable to fight for themselves. This is exactly the primary operating process of Republicans in 202x, worse now than it had ever been. “Deny until you can’t, then use Jedi mind control powers on the media to change ‘reality’ so it says that what happened isn’t really bad.” There is no limit on this. This applies to everything. Not the collapse of this country’s agriculture to try to satisfy the disappearing and deportation quotas, not the lost energy of hungry single moms, not the brutalization of the unhoused, not the downward spiral of the economy can perturb the core motivation of the regime. This is the protective cocoon on the whims, on the dopamine IV drip of cis white men exemplifying whatever the fuck the “Crisis Of Masculinity” is. All the more reinforced if they have any measure of power. This is, as US Marines would say in Vietnam, when their units were lured into NLF ambushes, “old as Custer”. Dumps being the Cheeto in chief for an additional term is simply the final nail having been pounded into the coffin. January 20 2025 was the day that a hammer was ringing out, finishing the course of the last mortifying nail. America has wholly dissolved; liberals who hate Dumps need to abandon their 18th century ideology. Forget the name. Forget all the romance of Americana. Forget the rustic visual and olfactory qualities of rural Pennsylvania barns. Forget the nice queer-owned coffee shop in the downtown of this small Kentucky town. Forget the places where miners intent on union business fired back on West Virginia National Guard in defense of their claim to the total worth of their own labor. Forget Sharples, Jeffrey, Blair. Forget WWI poison gas munitions dropped on workers to defend capital’s gluttony. Forget whatever has softened those barbs in the wire of this perfect failure in everything but slaughter and theft. I spit on every last scrap of it! Because it teaches Americans that our suffering exists to be eased by an eventual, outside liberator. It teaches Americans to not themselves self-liberate.

The Republicans would be the first group of powerful people to actually recognize the category of “”””””””Minor-Attracted Person (MAP).”””””””” No conservative may ever vocalize the name of trans and queer people in Any Context EVER AGAIN. Ours remains light-years upon light-years removed from everything that conservatives are right up against, who are so accustomed to lying, projecting and mangling reality, that the neon pink ooze of 1990s postmodernism could not dream of being so boldly self-reflexive. The tendency against so-called “President” Dumps may perhaps be the resolution to the decades-old postmodern exile of the human heart.

We should pursue Victory for the underdogs, Victory for Sense, for Reason, for sincere discussion that is held together by reality, by a popular, quasi-communal education around the vast nuances in life, by a coming together of the learned and the curious that makes level ground of what used to be dreadfully rocky terrain. We should offer friendly, accessible resolutions to those quarters, halves or majorities of lifetimes worth of confusion, always denying the poison of strategic muddling in order to pit poor working people against one another. But what do we get? More weights added to us. We are always told to suffer in this country. There is no limit on what we are tasked with carrying. The naive among us are hypnotized by unqualified “leaders” repeating the mantra that we just have to tough it out. But if one singular billionaire, if one gaggle of donors is not sated by the eighth private jet — everything has to stop to correct the hiccups in the national priority.

Why is that Not readily understood as a paradigm worth dismantling, discarding with prejudice, indeed with Ultimately justified violence? The same way the paradigm of The Colonies was thrown off? Why are that paradigm’s laws necessary to obey, when they only lead you off solid ground, off the edge of the remaining cliff sides of sense? We have now on one hand the permanent saturation, the ever-mounting metastasizing of what Robert Frank named “Richistan” in his 2007 book. And on the other, we have the Provisional United States that Cap. John Brown was tasked with bringing to ascent. Whatever it could have been — it wasn’t. And in the tragedy of him and his company lies the only possible flame to kindle for whatever in the FUCK this country was hoped to be, by all who risked their lives in pursuit of unmitigated freedom as it was conceivable then. In that righteous falling of so many sturdy Oaks, if any seeds were shed, those who will not leave this land out of shame and disgust will have to be the saplings.

Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them; and them which suffer adversity, as being yourselves also in the body. [Hebrews 13:3]. Therefore all things whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do you even so to them. [Matthew 7:12] What a destitution of whatever heart that white American “Christians” claimed to have abandoned these verses. What a sobering cause of Christ’s weeping.

I know that a lot of Americans are regrettably stupid. They are driven almost exclusively by “My side is the best!” football game-style politics, not by what is parsed through a sincerely mature understanding. White Americans have been trained to keep the baubles of an Anglo-Saxon rendering of an Abrahamic “god” around their neck, who is never actually understood or read into, so that notions of hypocrisy and projection remain filtered out of their minds while they smile ear to ear during their on-stage praise for harassing trans teenagers in Arkansas or black poll workers when a vote did not go their way. They have been instructed to do evil in the name of temporarily sating their manufactured fear, up until the next crisis needs useful idiots. They are externalizing what rages within, as Sam Seder puts it on his Friday Nov 14 show.

But somewhere in a corner of my heart, I understand that an almost equal amount of Americans are seeking something beyond all this.

There are fragments of an innocence, pieces that managed to survive: there are religious grandfathers and grandmothers in rural areas who are rethinking their priorities in the wake of the news that their trans granddaughter has taken her own life. There are farmers who are voicing their deep sense of betrayal in a very meat-and-potatoes set of terminology. There are struggling families who see the $40 Billion bailout to the “anarcho-” capitalist dictator of Argentina as a bucket of ice water on whatever their understanding of their place in the world was. There are quiet neighbors learning to make spike strips and do effective dearresting as they watch their immigrant neighbors being brutally disappeared. There are scholars, academics, lawyers and retired public servants walking people through the historical precedent of this kind of hubris working in tandem with totalitarian characteristics, walking them through the historical responses to these. There are a whole range of grassroots efforts in education, skill sharing, book clubs, gun clubs, overlapping social circles, faith gatherings and so forth. And right now, that is about all that we can hold to. That is all we can try to foster, to nourish into a better, actual understanding that can go on to be practiced. An understanding that can be refined in every individual, always ready to make the divergent move, taken to initiate the shift that would see other autonomous people in agreement.

I hate what aptly refers to the word “America”. Anglo-rapist bloodshed. Multi-pronged theft of what is precious, land and peace in symbiosis, from an asserted “Inferior”. A dishonest verbosity that praises violent impositions, righteous herd redemption and tautological babbling asserting, at least, an eternal shrugging every possible thing off without a genuine care. I hate it. I hate the attitude that encapsulates all of it in the daily cheapness of everyone’s life. It is prudent and forever worth celebrating to see it banished. That does not make it so that I should also hate every possible American. The land is different from the plantation. The friendly neighbor is different from the mental and spiritual poltergeists.

I want, with the fullness of my sorrowed rage — with all the doubt a heart can hold, with all the resignation to the winds that a soul can withstand — a sea of friendly, humble faces who go onto save us all. Every one of those faces being the fabric of Turtle Island’s sensitive, stalwart and beautiful inhabitants. And whether they embark on that common mission for freedom with me at the other side of the Atlantic, or doing so with me among their numbers, that mission must be taken up in such a way that it cannot fail. In such a way that the gravity of the unwavering character of human-driven resolution to the decades, the centuries of hubris and abuse will find itself affirmed: carried by the cosmic affirmation due to every good-spirited vagabond, to every redneck with a Teddy bear’s heart, to every queer and trans person afraid of being seen and spoken to, to every agrarian homesteader, every neighbor in the commune greeting a new dawn.

A book needs to come out after all of this. The Man Who Aimed For The Sun And Spun Out Of Control In Front Of All Our Eyes For Over A Decade. One of the last four chapters needs to be titled How The Cult Members Sprained Their Souls Contouring To Their Daddy-King’s Newspeak. I won’t write it, because Michael Mann style Washington DC insider drama is not my métier. That belongs to someone far better. But I hope to read it before I reach the end of my life.

I will reiterate this until I die. And even after, my words will sit where they will to hold the matter plain to unearth: I am not a self-identifying leftist. I went from being a conservative grooming victim → edgy centrist → edgy social liberal → slightly less edgy left-curious seventeen-year-old → humbled social anarchist eighteen-year-old who reread The Conquest of Bread and found it less heartwarming than before → nineteen to twenty-one-year-old post-left anarchist without adjectives going on to transition → whatever the hell I could care to be called now. My personal history as an anarchist comes out of the left. It does not die with the left. My not-being a leftist is not borne from dislike for “Identity politics” (quite mistakenly construed as a perfectly detached sphere from class politics with no intersection) or a disagreement with economic models (I hate all economies equally). The political spectrum we know now is modeled such that it follows the seating arrangement from the French revolution. The anarchist, no matter how persistently the passionate misunderstanders conflate them, can only at most dip into the social revolution insofar that it does not make her out to be another enemy when she rejects the new militant commandments and all their anti-individual belonging, that it does not strain to capture her in the “Right”, “Left”, “Center”, “Fringe”, etc.

I just want all of politics, economy, society, civilization to stop destroying everything worth anything at all. And it seems to me, yet to be disproved, that the only way for that to come about is for all of it to be dispatched in the same manner that the private mercenaries would dispatch us as inconveniences to business. These forces are impediments to life overall.

Edward Snowden, for all his dumb shit, gave us the final chance to directly confront “Turnkey Tyranny”. We did not meet the moment. And now, we kind of just have to find the richest pieces of life left in the going feral of definitively tangible pursuits fermented in the angry desperation that this ornate shit hole generates.

How many more times can we just willfully restrict and compromise ourselves according to how our mortal enemies in suits and uniforms would appreciate? How badly do any of you want to have kids? How many of you worry about bringing new life into a new level of hell on Earth? Well, how about either wrap it up, get yourselves fixed or just Don’t Fuck, and stop fucking up by not participating in the unrestrained furthering of the possibility of life actually being worth it for the first time since civilization was violently spawned?

What I say is said out of sober recognition of reality, not loyalty to whatever is considered “Woke” — return every single square mile of this land back to indigenous peoples or accept that it will be rightly retaken. Surrender in the losing fight of painting capitalism as not the objective failure of every society where it is the sole legal option for the wellness of the working poor populace. Stop saying that bootlicking the state is not in fact bootlicking the state; it is in actuality bootlicking the state, and the state only stands to be the bloody hand that washes the moneyed hand of business and property (I am/we are not as stupid as you). Stop being sincerely and thoroughly FUCKING STUPID in order to feel like you’re a noble crusader. You’re not. Your side is teetering into the most barbaric hog shit ever thinkable. Your side is teetering into the very rotten hog shit that you smeared onto the name of trans people. And now trans people have every fathomable claim to wop your skulls into pieces every chance we get.

If it were a trans woman coming into your churches and interrupting Sunday service declaring that the youth pastor is a predator, it would be stupid of her to not anticipate being severely beaten at best. Why is it different when someone is riding on proven lies and acts of projection?

You need to be humanely captured by a unanimously justified American People, with the same can-do attitude you had in the capture of immigrants. You need to be administered an anarchist therapy. You need an individualized re-education. You need real, fresh food and water. Maybe, frankly, you need to smoke some weed for maybe the first time at least in a while and sob for about an hour. You need this immediate and raw scenario of life repeatedly bitch slapped into you however necessary. And after everything you need, you need to grow up and stand on your feet and accept your guilt, your wrongdoing and your punishment. Otherwise, you’re a pest to this new tide of the living and the kind, the informed and the intentional. The one that IS going to happen, the one that IS going to inherit this Earth, the one that will drive over your bodies to be and to have what it has suffered, sobbed and bled for.

Why are you even alive now? To spiral out? To disappear for two months and come back with a podcast and a book about how Woke didn’t work? The profession of Anglo pick-me “victims” of basic human kindness adapting to contemporary reality and updated bodies of knowledge is to permanently invent excuses for Totalitarian Christendom. And the only response to that? Use your imagination for a routinely punished, routinely dispossessed population who only gets in response “I’ll pray for you.”

(Infrequent publishing Oct-Nov `25 is due to working on longer prose and poetry items. Hopeful for weeks to come.)

On The Laying Bare Of Hushed Screams

Well damn.

Nope. Still not looking good.

But hey — I’m sure it’s all just another ruse from those damned Democrats. Besides, this kind of thing is nowhere near the outlook of Republicans, or of those who simply respect this [particular] so-called president — and no other.

Sarcasm aside: when observing the daily get-up-and go (fueled by whatever nose candy piss drunk Pete has on hand) combined with the weekly panic on the parts of the right, who simultaneously assert Blood and Soil policies here and now while doing the strenuous damage control of being called nazis, one recognizes that all their rhetoric and disregard for checks on power can only continue to highlight their “Shut the fuck up and just believe everything I tell you” attitude about abusing power, fleshing the new example of smash-and-grab “governance”.

The far-right Kleptocrats are the only ones socially ordained to unapologetically do everything that they project onto the left, onto anarchists, onto free and reasonable spirits, onto our elders who understand the orange pig to be the worst living caricature of their country. To challenge this in any way is to invite one’s own disappearing. That should say everything. We legalized comedy for misogynists and frail ego frat dudes, but made it a thought crime for anyone left of far-right. We witness our near and distant multitudes hurry to maneuver a “normal life” within a drastically escalated level of that mythic “normal” that was built on the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008, built on the invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, built on the murder of Fred Hampton, built on the unspeakable rivers of blood in the first decades and centuries of invasion. We see profound hurt treated with the ephemeral balm of “Just get through this week”. We witness a fragile, gold-laden hubris taken in as a sort of noble virtue inside the society of sacred vice. As I write, the White House is being partially leveled in order to make way for a pampered, senile diva’s ballroom that will only be used to woo fellow autocrats and useful idiot oligarchs. (If only it were leveled by the people who endure the present occupants’ decisions for their lives, who endured all prior occupants’ only slightly less forward cruelties.)

We have never seen such naked “Fuck you, I’m going to do whatever I want” mentality having seized false “legitimacy” to impose irrational rules on every level of human collectivity. We take this in — knowing every self-righteous affair of our exterior despots to be the bunk of a fool’s babbling. That is precisely what all this is. Their every spike of anger at our mockery is confirmation. We continue to mock. They continue to confirm. We know mocking and negating to be one, if done properly. We know mockery sets the basis for action: without reserve, without fear, and indeed with a knack for lightheartedness, even in the crossfire.

Because we embody the sincere reality of the human spirit in optimal balance. What they fight for is loyalty to rage, to fear, to hypocritical opulence, to an autocracy founded on these.

From this day onward, we who are intelligent, we who feel decent human feelings, we who absorb insight and adjust ourselves thusly as reasonable beings are inherently, are perfectly vindicated, are entirely correct in every act that sacks these nazi impulses by storm of human beauty.

Yes, by storm of human beauty. By the beautiful swarm of angels here and now among us that compose the ungovernable vibrancy of inherent individual freeness conferred into a common, accessible, chaotically, organically regulated freedom. By every living tendon of the reasoned pursuit of joy and kindness. By every part of the new foundation: not strictly governmental or societal, but of the wounded estate belonging to all who suffered politics brought back to an iteration of life that recognizes its mistakes and commits to its corrections.

In that very light, we understand all heaps of mental and spiritual feces asserted as “Ideas” as unwanted, as impossible to produce general wellness, as intended only to do harm for the satisfaction of zealots. This includes hating people and making up vile mythologies against them because they’re black or brown. It includes subjecting women and feminine people to a bottom rung status. It includes calling people like me a “biological ‘He’ in a dress”, which is flatly incorrect, which makes one look callously ignorant no matter how much of a shit-crusted grin one has on their ugly face. We include in our bundle of items to destroy the notion that mindless submission to an opportunist, reductive collective is the exaltation of the angry individual, no matter what slogan or team sport is calling. We include the notion of a false “Individualism” that simply jingles keys in front of the sad young adult white man, hypnotizing him into either conforming with the approved, easily-recognized “Non-conformity” or committing horrors after publishing another far-right conspiracy theory-addled manifesto.

We intend to reach outside the contrived tangle of smarmy spectacles. We intend to pull its plug. We intend to find our way back to somewhere, if not entirely better, at least workable. And the basic workability has to come from the storm of human beauty if we don’t want another replay later down the road of what’s in front of us right now. The threat of human beauty and of human intelligence can never disappear if it hasn’t been annihilated at this moment.

It still lives. It still sits in its various corners. It can see and hear clearly. It still awaits, it will still act. And it will be correct to do so in whatever form is deemed appropriate. No matter the tantrums of the state, no matter the intense moments of reiterating “necessity” for unchecked unilateral power, it will always be correct and in line with critical reasoning to sink everything held precious to them. When have they ever spared us? Why should we do different? Because we’re supposed to be their little bitches? Fuck all that.

Do it. Sign your millionth executive order saying that people who haven’t stitched their tongues to a senile diva’s asshole are “terrorists”. Go ahead. We’ll just disregard it the same way you all disregard the courts. Oh, but now we’re “terrorists”? Because we go about life, express dissent and associate with broad and specific pursuits in a way that hurts your entitled feelings? And you’re innocent in every heinous deed? Isn’t that just delightful for you! Now watch as none of us obey your made-up dogshit. Watch as your illegitimate terrorist pedophile protector regime begins to slip further and further into the unkind hands of all whom you hurt. Watch as they meet your sudden white man rage bent on controlling everything, bent on making the upsetting mockery go away with responses of perfect negation behind every blade of grass. Everything you do in service to him digs your hole deeper. Everything you’re doing is making it worse in the end. You are without purpose aside from the comfort and amusement of a 79-year-old child. Your every mythic bauble of whiteness and patriarchy will disintegrate in your hands as you are seated in The Hague, if you are so lucky. You know, deep down, that you’re fucking yourselves worse than your daddy ever could. Your adoration of the pedophile in chief will not be there to bail you out of the same consequences of the same bad emotionally-driven choices. When you do malicious things over and over again, the consequences of that are going to bite you back. Consequences don’t give a single solitary fuck if you’re a part of a legitimate government or a part of an illegitimate pedophile protector regime, which you currently are. Time to get yourself right with life. Only you can do that for yourself.

You will not scare and flex your way out of the fact that you are not going to be the ultimate victor in these escalations. You can only escalate, but you will not prove any genuine correctness in doing so. That belongs to the storm of human beauty which deflates every single posture, every grand and petty edict.

Right-wingers constantly want to claim “Fuck Around / Find Out”, but can seemingly never understand themselves in the Fuck Around stage, inviting their own sudden Finding Out. Painfully. This is the story of every autocrat on repeat. He now endeavors to bail out the failed right-wing economic chainsaw of Javier Milei with $40 Billion while the hard work of farmers here goes to waste, while food prices are tripling, while people are feeling the added weight of staying alive.

Is this all supposed to just be duct taped and bandaged as the cruelties dig deeper and expand wider?

Is the expectation that doing the heinous thing over and over again is supposed to produce numb resignation? Because it seems to be producing the opposite.

The second round of “No Kings” protests happened over the past weekend in nearly 3,000 cities across this country. I was elsewhere, trying to nurture my spirit among the woods. I had come home to see the attendance numbers, the various pieces of footage. This encounter on video tickled me greatly. Pissy white men with shit in their pants and in their souls always want to scream slurs and assert nakedly false dominance, but never expect to eat pavement TWICE in the process of chasing down a kid with a skateboard who had righteously yoinked his dumbass glasses. I had never seen someone fall and skid across pavement face first like a cartoon character before. Uncanny embodiment of every far-right endeavor, no matter what short-term tickles of the ego. 150 points to the person wearing the American flag for sweeping his leg the second time. Make this the constant thorn in the side of loyalists to cruelty.

The “No Kings” effort is at best an entry-level stepping stone. It leaves much to be desired in the way of class awareness, of explicit messaging against the poison of white mythology, of inviting participation in truly momentous actions of halting the war machine, the hate machine, the heavy chain of tariffs sinking working people into desolation.

Conservative “men”: you need to stop trying. No, I’m serious. It’s actually deeply emphatic of your panic to look Chad-like, being either incredibly awkward or incredibly confrontational only in situations where your own personal constitution is called into question. You cannot respond like a gentleman on the same footing as your critic or opponent. Everything that you insist is the reality of something, you have to brute force it in such an embarrassing fashion into being adopted as the revision to a longstanding series of commitments, to a body of knowledge clearly not understood, reduced thusly. But embarrassment and naked motives are not a deterrent, because the omnicidal urge has made the conservative “man” throw away his last frayed patch of humanity. Now he wants to be the angry father on a national scale who punishes the citizenry for giggling, thinking freely and speaking boldly.

Tolerance for the repetitive FAILURES of conservative so-called “Ideas” is waning, by and by. The waning of tolerance for malice is certain to have some sway, but everything around that will always be messy. It’s always these “men” who are thoroughly unlovable in every conceivable sense that tantrum for love, for the most heartfelt praise. And it’s always the kindest, most remarkable souls who get used up and thrown away for such scum.

Throw all these snotty entitled bastards the fuck away. They can only be stable in everyone else’s manufactured instability. Good men are gentle and considerate. Good men know that whatever might they have is only valid when it’s used in defense of the innocent and the vulnerable. Good men listen, good men are eager to learn. Good men have a grounding in the average human being. Good men see and are humbled by the basic incentives to be good, to work on oneself, to care, to guide, to grow, to feel.

I still feel somehow that good men in equal partnership with all other people will be there to announce good news from good deeds. It will be the public invitation to build capacity for wellness, to build the commons in tandem with reasoned instincts. It will not come from a ballot in a “free and fair election”. It will come from that storm of human beauty bringing the entire deadly system to its knees in the spontaneous and sustained realization of the free and capable life of agency, of intentional negation, of creative joy, of nourishing kindness, of verifiably necessary confrontation, of building on the basic life lesson to Not Be An Asshole.

At the end of all this, right-wingers will break down sobbing and pleading for mercy if they haven’t killed everyone they can before they killed themselves. They will storm ahead here and now with the chest-beating, with what tools and technologies they have at hand. And it will suck, and people will be hurt.

But it will push the extremes to where the opposing logics are finalized beyond tension, where only one remains.

We inhabit the most nauseating absurdity. The conditions for guerrilla seizure of joy and wellness are perfect. And in that event, whenever it is, the participants will be authentically correct to make hideous MAGA bimbo wives grip their pearls under white knuckles under bad spray tans when they hear that their secretly gay or bi husbands in all the branches of this coup were taken in by a people’s justice. Everyone will be correct to celebrate and to spit in the faces of the sad and furious.

But has the bone-deep gash of domestication put us out of the fight? If it has, then one can lie back and let it all tear them apart. “Nothing matters” taken to completion. But as long as there’s a chance that it hasn’t, that tension will remain. Those muted calls to a new nazism will be amplified so they can be soundly dispatched.

Food stamp benefits are now halted for November this year. Hunger and the desperation that produces violence is going to turn up the temperature. How is the fever to finally break? How is the human soul to be nourished after these routine sets of horrible mistakes are all brought to their end?

We answer these in our every negation.

I Will Still Be Joyful

Stay your ideals. Let pockets of certainty, ripped by the uncompromising, boastless embodiment of courageous discard for external validation drop precious preconfigured blood diamonds of responses. Let sudden speechlessness be the only immediate enlightenment.

Let strained fingers finally slip, abandoning sharp edges of a hallucinated rock of “What is great. What is worth dying for.” Whatever must be died for is nothing at all. If that is all you have, if that is all you care to have, you yourself were never anything at all.

Do not recoil from this fall. Do not tremble at this suspense in air, this remove from the emotional magnetism toward some “survival” — better or the hated same — that Hope merely teases. Let this hopeless plummet off the existential cliffside find you and kiss your heart, intoxicating it with the fresh taste of that obscured freeness you had outwardly renounced yet secretly peaked into in the course of clinging to what’s been told to you as an uneasy, doe-eyed child — destined to grow into a comically unbalanced, disempowered individual roaming the wastes of whatever seems “true enough” in tandem with the rhythms of minor to acute delusions of domestication and colonialism.

Let dying flames here go out for better blazes there, at dimensions and sunrises only now unknown.

* * * *

I sit away from the rest.

I sit away from the last hurrah of the last “Real” individual. I sit away from the last charge of ardent yet ineffectual “Bravery”. I sit away from the last “human right,” the last hazy loophole in the social contract that those who signed on by being born will dig up later in life, hurrying to cash it in for an escape hatch.

No martyr’s extolling of any sacred document will resurrect the old normal. No velvet color of republics, monarchs or deities is going to cover up the red and gray of this present existence. The red of fresh kills’ blood. The gray of imposing confinement, of spiritual slavery made starkly material. Sterile scent of new systems with timeless themes. Everyone trying to be and breathe being the “crybully”, the “terrorist”, everyone but the crybullies in office.

Defense being war. Justice being vengeance. Revise and cement, to never ever ever revise to cement again. “Promise”.

No color I bleed or believe in is going to wash and compact the gunshot wounds.

So many letters stitched into words stitched into phrases stitched into sentences stitched into grand paragraphs of eloquent appraisal and conclusion, written from both the comfortable halls of academia and in the confines of global penitentiaries. So many handwritings as brushing upon the cosmos of affinity. So many degrees of dissent meeting one another. So many obstacles to learn from, to recover from, if at all. So many acquaintances looking across the room at each other. Speechlessness has not yet become their enlightenment. Not the way it did so effortlessly before.

I crumble inward by the strained contemplation of those unappreciated sacrifices, those correct instinctual self-affirmations put away out of fear. Of brother Lingg proclaiming through a blasted jaw: “Hoch… hoch… hoch die anarchie!” His broken voice of unbroken instinct, of undying resolve resonating through my spirit. The raising of a light by brother Most, his pointing at the clear and evident judicial butchery, only to later fail himself. And me.

Old ancestors, scared and prone to error, will never be the sole saving grace. We are living through their protracted mistake of becoming polite. We are only barely reckoning with our purpose to be better than them. It is only barely discernible through the haze of social blinders. Brilliance springing up from below had drowned the sumptuous world of brutal hubris a million times over, but it was left completely undisturbed. The nuclear blasts coming from the “plenary power” of the “president” became casually integrated into congress, the senate and the supreme court. Those dissident fireworks of the correctly angry gatherings of people are captured and edited to be The Worst Extremist Threat To Our Amazing And Wonderful New Jesus Kid Rock Christ Fascism.

Were other people’s speeches and zines capable of surpassing the ballot, the liberal pussy hat march, the cinematic imagination of the riot-to-be, the mutiny, the whole awful social storm — I would never have pinned the level of urgency to anything I say that I already have. I would be tending land up North, never to look at a screen or an item of news again. But here I am, sorting my words, dying a little more knowing all the while that I basically only add to the same thing I talk passionately about surpassing. Surpassing that. Surpassing that.

How all this culture was built on “surpassing” while always staying the same static same. How the counter-cultures, built on actually surpassing, were only intended to stray at a certain distance where a line of [profitable] engagement with the mainland of misery can be tenable. And then there’s whatever me and my friends are, wandering the clearcuts of innocence, of sincerity.

Don’t misread me. Don’t imagine me as being blissfully detached, comfortable in my armchair made of highlights from books nobody cares about while the masters of this planet impose death on everything in reach. An honest picture of me at this time is one scene of sobbing put beside another of staring off into the nearing descent. A minuscule highlight, a negligible snippet at the bottom of a chuckle at something morbid. Fade back to staring, flicking that dead nerve ending of Hope when I can’t see myself being anything to my loved ones. Until their tears at my sorrow slap me out of it.

I’m in the same boat, and somehow I’m “fine”.

I’m “fine” while friends of friends are shooting holes out of their skulls.

I’m “fine” while social circles are disintegrating under strained paranoid terror.

I’m “fine” while we all run around in the same cartoonish circuits waiting for the leftist rapture.

I’m “fine” while new bottoms are invented hourly to replace the several thousand already spent.

I’m “fine” while trendy distractions operate and adapt undisturbed.

I’m “fine” while snotty disengagement is the prescribed treatment. Or something about counting and breathing.

I make no pretense of never having been moved as a [naive] human being by everything prefacing now: the race for the oval after Obama, the concerns, the burgeoning culture war machine, the pundits, the endless feed of speculation, the routine go-around of community organizers, curious progressives, Marxist-Leninists, council communists, autonomists, anarchist communists; insights and “insights”. The expectation for Bernie to take it. Archival film reels, clever samples in morose punk albums after it all falls apart. I was absorbed in this, navigating with a working flow of good faith uncertainty, of being the kid savant in the underground candy store, building whatever my properly matured flow was to be, meeting any moment I could.

And that very fact, that very memory of the intensity of getting lost in it all, of impassioned conversations, of readings of words last announced by someone else a hundred years ago, chasing something nowhere to be seen but equally beneath every grain of dirt, was what used me up, spat me out and left me with the one or two blunt lessons that only some get to be sobered by. What so many arrogantly intellectualize away from. What my dead heroines eluded to.

That standing alone in the inner mists, somewhere beyond the flashbangs, rubber bullets and live rounds. That was a greater enlightenment than mere speechlessness. That moment of stark social tension failing to cause me any inner tension. The brutality making perfect sense from either side, seeing and knowing that one side punishes the other’s free pursuit of life. That was my wholehearted, instinctual negation. My conscious self-affirmation: that my anarchy is no careful jigsaw puzzle of stances on issues, modifications and optics. My anarchy is no personal placement in any imagined spectrum. My anarchy is neither a grand, explosive perfection nor is it a modest carrying on of What Was under some satisfying banner of pseudo-anarchism. My anarchy is no technical correspondence with something outside.

My anarchy is my unspeakable life force. My anarchy is my decision for me alone. And whatever my life force breathes into being, whatever my decisions for me inspire, let them be so. I will stir nothing about them, but make my few comments — if any — and be gone. I understand that this is the sum nature of it all.

Those who draw some other careful portrait of anarchy are simply full of shit. They are full of ornate emotional structures riveted by ideology, proudly passed around as Beliefs, to which all are obliged to kneel before in reverent, liberal tolerance of a motionless, lifeless “middle ground” that presents no necessary challenge to anything, affirming every snag and pitfall that doom the daring idea to a caricature.

We insist on charades of “Resistance” and disavow all plain, unembellished acts of effective, living negation. The scorn of the peace police has dug far deeper than it ever should have. We live in the rise of a post-cohesion prison formerly called a “Society”. We are not interacting with each other as voluntary borrowers from the commons. There is no substantial commons beyond the good intentions of the local radicals. Everything costs way too much money. And every legitimate form of securing the income to support oneself and loved ones has fifty flaming hoops to jump through in order to slightly begin to realistically expect stability. All the feeble helping hands of a New Deal country are erased to better enrich the cheery donors, investors, lawmakers, heirs to the dynasties. We seek each other out on the basis that we are all rats on a flaming, sinking ship, holding onto the “Maybe” of someone possibly having something comforting to say. But no one does. And every comforting word in the past is proven horribly wrong.

That begins to make it clear to our varied conceptions that we are ensnared in a wrong way of life, “wrong” as in what stifles happiness and health, what dreadful feelings we carry around it every day. Not whether or not Jesus Kid Rock Christ approves of something. We begin to see how careerism, hypocrisy and naked opportunism have never really been disqualifications from power in all the history of everywhere. An official means of signaling a contrived “transparency”, manipulating already scant trust, married with a casual smash-and-grab ethic has only lately been the refined governing ethos, but it has been the center of it all for quite some time. Only the governing and owning echelons of the society are allowed to act through this technologically exacerbated set of invented crises. The rest of us are met with rules to trust in, abide by and twiddle our thumbs over throughout the erosions of the liberals’ imaginary best friends: “Rights”.

We understand that the serrated rules and spectacles of rights will be the deaths of us and our children.

Any serious preoccupation with their tendrils is committing suicide in advance.

Now what, humanity? Now what, scared and angry descendant of veterans? What is the move? What is the point in being depressed if you’re not sure about giving up? Something potentially brilliant and overriding of all the same shit as usual is waiting to be fleshed and deployed. The ones who evidently drown your life will always call your every disapproving response “Aggression”, “Agitation”, “Violence”, in order to angrily assert a contrived legitimacy around their exclusive ownership of extralegal aggression, agitation of lynch mobs and enthusiastic supplementary state violence.

What is there to be sad or scared about if one has a living, breathing hold on what they endure and enjoy? What is there to doubt if both the general and specific absurdities of the supposedly sacred order embellish and effortlessly affirm every perfection you have nourished all this time in your own life? THAT IS ANARCHY, DAMMIT! And how is anarchy of one’s eternally perfect and eternally evolving inner universe to be shared as a possible lineage of anarchies for friends, loved ones, neighbors, those in solidarity beyond these colonial, imperial geographic divisions? How is life reclaimed in agency? Don’t fuck up and not grow a backbone. Don’t fuck up and take anything from the angry entitled loyalists to heart. Don’t fuck up and not stand proud and planted. Don’t fuck up and not follow through as needed.

Those of us with a modicum of humility, kindness and curiosity are wanting to come back to something. We’re wanting a mode of relating that isn’t directed by profit or power motive. And we cannot say for a certainty that any world we’ve lived through or read about or seen in films was ever a habitable environment for peace and goodwill. Including the best of self-determining historical anarchist settings. We find ourselves repelled, at least somewhat, by an ideological density inserted into any of it. We want to come to understand all of this as a recognition of our agency over our shared realities in the best possible agreement with the irreducible span of personal universes in every living individual. We endeavor on a reasoned approach to having relevant regulation, but only those organic, contextual instances and not those patchworks of bureaucratic ass-covering to pretend that industrial capitalism is not the best documented failure in human history.

Different people will reconstruct, revive and make new syncretic paths of affinity, sharing, conversing, having the generality of a healthy human togetherness that antiquates “Society”. I will pass by some of their efforts smiling and waving, and I will meet them at efforts I had agreed to share some effort in. I will balance what I extend my hand to with what I take myself away from the proximity of. I expect others to make their own best attempts at this.

Additionally, it is plain for me to see through the tiny spaces between the timeless churning mill of my consideration that there is no place for me where other people have already claimed it. It is a polite fabrication of my forward-facing soul to claim to agree with an idea of “humanity”, “community”, incidental or premeditated. I conjure my best physical language, my most amicable tone. But that glaring reality breathes down my neck.

There are no peoples that I see myself in. There are no borders in which I feel perfectly at home in. There is no fold for me to fall in with. There is no other that I can honestly take in as myself. That others may be like me or hold my same affinities is not that they are, in fact, me. “Me” and “My”, in this context, are inner dimensions of this particular author, that for anyone without, there is no comprehensive reference point shared in common. But at the same time, I do not invent a social religion out of any disdain or praise of any contrived “other”. In fact, I welcome their friendly motions while respecting any buffers between us, seeing them respect mine. The “other” exists as something outside of me that my own perspective labels, for immediate purposes, as “other”. But The Other as a crisis, a scapegoat is woven by politicians and cruel opportunists to play their centuries-old conquering of artificially divided portions of continental inhabitants.

I am also an “other” from that perspective facing me. I dare no beautifully ephemeral counter-concept; what is not me is not me. What is that is that. And we are distinct, no matter how superficially congruous. And in that, there should be some level of understanding. Beyond the renovated prison of progressivism, beyond the Old Glory brig of jackboot traditionalism. Beyond either side or whatever offshoot of the love of society. Toward shared ungovernable interest. Toward the total practice of agency.

A society is what you get when you take this exact tension between individuals, contain it in a progressive or conservative prison and fill the prison with hornets’ nests.

A society is a mad dash to comport everything that is impossible to join together on monolithic terms of an imagined, dictatorial “reality”. A society is not a neighborhood, a city, a region. A society is a mechanical vibration, a web of stressors and stimuli intended to traumatize individuals out of the possibility of their being their own individual universe of characteristics and contents, with no “essential” correspondence with anything beyond the aperture of a person’s “I”.

Everything about a social issue or a matter of contention must plug in somehow with whatever is around it, whatever can move the economy, whatever can make lines on a graph tick up. It doesn’t matter if people are peeling themselves apart over this unbearably unenjoyable house party of society: it still has to go on. It has to go on regardless of the nausea of those holding it up. Those who are against the imposition of any social condition are universally maligned. Their aspirations for properly sustained and realistic peaceable cooperation, for personal contentment and autonomy must be likened to some Antichrist figure, to some shallow, childish, reactionary drivel — best practiced by the accusers.

The sanest possible conclusion is that this is all, in fact, truly hopeless. It is truly hopeless for anything in society to be any less terrible than what society keeps mounting upon itself, than what society will pick up in the future if it is allowed to exist. The sole “hope” with a modicum of grounding in reality is the recognition that their power drunkenness will poison them, toppling everything. People will still be hurt. But there is a pinhole in the fabric that smothers us.

And in that, you can lose yourself in the best way. You can let go of the so much that did so very little; you can effortlessly embrace that very little that does so much. Whether this means pulling the plug on your own life altogether, or pulling the plug on the flesh and blood simulation of what others want to see as “your life”, that is for you to decide.

There is no endpoint of growing. Everything grows itself into decay, whether or not we obscure this fact with illusions of eternal youth, with illusions of stability and Starbucks in the middle of these eight-hundred different apocalypses.

Be not preoccupied with what can immortalize you in the downfall, but with what can ignite the continuation of the sum of your individual universe, not to be repeatedly captured and shared, but to be savored and lost within, out from much distressing, disheartening angst.

In the same sense that we progress out of infancy, out of childhood, out of youth, out of a maddening frantic adulthood into the twilight of our last marginal days, leaving certain things behind, we are inclined to progress out of politics, moralism and loyalty to anyone or anything outside of ourselves. But some are persuaded by [or resigned to] the dominant culture, the god complex inherent in it, that they should be allowed and affirmed in continuing to be children, but with really important jobs that affect everyone who decided to grow up.

And society will permanently wrestle with this in such a way that nobody can “Win” the engagement. Everyone can only become more angry, more angry, more angry. Anger, not joy, is what one loses oneself in when straining to catch everything that is trained to fall.

I progress out of the sorrow of the society’s madness; I progress out of perfect internal structures of certainty, out of hopes for dynamic, relational correspondences with what I feel to be descriptive of what should be. That which “should be” is what is already so in the vast internal gardens, the comfortably morose corners of my indecipherable soul. And in the rotted center of my discarded corpse is the decrepit stage of the only universe that ever mattered to whatever steered this “I”.

I will still be joyful after the basis for any joy has crumbled. I will evolve through the unknowable rifts and grooves of the post-death dimension, without brain, without heart, without nervous system, without description, without sign or signifier, without you, without I — because anything and everything has ceased, leaving only a static afterimage of the last sane cackle against material insanity, against grand spiritual suicides, against pins and needles of this and that, against great masses and angelic personifications of pissant “ideas”.

FUCKING IDEAS! Grand and brilliant ideas, grand and brilliant iterations of shit! Wonderful and magnificent establishments on the land and in the spirit that were all left to become vehicles of institutions seized by varying delusions.

Should incidental death be bested, life will assume its reality over the fiction of “life as idea”. Life will continue as a constant celebratory procession of the expectation of complete death, gladly disproved by the brilliance of sober intent. The expectation of, the manic hope for social triumph, for moral victory sets one up for consistent disappointment, disillusion without subsequent enlightenment.

One has to pass through that veil of terrorized dread, engraving in the act that leap through fire into the inspiring recollection some decades later.

There can be a practical essence of being tired of dealing with shit. It is not required that everyone be doomed to anticipate more shootings, more socio-political venom, more demands to hate your trans and queer family and friends, more sweeps against undocumented people breaking themselves to work in a country that hates their existence.

A new faith is being born. Faith in control. Faith in totalitarian will. Faith in coerced submission to it.

At the same time, emanating its own negation, a practical manifestation of its painful and cathartic downfall.

The revolutionaries will stir the shit. The civic realization will embrace their iteration of anti-fascism. All the usual grassroots politics will take place, doing whatever they do, the media ready to contort their intents to the script of the monopoly on socially-accepted “reality”.

But only the joyful individual — alone or in company — can actually remove herself, as stranger to it all, from the society, from the contrived “reality” that claims her, can cut off the hand that would impede her.

My rags, my pages, my steel, my iron.

My bones, my flesh, my blood, my agonized, outpouring soul.

I stand up and walk away from the rest.

What Happened To Live And Let Live?

Actual Freedom Was Always The Arch Enemy Of The Conservative Smoke & Mirrors Obsessive Sensation Machine

Sovereignty of the self. Respectful non-interference with the unfathomable, irreducible range of possibility in a living person who consciously makes use of that inherent sovereignty.

It doesn’t take any intensive investigating to discern who or what has fed the societal woodchipper with the single most useful and formerly most agreeable principle of living side-by-side as human beings, including all standard and unique variations on the vast expressions of self, on the different flavors of existence that make life interesting, insightful and joyful.

This truly awesome seed of balanced personal evolution, the engine of amicable symbiosis, which is the intrinsic possession of every living being, is being attacked by a nationalist, identitarian, guttural ape-like whooping for lynchings, wife-beatings, child-obsession and gross, universal hypocrisy. Hypocrisy ceasing to be a concern when one has the might of the world’s captor. A creed ceasing to be distinguishable from the worst caricatures of its sworn enemies. A totalizing cosmic anger at any correction or critique of ecstatic cruelty, at any gesture of a merciful hand toward those the state and its cultists deem enemies. Summation of the ends justify the means— where the ends are to kill everything unlike itself, and ultimately to kill itself as means and punctual ends.

It’s not exactly the greatest mystery among us who have something of an understanding of the dense and confusing material reality in this particular hellscape.

With no intention to look at the past with 70 year-old liberal lenses that hurry to scramble one’s recognition of a death machine, of a population hurrying to “make the best of it”, there remains some crude ethic forged out of all this grim, overcast history. There was a glimmer of a post-war can-do attitude married to a neighborly decency to this country’s character. While traitor confederate indignation roared and dithered to roar and dither some more, while Eastern European and Irish immigrants were just barely beginning to ascend from holding onto dear life in New York and New England, while the German American Bund had fully been lowered into the earth by 1951, while there were steps (however superficial) toward equity, civil rights and a celebration of freedom and happiness, there was always an everlasting quality of danger to every little thing about this American life.

Our friends from various places across the pond, down South and up North, are correct to highlight how this configuration of an 18th century conception of liberty butting into a mixed white heritage of zeal, zeal butting into liberty became the slow sinking of “The Land of The Free”. When manic drunks and predatory bullshit artists are perfectly unqualified yet officially legitimated to assume command and lecture¹ those with the most experience — reduced to useful bitches to the current iteration of power — something has gone awry. Something insidious has worked carefully to warp and exploit the elusive promise of this country’s peoples.

One can rather easily think of historic film reels like Don’t Be a Sucker (1945), depicting America’s constitutional democracy as something to be guarded with a citizen’s critical thought, a citizen’s use of reasoning as one who enjoys liberty, equality and justice. A citizen’s calling to defend sovereignty from any and all tyrants. This hopeful lens could not speculate on the challenges, the sly, opportunistic spectacles married to technological divide-and-conquer that future generations would face. The final dissolving of our social bonds. The wandering in the wastes of resignation to false might, of bowing to demonstrably invalid “legitimacy”.

One can piece together the image, however idealistic or candid, of an America struck simultaneously with brilliance and with buffoonery. A country not quite in the throes of McCarthyism or Reganism, not perfectly held hostage by any post-Carter, proto-culture war corner of sociopolitical razor wire. One can cite the names, likenesses and deeds of outstanding human beings for whom America left highly unique impressions, the sea of upheavals notwithstanding.

But I often simply think of the obvious fruits of an obvious history. This country was situated from its inception on blood-soaked land that did not belong to the whites who put forward their continental congresses and founding documents, who broke treaties repeatedly, who only signed papers to mark another exponent of heinous transgressions. This land was made into the so-called United States by the weaponry of conquest, by the mythos of some Anglo-Saxon “god.” Whatever superficial steps in this country against slavery, against Jim Crow, against child labor, against wholly unmitigated exploitation of captive working people until death, none of them confronted the core beast of it all. In fact, a good deal of them embrace and affirm that beast, becoming offended when those they believe they held affinity with express the historical and material fact of this land being stolen and sopping with blood, old and new, shed by the ugly forces of white conquest, of white supremacy.

“Live and Let Live” was not a longstanding condition of newly-arrived white settlers coming into contact with First Nations peoples. “Live and Let Live” was penned by Schiller during the final years of the 18th century in the fragmented regions of what would later be called Germany, but its sinew of real-life application was stitched together out of horrible lessons in humanity — many taking place in a hardscrabble former colony South of the crown in the so-called Province of Quebec, modern so-called Canada.

There is no reliable world of make-believe where we all turn off our brains and trust the propaganda really, really hard that “Pilgrims” and Native peoples co-existed without the obvious cruelties of clashing worlds, one built on reciprocal bonds and one built on command/submission. No compulsive denial helps any genuine urge for kindness. This country, like all countries established through displacement, occupation and terror, has always been terrible on levels I understand personally, and on broader levels I cannot adequately imagine as a pale settler. And the clear and present attitude that escalates into morbidly comedic territory now in government, society and interpersonal interactions has its genesis in, what George Carlin probably summed up best: “GIVE ME IT, IT’S MINE!” This was extolled, made a distinctly white tradition in the so many words and so many gut-wrenching endeavors by the prophets and commanders of “manifest destiny”. It extends to drown everything that merely suggests actual freedom, actual self-determination; the sole limit is the sick imagination of the angry white “christian”.

And throughout those times, people bearing these could sense that there was no ray of sunlight to be found that was not willed out from the dirt of the various shambles of truly obscene conditions. A human recognition that there is nothing truly Good here. A human endeavor to make something good. Speak not of any “opportunity” for the immigrant — when immigration was only ever championed by a mercantile state to replenish cheap labor, then vilified as “invasions” when those people demand humane treatment — without the clear, living acceptance that no human, no personal aspiration, no expression of life is “invalid”, is “illegal”, is “inferior”. All the while this land was claimed by wealthy, slave-holding white men of aristocratic family background, none of it was put into motion by them. Speak not of African descendants in any way that does not point directly at their due inheritance to the country their ancestors were systematically imprisoned, brutalized and terrorized into building. Speak not of any tintype of hardship and despair that does not underline the heart and mind that endured; the tainted heart, the mind in shambles that inflicted.

And the peasant inhabitants of this land, indigenous, enslaved and settler alike, in the stranglehold of this surreal republic, found themselves transfixed with every different face, story and expression of baseline kindness — interchanging with baseline suspicion. Fits of laughter and camaraderie cut with fits of drunken bigotry, zealous exercise of privilege. A whole disparate social fabric consistently being taken forward, backward and sideways. A living monument to reason and human decency, in spite of ugliness, malice and privilege, was fleshed in the so many who took to heart that “All men are created equal,” who were willing to fight and die for that cherished principle, that founding promise never stamped as the sole, consistent purpose of the actions of this country. That ideal that hovered over every error, every last breath of the freedom-loving strikes and blows against tyranny, against whatever popular cries from comfortable majorities. The stalwart charge of Nat Turner and Company. The righteous and correct culmination at Harper’s Ferry. The planting of resolute feet on the soil of The Free State of Jones. The ascendant hearts and minds of the coal miners, the textile workers, the longshoremen, arm-in-arm in solidarity toward their inheritance of the world.

In tandem with my clear and self-reasoned opposition to patriotism, nationalism, factions of imaginary geographic lines — I must recognize that the spontaneous and vindicated endeavors of certain figures in this country, not the government, not its blunders, not its paradoxes as a republic — have historically produced very clear standards of what is “right” and “just” for a balanced, equal gathering of humanity at this place on this continent, and at any place on any continent.

And then.

And then it all began being torn apart by wealthy Evangelicals, Conservatives, Liberals, Centrists, hypocritical degenerate obsessives on imageboards and forums in basements in Indiana, rich investor scum doing gentrification, hipster techno-fascists doing cloud computing for surveillance and cryptocurrency, trade deals and conglomerate outsourcing dissolving any illusion of a middle class, hate groups, opportunist snakes from the Heritage Foundation and bored elderly fundamentalists harassing neighbors and youth.

While these did not function in perfect harmony with one another, they did hand society over to a bold new dimension of Actually Insane Hyperfixation with strangers’ lives, strangers’ deeply personal sense of gender/sexuality. Outrage at SCARY archival news footage of Aunt Tifa Inc., SCARY leftist flags, SCARY snippets of RADICAL ideas: always labeled “extreme” and “dangerous” but never coherently unpacked, never parsed substantively inside the arena of white feelings, white entitlement to righteous idiocy, of its white-hot rage made action.

There had been a practical notion thrown to the wind along with the gloves of civil engagement when Jimmy Carter was up for re-election and lost. That notion, the notion that all our parents and grandparents took for granted — to the point where they disposed of it as an inconvenience to their newfound outrage hobby, was that “Whatever I want to do in my own home and with my own person cannot be any more or less entitled to scrutiny and interference than what my neighbor or his neighbor or her neighbor does. There are just some things that you don’t disturb. There are just some things that you can’t take back.”

At the same time that a pious family in Nebraska could attend their church, a sin-loving band of friends or free lovers in the Bay Area can smoke weed in the park on Sundays. But over time, some gaggle of sad obsessive idiots decided that only their mode of enjoying life can be allowed. They decided on resurrecting a malignant mythology of angelic white entitlement to making all of society about them, about hunting down and eliminating those who clearly enjoy themselves in a better, different fashion, disproving the sole joy of life as residing in a fetish for White Jesus.

Even though nobody has ever forced weed or sin or Satan onto any televangelist type or any preacher’s daughter, every televangelist type, every preacher’s daughter is permitted to force hellfire and damnation on others. Forcing Satan on me from a different angle. But they can never compute the actual Jesus:

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.” (Matthew 5:7)
“I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.” (Matthew 9:13)
“Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.” (Luke 6:36)

Out of all the addiction to the poison of social malice — the addiction to the present day far-right fantasy of a perfectly automated totalitarian federation of AI-driven company towns, out of all the love of pursuing perfect security at the total expense of every freedom taken for granted — it would take an act of some profound internal human god, not any central, exterior figure, to replant this seed, this not-so-novel consideration: no one should be at the mercy of any other person’s convictions touted as superseding the basic agreement of self-control and freedom from the zeal of a stranger. Something is continuously betrayed, led into the clutches of instrumentation, convinced that it was never duped but consistently ascendant by descending into madness.

There was never an explicit, foundational promise, but an essence is clearly there. Having no love for him, knowing his biography, Thomas Jefferson could not have foreseen America’s despotism at present, but he still said what applies then, now and forever: “A well informed citizenry is the best defense against tyranny.” But our tyranny now is rooted in classifying information, ideas and informed dissent and responsible self-defense from far-right aggressors as terrorist activities². Our tyranny is rooted in the erasure of the notion of state terror: of the state being far more equipped to inflict lasting trauma and to foment and sustain violence. This is accomplished in repeating the mantra, in the face of an absurd social configuration wherein people have to decide between a hospital visit and paying rent to shelter their children, that only liberals and leftists can be “radicals” or “extremists.”

Our tyranny now is a clear favoritism of certain acts, certain formations of violence, certain violent assertions of shallow “ideas”. (Read: fragile white supremacist feelings.) Our tyranny is the sacrifice of working people, of real human kindness for the carefully cruel brace on reality that coerces affirmations of the power fetish of the permanently angry, testosterone-blinded pater familias of the property-owning Anglo-Saxon illusion of a people.

A country that still [somewhat] champions the legacy of Fred Rogers Officially disregards every possible point of wisdom he had ever conferred. What in the actual fuck has happened?

While new left activities and various resulting conservative fits have jostled the sociopolitical landscape of the so-called United States from the 1960s through the 90s and beyond, Americans had not entirely digested that opportunistic sections of their countrymen would begin a total war on anything realistic, let alone anything suggesting that life could be better: stormtrooper skirmishes against anything remotely in favor of a kind and considerate society. Swift crushing and punishing of First Amendment activities that make the regime look unfavorable. Disregard for the Constitution, the Oath of Office and all the hallmarks of being “free” under the stars and stripes.

An impossibility sits upon the American people. Not strictly in protest movements or acts of dissent, but in daily life. An impossible situation with a simple ethos (always under strain) of moving through it all: maybe Leave Each Other The Entire Fuck Alone if you’re not going to be a decent human being to those in some contrived out-group. Don’t look at anyone, don’t strike up a gross, aggressive conversation with a military veteran trans woman at the grocery store as a weird 67-year-old man wearing a MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN shit-eating cuck hat. Don’t be a belligerent white person over some random stupid shit, proving that if any ridiculous “master race” could ever be — you ain’t it, babydoll! Don’t check any of the boxes of being an obvious dipshit out in public. Consider also: failure to do so is a blatant display of having nothing sincerely better to do with your life. Of having no capacity for anything other than being an irritating, squawking dipshit about magic Jesus hysteria, putting hands on strangers trying to go about their lives in whatever peace they can come up with.

Oh, no wait. Sorry — I’m wrong. A stranger alleged to be a “Tranny” just went into that bathroom. Let’s have six burly, angry cisgender men storm that restroom fully prepared to lynch this stranger and probably try to photograph children in the process. Oh, does that random blond woman have a penis or a vagina? Let’s kick her stall door open and investigate her, in service to “public safety.”

We could argue forever about where the reactive malice began. I feel that it was obvious well before 1492. My individual practice of my distinctly heathen faith is a recognition of that. But it had been convention before French and so-called American revolutions wherever it began, it truly took effect as we live through it now in this country with losing ourselves. It began with a “graceful” giving up. And it became a nationwide surrender to a phony European caricature of a 1st century freedom fighter in Palestine. It acted as an opium-laden cushion for Reganism to land into government, infect and disintegrate everything that FDR was pushed by civil and militant labor movements to set up — only for our parents to take it all for granted, allowing it to be used to purchase generational damnation to “graceful” suffering. To thoroughly corrupt the difficult yet endearing promise put forward by generations of Americans of all walks of life, best practiced by the enemies of white colonial domination, by the challengers of lifeless orthodoxies. To bastardize the aesthetics of liberty and democracy in the practice of autocracy and submission to cruelty, to attempt to use a country founded on separation of powers as a vehicle for their European warlord Jesus caricature that approves a transition to fascism. It was all a performance of FALSE “grace”. It was all a performance of purity with blood on their hands. It was a surrender, even for those who were not at the “Revivals”, who were not at the baptist churches looking to cure their dispossession with hatred. Even for those who looked the other way.

The American public, upon a privileged majority finding themselves bothered by reason and goodwill taking its place, entered into a realm of affirmed magical thinking, a substitute to fill the space that critical thought once occupied, a toxic balm to the sore of sober reality. A myriad of distractions from the plainly-spoken problems to get lost in. The effect we see now is a general public lined with razors. Any given person is no longer expected to be kind to, or at least ignore, the stranger, the neighbor, but to approach the stranger or the neighbor as a loyal slave to the collectivist life owned and asserted by the head of the regime, the owner of the lot/building, the CEO of the investor firm, the new trendy digital AI deity that feeds revisionism to morons eager to be told they’re right, the MAGA hat ice pig who is most certainly the first to go to hell if anyone is going at all.

Other lives are now considered instruments belonging to disgusting, stupid little old men, to freakishly depraved heirs. They can be exploited, scrutinized, manipulated, publicly shamed, discarded by whatever means are convenient. The bold concept of We The People, as in the general citizenry being the sole power source of this republic, is crudely smelted and molded into this hideous monolithic, unquestioningly “conservative” (white nationalist) all-white, all-“christian”, all-“male” formation of reckless lethality, dissolving of unique individuality — covered in the flag that waves behind a statue that should have been returned to France months ago.

Lady Liberty was the first one deported under this resolutely degenerated epoch of so-called America.

May god, may anything kind and loving in this universe give Emma Lazarus rest for her lines betrayed . . .

Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door!³

What I have just described sincerely pleases someone. It pleases someone who has discarded humanity, discarded reasonable humility for illusions of supremacy. Someone who claims an imaginary Jesus, yet would be the first to urge for his crucifixion today. Does “pride come before the fall” Only for queer and trans people? Or does it apply to those with clearly unearned pride? Never underestimate how a broken heart and a propaganda machine feeding plastic sympathy will cultivate monsters.

Whatever the grassroots rescue effort is to be, a rescue of innocents and not of cozy politicians, it has to begin at a place of rediscovering, renewing that Created Equal Principle Betrayed in the rise and fall of this republic, practicing it in an appropriate, adapted fashion. (With this in mind, to momentarily lower my default assertion of my own individualist anarchy in order to use my imagination for a more likely burgeoning of something to truly live off of: I can only dream of a flexible, multifaceted social ecologist Turtle Island with indigenous peoples’ priorities and frameworks, with all black and brown peoples’ critiques and insights at the forefront of it all. One in which the aspirations, wellness and participation of every single inhabitant with a humble heart, with a desire for self-determined social bonds are the direct means and ends, the tangible substance and the imminent and expansive goal. A truly better, contemporary iteration of this country’s claims etched in stone, yet betrayed now and then in practice. Many who hold affinity with social ecology, who commit to research in that field could expound on this far better than I could try. I would recognize and appreciate those who do so.)

The first pillar of abandoning the strain of kindness unique to everyday Americans was that it was not producing money for corporations. Once the issue was settled with “leave people alone unless someone is evidently harming you”, the issue could not be marketed any further. Whatever humanitarian opportunities, whatever interfaith forums produced, they did not sufficiently best the forums and opportunities for profitable malice, for the use of conspiratorial intrigue to lure vulnerable people into socio-spiritual Ponzi schemes against their would-be friends. Remember when Dave Rubin went on The Joe Rogan Experience circa 2014/15 and claimed that a monolithic “Left” had become “regressive”? Look at where we are now: People who were less skeptical than they should have been of the orange moron ten years ago are now finding themselves in agreement with varying depths of the left. Retired military figures, retired public servants are speaking out. Average people, who were either always aware or recently had reality hit them in the face, are assembling and readying to reclaim the sanity of a functioning constitutional democratic republic in some fashion. If there is not yet a drafted, workable framework for an interim administration belonging to an indeterminate force for the benefit of the American people, there had better be one in the works immediately.

One is actually and sincerely an idiot to have the word “Alarmism” in their verbal lexicon at this time and place. As unfortunate as it is that I need to remind people of this written fact — it is the explicit instruction of the founders of this country, put forward as an inherent right derived from natural law, to unearth the entirety of a clear and present tyranny and dispose of it justly — with a better, less exploitable iteration of the founding principles following. To tar anyone who recognizes this as “Alarmist” is to call oneself an ignorant, dense cretin unworthy of title or office in a sincerely just, sincerely reasonable society.

Buffalo Springfield set the tone of American unrest, to the white-hot chagrin of William F. Buckley fans: “It’s time we stop / Hey, what’s that sound? / Everybody look, what’s going down?”

Except this is no soundtrack to the VVAW marches during the last hideous throes of US imperialism in Southeast Asia. These are fully-fledged Up Against the Wall Motherfucker moments but adapted to our present time, where fascism has far surpassed its Watergate moment. Where one Kent State massacre could only punctuate the migrant families, their defenders disappeared.

The more the loyalists smugly, angrily cry “radical left lunatics”, the more they incentivize curiosity toward critique.

The more they whine and cry and piss themselves in the most contrived manners, the more they incite critical response. The more they ignite the potential for those who are studying history here and now as it is written.

Who actually has the ideas here? What the conservatives/fascists eternally offer up, what they can definitively never get away from is an anti-intellectual avenue of numbing the angry white supremacist mind of the inconveniences of reality, of grievances genuinely based in a material reality restricted from being made better by the mechanical brutishness of Actual Troublemakers: the worshipers of privilege, the cultists of the opulence of their masters.

We therefore, in our distinct embrace of quality life, in our embrace of reasoned articulation of all nuance in life, will cement a conflict against blind loyalism, against unhinged hypocrisy, against autocratic betrayals of core principles, against the “revenge” of those who could find no life in any country professing freedom and justice.

We should endeavor on a diverse coming together, emphasizing a common gravitation with one another rooted in the informed opposition to carefully contrived outrage at freedom being possessed and made good use of. Practical and philosophical opposition to the praise of the worst of things done by a snatching away of freedom, done to deny freedom for others as a dirty proactive tactic. Done to impose socialism for the opulent and neo-feudalism for working people.

The worst part about all of this is that it is not a struggle of distant national powers for territory and resources. These many abominable skirmishes, over whether “god” loves gay and trans people, over whether people of color can be allowed to exist openly in society, over whether strangers need to be dragged into and drowned by “the blood of the lamb”, are all wars with ourselves. As humans. As descendants of all who made up a different so-called “America”. As human beings, here and now, with a crucial choice to make.

I like to think that we have learned a lot of things since the 1970s and everything prefacing it. I hate to know that so little of it has sufficiently informed our responses since.

We learned that conservatives will not peacefully live next to a queer family. We learned that liberals will call the police on the single black parent for using a firearm to defend their home and loved ones. We learned that ugly, shitty cis women who worship a static, manufactured reality will lecture the neighborhood trans people about what “being a woman is”. We learned that conspiracy theorist nutjobs are going to either climb the ladder of this mob boss administration or continue to worsen themselves in the face of where we are now.

In all, we learned that society does not work. We learned that society itself is the most twisted beat-for-beat example of what people keep calling “Communism” when talking about historical red state capitalism that called itself “socialist.” In the same sense that they imagine Stalin’s Russia as a dystopian, monolithic machine where nothing happens that is not planned by the state, they faithfully ignore or consciously affirm the inherent collectivism of a conservative society that aims to use up and smother a whole range of peoples enduring life within it. The image of the rugged cowboy rolling a cigarette on horseback in the prairie is no longer a sincere component of a post-Regan America. Now our tyrants extol the virtues of submission and assimilation into the whole. Our tyrants openly disavow the individual and her potential for sovereign grace, her decisions for her own life to be carried out regardless of obstruction or legality, regardless of revisions of the American character, regardless of abuses of powers. The treads of human history unfortunately come around to kick up old dirt into new places with new lives who carry the torch of exalted and intrinsically justified negation into the unforeseeable halls of the mythic future.

We persist through recurring nightmares to exalt the agency of the kind, brave human sibling where their possibility is under attack.

All of Trump Shit-Eating Syndrome is the worship of the permission to be a fat, stupid piece of shit, the mandate to respect fat stupidity, the legislation to tear down and rebuild the lives of strangers in the image of fat stupid authoritarian collectivists. Never let these failures of human beings convince you that you are “offending god” or “tearing the country to pieces” by boldly and persistently refusing fascism.

The second pillar of abandoning kindness was that the obvious progressions in social bonds became aligned against the raw deal of capital’s insulting landscape: the tryhard fake sincerity, the permanent outdoing of outlandish spectacles. The Progressive Party of 1924 was onto this. Let nobody ever get away with saying that “radicalism” is “unamerican”.

This country, for the last ten months, has been configured by a sad orange clown to be a sad playground, a well-oiled daycare for sad, vulnerable white baby bitches desperate to pass as “men” trying to make something horrible out of their angry coercive delusions about strangers they have never met — nor ever earnestly listened to their perspective; about how other people can live their lives to make the sad, broken white man life the only “valid” way of life in a country built on the backs of chattel slaves and disposed immigrant labor. These “ideas” don’t work, whether or not you have a Big Government to coddle your feelings and entitlement. We witness a perfect inverse of the “SJW special snowflake” craze of 2012-2020 and beyond.

Meanwhile, clowns like Chuck Schumer only exist to give the illusion of a very slightly less right-wing challenge to a far-right party of cultists who have repeatedly failed to deliver for the people they claim to represent. There are too many different avenues I would suggest. Perhaps too many I cannot imagine.

We as a species, we as a life form with a spiritual backbone, are just barely in the process of learning that we can only truly live and let live as conscious individuals with no central, coercive cohesion to straitjacket our lives in order to be safe from punishment. We are in the process of learning that there is no peace for average people enduring different struggles under a compressed social setting of anger, debate over reality and all the chaos this produces. All enforcement of “Order” necessarily produces chaos. But an amicable relationship with the baseline chaos evident in the generality of life, a series and a decentralized variety of activities, associations and projects produces what “Order” merely claims to bring about. We therefore must announce and pursue our opposition to all “Social Order”, to all illogical and fake justifications for society, law, private property, destruction of the wilds, of the commons. We must make ourselves, our aspirations, our joy, our sorrows as undeniable realities, as strikes themselves to all that proactively charges its strikes on us. We must do this not strictly as a collective force pursuing yet another elaborate promise of mythology, but as an entire range of living urges toward ungoverned peace, toward self-ownership of one’s personal contents and physical vessel of flesh, toward wellness and safety of loved ones and associates.

We are to rebel out of love for human love, for human understanding, for human possibility. I make nothing sacred nor profane of our being human; I only champion the good and embellish the bad as they are before me. And I have a very basic conception of “Good” and “Bad.” They are not far-off, shining stars of any cosmically-flawless morality. They are instinctual and immediate. Useless harm, twisted satisfaction from punishment of innocence. This is bad. Creative freedom, innovative collaboration, joyful activities and exchanges. These are good.

What we witness unfolding each and every day, until this Heritage Foundation coup is uprooted and completely disposed of, is a panicked struggle to maintain fervent ignorance as the fuel of a cruel and unusual engine of controlling others’ lives.

They introduced very dirty tricks behind the veil of think tanks coordinating ephemeral changes.

Well, we’re Americans, aren’t we? We’re supposed to be ballsy, loud, proud and a little arrogant, right? So — let’s do our own dirty tricks, and justify ourselves in the courage of our convictions.

My Polish-American great-grandfather did not drag himself and his wounded brethren in the army through the fronts and theaters of the duration of the Second World War, ascending to the rank of Technical Sergeant for bravely firing American ordinance on German, Italian and Romanian fascist armies, all to come home, sustain a family — all to have his great granddaughter persecuted as a social and moral leper for her being transgender in a buffoon’s twisted claim to this country.

I do not hold so-called “America” to my heart. I hold instead the lives that this land and its history shaped to my heart. I hold no flag, no lyric of any anthem to my heart. I hold instead the individual intellects and insights of everyone who has made the American character — not purely angelic nor purely demonic — but remarkable out of a sea of malicious majorities to my restless heart.

Renzo Novatore, Italian warrior-poet of the free and unique individual, says something of this, one-hundred and three years ago.

If my father rebelled against my grandfather so as not to be a slave of the paternal faith, I rebel against my father so as not to be a slave of the faith that made him rebel in his turn.

How could it make my son be tomorrow what I am today?

Only from the ruins of everything the rebel has destroyed can the creative genius be born.

But what does the creation of the genius prepare if not a new rebellion?

I agree with Nietzsche in believing that there has never been any need to question a martyr to know the truth. But desiring force, daring audacity and skillful creative will are treasures inherited only from the genius, the rebel, the hero.

— Of Individualism and Rebellion, 1922

The horrors persist — and so should we! AMERICANS! Stop being guided by, stop glossing over the exploitation of the worst of emotions; let only the best ones guide in toppling the perpetuation of the very worst!

Being adversarial to the dominant idea, to the existent collective delusion, is the greatest kindness to the developing heritage of organic wellness and peace. And being sobered by the likelihood of sporadic conflict with the zombies of humanity for generations to come, we learn to find a deeper comfort in our commitment to the whole of freedom, to the seed of the condition: the inherent freeness of the human soul, the inherent nerve to ascend on one’s own terms.

The end of this pedophile protection government is nigh, be it by orange taco eating one too many Big Macs, or a complete shitting of the pants of this drunken “war department.” This is a nakedly invalid administration that only exists to enrich and cover the shit-coated ass of a sad little baby bitch boy with delusions of eternal youth, eternal exceptionalism, patently made-up “genius”.

The great and disparate sections of Turtle Island’s inhabitants, in reasonable agreement with one another, will hold what their ancestors had paid for with blood.

1 https://envisioningtheamericandream.com/2025/10/01/silence-is-golden-military-generals-react-to-trump-hegseth/ ↩

2 https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/trumps-nspm-7-labels-common-beliefs · Developing story, conflicting details elsewhere ↩

3 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46550/the-new-colossus ↩

In These Roaring Twenties

Co-Authored by my wife

This is a general response to the largely conservative reaction to the dramatic loss of Charlie Kirk, noted media figure, propagandist and low-skill debater of college students. This is Not a celebration or condoning of targeted killings. Nobody who is intact as a human being wants a society of permanent violence motivated by an impossible cycle of protracted grievance that ends nowhere in sight. What this is is a thorough sitting down and talking to with what conservatives have insisted is their great, godly mission. At some point, conservatives too must ask themselves “How did we get here?” I will sugarcoat nothing. There is no discussion here; free speech does not mean I need to pull up a soapbox for those who are just going to get pissy and not actually absorb and learn from my words. I really do pray that people get a fucking grip. There were numerous developments over the course of writing my thoughts. I hope to have made the appropriate edits.

In the middle of this miserable fucking decade, a whole century and change after several different seasons of lead, with so much nasty consequence of GOP entitlement holding my nose to their grindstone of demented moralism reveling in naked state-sanctioned cruelty raping our psyches at this very instant — right as it becomes the 24th anniversary of the September 11 attacks — we as a stupid, undeserving settler colonial occupational society on stolen land were instructed to fall on our knees, shit ourselves, thoroughly rub our asses in it for a few hours and proceed to Sincerely grieve an ugly, idiotic and self-righteous dipshit who used bogus rhetoric and monetary contributions to support people who intended to kill people like me and my loved ones. That does not mean I am pleased that what happened has happened. I am simply neither surprised nor grieving. If there is an executive order against dry eyes in the midst of some fuck wad perishing, I guess hundreds of millions of people are just magically enemies of this decrepit mob boss state.

Here’s a fun fact. I am almost thirty fucking years old. I know. Such a baby, right? Such a youngin, huh? I love when old heads either embrace or belittle the poetic death rattle of my youth. It’s always precious either way. The entire time I have been able to comprehend society and politics, conservatives have dominated. They were always promised the central, loudest microphone. And as a child, I saw nothing wrong with that. I was honestly groomed into not questioning that. These people had their favorite moment of terror and sorrow with 9/11. They had their Toby Keith-fueled invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan. They had their triumph over the hearts and minds of families made vulnerable by their presidents’, politicians’, pastors’ and CEOs’ design. They had their various circuses over George Dubyah, fearmongering video games, music, faithlessness, an American of color stepping up as presidential nominee. I ate it all up. I nearly slipped down the white nationalist rabbit hole as a preteen. But I encountered actual philosophy before I could go all the way. I guess, like the dumbstruck conservative Georgia trailer park grandpa mainlining Jesse Watters Primetime, I can’t help but be what I am. In my case, thoroughly passionate about nuance and the knowledge it unlocks.

But knowledge is sin, right? Well, I’m not dead yet, so I haven’t seen their particular hell. But I have known the only one that matters to me. The only one that instilled a cynical, wicked backbone. The hell of being tormented as a sensitive, sentimental, carefree child who developed my own creative disregard for how my family and society expected me to behave, for what passions they pushed on me, for what doctrines increasingly showed their vulnerability. Curiosity, the killer of brainless little angels, attracted me away, gradually, from the faith in white “christian” stupidity. I found the underlying music in life. I fell in with the myriad harmonies of passionate intellect illuminated by challenge. I felt the embrace of not any charitable condition of “Freedom”, but the inherent Freeness in me I had but to permit myself to seize. And as long as I’m alive on these terms of my own, whatever innocent victim of conservative grooming I once was can die repeatedly forever. A victim no more, my will be done.

Do not ever piss in my ear about I’M OPPRESSED, because you belong to the majority religion on Earth, the majority gender, the majority ethnicity, with an off-chance that you probably have enough wealth to heal anything. No, the problem is not that you are very clearly not an oppressed minority in the so-called United States. It’s that your “Ideas” are bad, don’t work, don’t comport with contemporary standards for anything and their mere placeholder position as “Contender” actually fulfills the chaos which lobbyists push in the pressure cooker of society. We know you are not sincere contenders. You are only persistent pushers of Trojan horses treated with kid gloves by the mainstream illusion machine of peace and wellness under techno-corporatist feudalism. One side begs the public to worship billionaires and the right to obscene wealth, the other begs to be able to pay rent and buy groceries. You would mass murder millions within the latter camp in order to save two or three from the former, who would later get rid of you, the bootlicker, after you’ve served your purpose for them.

Frankly I just find myself unable to hear my own thoughts amidst the wailing of shit-eating liberals and centrists all coddling the tiny, hurt excuses for “gonads” that the conservatives claim, screaming at their victims to do the very same, screaming at everyone who has a firearm to surrender it and fall on their knees before unquestioned tyranny. No thanks. I hope this entire social configuration is swallowed up by the opened Earth. You’re all really incapable of not upholding what screws yourselves and others over, aren’t you? I hope to awaken one day in rural Nepal, never speak English again and never pay a passing thought to anything the political side (liberals), side (conservatives) and edge (centrists) ever earnestly peddled out in public. I would rather my only reality for the rest of my life be rice paddies, mountains and thousand year-old shrines and temples than exist for another minute under the allegedly greatest minds of this allegedly greatest country on Earth. If while working the rice paddies, someone told me that Turtle Island rose up and flung the settler colonial genocide machine into the ocean, I would smile, nod, and go on with my life unperturbed.

But breaking from that daydream, I wish very deeply for the totality of stupid excuses for “thought” to simply be ejected into the Sun, if nothing else, just to trigger every self-righteous virtue signaler who gave up on using that term seriously against his enemies back in 2018 after realizing the phrase points to him far more than them. It would be far, far more enjoyable than what took place two days ago ever could be if people no longer had beliefs that they once clung to harder than their pearls. They would instead be thrust to find reliance on critical thought and adaptability, the same way they thrust the disabled into working to survive when they can’t make it to their interview or shift.

How could “beliefs” do this? How does a belief asserted after so long become a legitimate danger for someone else? How do reactions to reactions fuel reaction? How do we manage to break from all of this?

Oh, and if you’re new to reading someone worth a fuck at all, I’m actually not a leftist. It is not the exclusive possession of any faction to point out obvious harm and to agree on a reasonable, bottom-up corrective measure. I’m not a center-left, far-left, center-right, far-right, middle right or any other political adjective of a person. I’m not any left, right, center, corner or outskirt. I initially branched out from the right (having been raised on Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck, having been groomed into the Tea Party movement,) then from the center, then from the left. I am where I am now: against the existence of politics, governance of any sort, society, community, caste. Anything that would be imposed on me as a yardstick that I am expected to satisfy for the comfort of those outside of me, I want it dead more than any person. The sum of my own personal argument is that politics, governance, society, community, caste and anything imposed are all harmful and unwanted by something deep within us. My “politics” is a scythe of negation cleaving off the heads of everything telling me or anyone what to do or how to be. I don’t ask to be “Correct” in order to push a social vehicle to a goal. I affirm myself as correct because my thoughts and decisions are correct for my life as I live it. My life has nothing to do with anyone else.

I am also not in favor of any gun control whatsoever. Sorry not sorry liberals. “Control” is not real. In the context of society as it now is, there are only actions and punitive structures for certain actions. The actions are not magically prevented from happening and the punitive structures do not deliver on any imaginary promise to use punishment as an after-the-fact “prevention”. In concert with this, I also am not in favor of certain weapons beyond Kalashnikovs, 12 gauge shotguns or RCLs being in surplus, nor am I in favor of the greed of any heir to a weapons manufacturer’s estate through “defense” contracts. And as any sane human being would agree, nuclear weapons are a microcosm of humanity’s brilliance synthesized with its unbridled cruelty. Any adoration of a nuclear weapon is an adoration of omnicide, and should be looked at the same way we look at someone not simply encouraging suicide, but forcing death on a whole population. There is no real “control” to enforce as a state at the end of the day. Only punishments after the fact. Things are going to happen. Making minor social adjustments can only, at best, lessen frequency slightly or introduce annoyances. There are only patterns, behaviors and sets of information to make unavoidable in the course of human interaction through whatever conditions are lived in. The fact remains that firearms are tools with no inherent connotation unless loaded, chambered and aimed by someone with a purpose in mind, and some non-firearm weapons are Only connotations: irrational shows of state power threatening mutually-assured vaporization.

With all that made clear. Dear Conservatives,

I’m certain that you’re clenching your vulnerable little assholes right now. I know that some of you are encouraging all out war like macho little Chadlettes, and I know that some of you are even saying that maybe it’s time to lay off the rhetoric. I know that every single day for all of you is a battle against your deepest urges. The urge to be something like me, beautifully androgynous and fuckable. The urge to have a cheat day, take a break from the Leviticus, check your Grindr messages and go for a ride on the Bad Dragon dildo wearing your wife’s bra. Or some totally other urge wandering out into sincerely abhorrent territory, always so vibrantly held in your vocabulary to project onto people like me. But that level of detail makes one wonder. It makes one question what preoccupies your minds.

Because for someone like me who basically lives proudly in sin — who utilized my own agency to make my biology what I want it to be against all the tears and fits of “smart” “manly” “men”, who adopts a daring critique of not simply a handful of carefully-picked “issues” but the whole coercive arrangement of social life and the social model of “reality” — I’m quite capable of concentrating on what I intend to. Never a moment of my daily life is spent fighting intrusive thoughts about porn, gender, genitalia, drag performers, queer people, kinks, anything at all to do with children. There is no day of my life where I passionately channel my deepest repressed feelings about something and dress it up as some wild discovery I just happened to have made — which goes on to be the common reference for my insane ramblings on Rumble or whatever the fuck until I crash out and disappear, reemerging only in a Florida crack den. And yet all of you visibly and audibly deal with this as a fucking career and a perversion to a regular global audience.

Do you know why this is? Because I’m actually honest about who I am. And you’re not. See, one of us knows the other’s mind and one of us doesn’t. One of us is halfway alright at keeping a composure and pointing out the other’s perfect consistent inconsistency, and the other is too preoccupied with makeup artists, contrived appearances, hubris, smug disregard, uninformed regurgitation of disproved nonsense that sounds compelling to the clueless and the use of trendy lingo to advocate for Hitler’s “innocence” or “brilliance” to actually have an intelligible rebuttal that stands up to the fine details of reality. This is easy to succeed in and profit off of when the society is in essence founded on stupidity and paradox religiously shrugged off. It’s a sweet deal: get in the grindset for the grift, get your bag, then fuck off to a fascist self-hating twink booty call.

Oh, but I understand. It’s all just so hard for you. It’s so hard to be a white man, isn’t it? You have to deal with fellow men who are comfortable in their masculinity without the embarrassing lifted pickup truck, without the cringe stickers and without the racist “Anti-Woke” tendencies. A worker drone with secondhand outrage is all you’re building yourself to be. The man you strain over is more content than your facade of a totally cool Alpha Chad could ever actually make you. Poor soldier.

It’s so hard to be a dainty, stupid, bougie little Barbie doll with a rotten yet sanctified vagina, isn’t it? You have to deal with women like yours truly who have a different origin story, who rock femininity way the fuck better and more sincerely than you, whose estrogen is probably way more managed than yours. And it all kills you inside because you can sense in the way your husband systematically deals with you like a household chore that he wants to run off, disable location services and savor our beauty, my beauty firsthand — and not because he’s a faggot for just anything as long as he gets off. He just loves the money he makes talking shit about me. He just loves what I am, loves being my pup more. Like, a lot more. You’re lucky to be somewhere a few rungs down.

All of you plastic toasted mayonnaise skin “women” at CPAC and the various other tours of NEW GOLDEN PROMISE SHINING BRIGHT THANK YOU SIR SIR SIR DADDY SIR wear your femininity like a bird with broken wings, whereas we spread ours born anew as if from a long slumber through dimensions of self, soaring high and with sincerity. Phoenixes screaming their freedom from the fragmented chains and categorical shackles that were never our decision. Imagine that: the realness of real joy, without shame, indeed with pride, and without reserve. Our innate autonomy and self-direction permits us to slice the metaphorical throat of the so-called “god” that Kirk said me and my sisters were abominations to. Challenge accepted.

It’s so hard to fight to preserve the alleged supremacy of your allegedly “real” race, isn’t it? It’s so hard to be Der Übermensch and simultaneously “the REAL endangered species!” It’s so hard to propagate what comforts your desire for reality when those evil, radical college kids are deviously giving a shit about what persists and what is possible in the actual reality that we inhabit, isn’t it? It’s so hard to be a laughing stock, isn’t it? It’s so hard to propagate your medieval ideology in a world where everyone enjoys due process, equal protection, civil liberties and antibiotics, isn’t it? It’s so hard to be owned time after time after hilarious time immediately following your power-drunk frat boy victory lap back in January, isn’t it? It’s so hard to “Win” all the time, isn’t it? Sooo much winning, oh my god!

But hey. Don’t worry, Sarge. It’s all just Trump Derangement Syndrome, right? (TDS! Laughing emoji.) All that stuff those woke demons are going on about your Trans Derangement Syndrome are just lies and not an insight into your browsing history, right? All those video essays done by soy boy empathy lovers deconstructing your boomer circlejerk are just pampered little socialist snowflake shits who can’t change a tire, right? This grievance as a way of life shit survived the talk radio bubble, right? Surely it won’t be exhausted any time soon, right?

Right? . . .

In truth, Kirk died not strictly by, essentially, the most blunt form of trolling from a twenty-two year old MAGA Mormon. The trajectory toward his demise came from being unable to be an actually good person. He could have simply not dedicated himself to being a bad person. He could have been any other kind of person. But instead he wanted to publicly demand that his regressive angst be validated. He wanted knees to bend at the prospect of forcibly turning backs on the most vulnerable. He wanted experts in theology to unanimously hand the gospels of Jesus Christ over to him, to his dictate for interpretation. He did all of this in a way that stroked the ego of conservative men who believe that the only surefire way to straitjacket life into what they want is to be a caricature of a stupid brute, and, when convenient, pretend to be a guy who reads. And this attitude taken seriously is leading this country into inflation, civil and global strife, suspension of civil liberties. God only knows what else. It’s getting very ugly very fast. The human in me tells that everyone, across political sides, is very uneasy.

And this is all thanks to the terrible idea that all advances and evolution in social life should be scrutinized at the very least, but no article of a shitty patriarch’s beloved Glory Days can ever spend a moment under the same microscope. All that conservatism is is a project to sustain what cannot be sustained, what nobody but creeps wants to make immortal. Conservatives of all ages are already very clearly drained by getting their asses handed to them. The most kind, constructive thing I can hope comes to them from all this is a loss of will to fight for what is so clearly not worth it.

If you could man up and face reality sober, you will understand that the death shudder of Kirk brought to him by his own ilk was the only apt rebuttal to over a decade of opulent entitlement, to the systematic laughing at immigrants being brutalized, to the mockery and slander of trans and queer people, the general 4chan “HEY ANONS CRAZY IF TRUE” / “HEY ANONS SO I GUESS WE WERE WRONG KEK” approach to life and its mysteries, constantly nagging allies for support, awkwardly asking if they want to send porn back and forth, invariably crying over their exes.

Oh, but nobody be mean to the guy who made bank off of standardizing his victims’ continued suffering. No, it’s never time to cry for the truly downtrodden. It’s never time to pay respect to the victims of unmitigated cruelty dressed up as an intellectual position, demanding respect as one — typically getting it. But it’s always time to full ugly face sob and beg for collective forgiveness when a comfortable white supremacist got what he egged on.

Whenever a fan of the orange sludge pile clearly cites conservative pundits as inspirations for the latest citizen-led massacre, crickets. No collective punishment. No actual steps by any administration to blanket disappear opponents of policies at the time. No crackdown on speech or affiliation. When a leftist protests, breaks some glass and hurts a big bad man’s feelings, then suddenly genocide of political opponents is justified and approved by white Jesus. It can only ever go one way in the eyes of the simultaneously “Supreme” and “Endangered.”

It’s not even that this is “tragic.” It’s all just so fucking stupid. After decades of this shit, even though a victim of his did not do this, if they did, it should not genuinely come as that much of a shock to you. A little over ten years ago, in the last days of Obama’s eight year administration, it was the stalwart mission of the simmering online far-right to converge upon polygender otherkin teenagers in Oklahoma using neo-pronouns on Tumblr. That soon morphed into GamerGate, which acted as a comprehensive pipeline into “white identity”, ultranationalism, flagrant antisemitic conspiracy theories and the permission to become a monster. I watched all of this happen a decade ago. I watched the rhetoric, the ass-covering, the targeted incitement, the subsequent sweeping it all under the rug, the full man-baby tantrum over a video game feminist having a few decent points. The screaming, the fake cackling of Sargon of Akkad echoing out through the cosmos of all their side has begot.

We really did ruin life as a whole for fat, comfortably stupid white men’s feelings.

It’s the most pitifully selective stupidity toward consequence as a whole. It’s high school bro hormones reawakened in a forty year-old loser with delusions of being the hero. It’s disregard for the next moment for the high of the Epic Own. I myself do not want these particular consequences. I only really want the wrapping up of the central consequences of our alienation, of our bitterness toward real possibility, of our suicidal tolerance of the permanently managed but never, ever concluded business of “Culture War.” Any “substance” on their side is purely vested in bemoaning the inconvenience of considering something before saying it. They want the substance they would acknowledge tattooed on every face, and so hallucinate what they want affirmed, flailing in angry delirium when the one who would bear that refuses.

Being frank, the events of Charlottesville, Virginia in August 2017 should have said it all. Nothing but flags of hate. One hateful flag misappropriating my god’s hammer, my god’s runes. Nothing but careful speeches before cameras dancing around claims of fascism, going out into the streets preaching fascism, mass murder, denial of substance, embrace of entitlement to privilege.

Here is me leveling with you. Conservatives, maybe stop being conservative if you’re strong enough to understand why. Maybe be a human being instead. This doesn’t mean become a Marxist-Leninist-Maoist. This doesn’t mean you have to know Das Kapital chapter and verse. This doesn’t mean you have to memorize and recite all six-hundred and eighty-four genders or whatever.

It means maybe, at the very least, just don’t interact with any politics, philosophy, statistics or sociology. It’s far more worth it to enjoy whatever else your life is, to disengage from the permanent anger, to feel any tatter of contentment than to die on a hill with a bunch of crazy people you’re struggling to see anything of yourself in. Then, the general public will be less inclined to make you reconsider your choices. Because it turns out that when you play a part in building an entire ideology around demonizing and hurting people, those people have a heightened chance of wanting to hurt you back. And in a sense, this is convenient for you, because it produces an opportunity to run away scared, to role play an oppressed person, to take a quick photo op in the middle of a shooting, to go on some grief tour. This all plays into “WAR WAR WAR!” from your side. But really, it was always you who could stop it. You could, maybe, perhaps, read, listen to lectures, interviews, video essays. You could take every opportunity to lower social temperatures when you clearly seat yourself as the driver in the situations you invent. You know deep down that you were always doing wrong. For yourself, your neighbors, your fellow citizens. You were always just too proud to muster the explicit admission.

You were conditioned into thinking that war with all who critique you is justified, because you’re the awesome correct christian guy who can only be christian if everyone else is christian, white and republican. You wanted this because you know that the only way your “ideas” can win is if you go straight to the insanity and install insanity as a way of life, if you accuse the opponent of everything you yourself actually do, if you meddle in the functions of the electoral process over months and years leading up to 2024, if you tar any critique of further breaking already-dilapidated elements of a barely functioning society.

You actually do not have ideas. Sure, you cite the same convenient, out-of-context blurbs of the founders’ influences. Maybe the odd tongue of flame from Carl Schmitt. (“Good Ole Days,” am I right?) But what you really have are feelings: always projected as the sole influence of your enemy, but always concealed as your own, while you take in and vomit out substance proving you wrong, time after time, always rejecting it wholesale. As a hoax. As fake news. As know-it-all drivel, like actually knowing details of things is a vice — because in a society so clearly determined by the lengths of stupidity — it is.

Who was it that was going on for decades and decades about how All White Christians are pedophile degenerates who want to shove their garbage down our throats? Oh right! That did not happen. But I remember getting that very treatment by actual throat shovers while trying to enjoy pride month. You know, at an event nobody on Earth is required to go to? But there they were, almost literally shoving a bible into someone’s mouth.

The problem is that you want stupid notions artificially elevated as worthy of consideration. You have it stuck in your minds that you cannot truly hold a conviction if it is not the Only conviction. The real hard work of your school of thought is doing written and spoken gymnastics that can only make sense to a paranoid meth-smoker in Arkansas. None of this actually comports with any vetted, contemporary study of what generates a balanced society that materially guarantees wellness and opportunity for everyone in it.

Conservatives have become bankrupt in their alleged Marketplace of Ideas. It was always only posture and never a cutting edge. It was always man’s feelings over anyone else’s feelings. It was always fervor over reason. Ever since Ben Shapiro used his entire chest to claim that people affected by rising sea levels can just “Sell their homes and move”, the entire jig has been up. Every single puffed-up volley of human shit has been deflated to show the orange sludge pile nearly vaporizing from the weight of Big Macs and a predator’s paranoid conscience. He may even croak before I can finish writing this.

Every sad effort they pull out of their asses from here on is only going to be the protracted death gurgles of a population of people desperate to have their disgusting delusions validated. What you all pass off as “ideas” and “just asking questions” are only childlike rationales for allowing hate, persecution and paranoia, the last being necessary to hold onto monthly contributors. You go about your daily lives asking for a cookie from the jar of society. “If I’m a really really good boy, can I say the N word? Please?”

Upon calm denial, the tantrum of indignation. “Fine! I’ll just say it anyway! Conservatives are the new punks!” Oh, poor little bitch baby. It must be so hard being the asshole who does whatever he wants no matter how much he sobs about being “censored.” Every conservative is a sad little bitch too proud to admit that he’s been disaffected by the capitalism he cheers for, the caricature of “god” he claims to know and worship, the hard work he promises builds character, promises never breaks down a soul under the weight of bills, car payments and the usual sacrifices for basic medical care, or just a single meal.

They want applause for refusing, mocking and actively attacking what heartfelt bodies of knowledge and action would otherwise reach to pick them up out of the sad muck that they presently insist, due to contractual obligation, smells beautiful. I have not trained my spiritual olfaction to ignore the smell of rotten shit, the rank stench of reaching performances. That is all we are afforded to know in this gods forsaken land. All for the comfort of the white colonial standard. All for punishment of innocence, all for the honor of what is nakedly dishonorable. All for permanently enshrining and revising and enshrining and revising.

Would you ever consider actually governing in any way that makes people not want you gone? No, you wouldn’t. Because conservative politics literally only exists to have the backs of the minority owning class. It exists to punish the joy of being free in any way. But still, you will fight. You would rather cling to a failed cause than be without a cause, than have the real possibilities of you life beyond dogma as your only “cause.”

We earnestly tried the civil debate route several times over several decades. We actually heeded our elders in not putting any investment in any reasonable human buried under the fascist conditioning emerging, and we tried it anyway. Debate turned out to be more in line with antifascists than the fascists who hide behind “Conservatism.” They could not win in civil debate, so the streets became their medium. The streets were used as a bedrock for the intricate facade of “Ideas” to loop around and pull off enough corruption and illegality to reinstate their favorite felon predator. They cannot stop believing in a Yankee golden spoon diva who would employ the United States military to be in a Broadway musical before he would ever deploy them to respond to Vladimir Putin.

Beliefs. You love them more than your children. You know you really, truly do. (What more are your children to you than emotional currency, only when they’re oblivious and going along for the ride, up until they’re 18 to 30 and never talk to you again?) Your precious fucking beliefs. All beliefs, and I really do mean All Beliefs of socio-political levels of vitriol, are dogshit because they are faith without grounding. The only stand-in for grounding is ego. The only stand-in for substance is “it’s how I was raised.” It is good and preferable to abolish all beliefs that contradict a free and self-determined life as an individual, that contradict a simple, primal ethic of goodwill and an eagerness to learn and grow as people.

I wish for nobody to die this way again, and so I hope that, somehow, this is not simply the random death of another asshole, that this is not yet another escalation of the permanently postponed but always looming apocalypse of this particular network of empires, but the death of another empirically failed ideology. The death a former child feels as the sharpness of youth shows itself in the steady response, the careful but casual composure. The recognizing of change, irresistible, unending — but friendly if approached as a friend.

Let that scene of the wave of red MAGA hats rushing and crying like the bitches they actually in reality are be what breaks the backbone of the fake “spirit” of forcibly stunting the free development of organisms capable of critical analysis and self-directed thought in order to feel better about one’s own broken life. And as it always seems to be in so-called America, the broken hearts of pissy, entitled white settlers hold the direction of the continent by the throat. Gender ideology didn’t do this. You did. Your own kind did. You know you’re losing pretty bad when even your own people can’t stand you. Decades on decades of hysterical evangelical infiltration into the political process. Decades on decades of refusing your children autonomy and free thought. Crypto currency scams, deals with Saudi Arabia, cutting pediatric cancer research, legislatively obsessing over my siblings, building a base of resentment far better than maintaining a base of loyalty.

This is what you won. Everyone hates you except everyone who is conditioned to say that you’re speaking and behaving very based and alpha. You’re so brave and amazing for driving the same two variants of vehicles that every vulnerable little baby “man” has. A big stupid lifted Ford or a blacked-out Dodge Challenger. Double points if your fragility made you get both.

Also, stop using made up terms like “gender ideology.” It’s embarrassing. It makes you look like you repeat made up combinations of words that meth-smokers put together, and you regurgitate it like you’re the first person to read Isaac Newton. You’re the only ones playing with ideology in the context of scrutinizing trans existence. The study of gender variance only ever mentions politics when discussing what legislative acts of cruelty are interfering in someone’s pursuit of happiness. Otherwise, we are only parsing scientific data — which consistently proves your drivel to be false, with no place but the same dustbin that houses phrenology. Stop making your every grievance about my people or any other people.

I also love how a good chunk of you ammosexuals cannot properly identify a headstamp on a cartridge. You thought it was “Trans Revolution Network” or some Cobra Command fantasy dogshit. Don’t worry. I’m sure you and your GOP deep state occupation of three-letter agencies will fuck up even more creatively. I look forward to watching you all smacking yourselves in the forehead over and over again until you give up.

There is nothing to conserve but your own health, your very soul, your self-respect. If you cannot simply be conservative in your own life, without forcing yourself upon the lives of others, we have a problem. Stop holding our noses to your grindstone and then magically being unable to endure ours. You would be so lost without what frail power you are already holding onto by your teeth. Be better. That’s all you have to try to want to do. If you can’t: turn your heart off. It’s useless.

Brief Words On The Minneapolis Tragedy

With utmost condolences and wishes for peace to the families of the victims.

Words don’t quite do much anymore, if they ever did. So, for whatever they’re worth . . .

It turns out that people generally have equal capacity of being either wonderful and sincere individuals, or downright awful in every way, shape and form.

No immutable characteristic of any person (i.e., ethnicity, origin, gender) is the deciding force behind anyone’s being the caliber of horrible person that this person has proved to be.

Each and every one of us is capable of great kindness and equally so of great malevolence. If we were to give equal analysis of majorities and fringes in this kind of phenomena in America, we would have a far clearer picture. The problems of this society would be far more boldly distinguishable from the imagined problems that zealots impose on those they demonize.

But that doesn’t give the networks and pundits ratings.

That doesn’t throw red meat to the lot of opportunists who, in truth, are quite thrilled that children died this way. They have their opportunity to pretend that they care about the lives taken — as they openly care far, far more about slandering people like me. About doing collective punishment. About taking away rights. About actively dumbing down the population to be blind to all nuance that upsets their sense of black-and-white “reality.”

The perpetrator was a 23 year-old trans woman. That apparently matters a lot to the likes of Jesse Waters, a known stalker and creep, peddling bottom-of-the-barrel outrage slop over trans people existing more than children dying at school.

She was also very vocally a far-right conspiracy theorist who made liberal use of slurs and hateful delusions in her ramblings before the atrocity took place. That well-documented part wasn’t convenient for Fox’s narrative, or the narratives of so many who spend more time obsessing about trans people (while magically never taking proven, vetted data about my people to heart) than they do obsessing with what makes people break in such an outwardly devastating way.

I cannot stress this enough: No average trans person claims this piece of shit.

We never feel any urge for restraint in disavowing a bad person who happens to be gender non-conforming. Being trans does not excuse malicious behavior. And being trans is in no way itself a malicious behavior. Nazism did this, not “gender ideology.” (The only ones peddling ideology are the ones scapegoating and slandering my people. In the exploration of trans existence, we have only facts, history and dialog. Not ideologies.)

I as an individual trans woman have zero difficulty in saying that this person was a monster, a scum bag and a hideous stain on my community, who also unequivocally denounces this kind of deranged violence. It should go without emphasis that this person would be swiftly ejected from any gathering of average, everyday trans people if she entered into any fold of individuals and expressed this nonsense in front of those who face hatred and violence for existing in the sincerity of their being.

She, at the end of the day, was not any different from those that hurt trans people. And she certainly has, in ways we can only dread for the time being.

To the perpetrator: there is no pit deep enough to bury the ashes of your name, your face, your ilk. All you and your cisgender equivalents embody is self-destruction facing outward. An empty vehicle for conviction without substance. A permanent, unresolvable panic over nothing that only ends in the deaths of others and yourselves. At least you followed your leader. Let’s hope more do the same without ruining anyone else’s lives.

Peace be to everyone who endeavors to sustain reason and kindness.

From ‘Leaving Myself Alone’



Here comes “I’ll see you out”
seeing me out. Here comes

the child version of me
running up on me with a knife.

Here comes the mayor of Anarchism
handing me texts that argue

against my anarchy.
Here comes the lot of shit

bundled up in the object of worry.

I should tell you the truth now
beside the calm lake before us:

when I first set my hands to say
whatever in me throbbed with light,

I knew it would always be done
with a candor unique to me,

a humble technique designing.

And now I see no life done without that;
now I know no motion made without it.

Difficulty, disdain, morose mundane —
we know the needlework of our spirits

better than the harsh basket of terrors
sown in deluded earnest.

Designate a hypothetical door,
let the winds slam it shut on this all.

Here I go leaving myself
to those whirlwinds making my spirit,

alone in the permanence that is me,
the promise within which I sustain.

Leaving Myself Alone

Arising, the light now forgiving,
my page, the same, awaits . . .

blank partitions beside verses
contained in brackets bold.

Nothing explicit from dreams,
but revealing influences unspoken.
A close more certain than punctuation,

I wander. And in wandering can know.

Complete text here (PDF), 73 pages, CC-BY-NC 4.0

Ignited In Dark

Against The Dominant Idea

Fragile Piglets Want To Criminalize First Amendment-protected Activities