Lundi Matin wrote: “We received this anonymous text from Bordeaux. We liked it very much, so here it is.“
I dreamed chaos. I have dreamed of the embrace of possibilities and the burning of the catafalque which cradles our torpor in its eternal fall of boredom.
Where does it come from, this damned that atrocious immutability? How can Bordeaux, this bourgeois enclave swollen like a boil in the middle of an aged face, still be so clean, so calm, so smooth, so flat, at a time when anger must explode? How can she escape the flames, the permanent uprisings and the canons of battle songs? A year of a movement that has clung to the pavement, beating it every week in a fluctuating but still fierce indignation; but so many decades, so many centuries of rage that must today find a point of contact, an entire area of impact where to set the Empire aflame …
I dreamed it, this world-storm in perpetual clash, in frenzied boiling.
I dreamed it and dream again, for the planet needs it so much. Never has wisdom’s saying been so true, so profoundly prophetic: if we want peace, we will first go through war. It is total war, planetary, nature defending itself against the civilisational monster; riotous war, protean, of a world bursting with rage to live against the costumed puppets that bleed it white.
This war is already taking place everywhere, and is intensifying devilishly in the immense revolutionary leap that is drumming at the golden gates of the great spawning. All countries are rising up. The riots in Hong Kong are every week more inventive, more efficient, more enraged; the combats in Chile shatter the pathetic veneer of absolute control that seeks to establish an inhuman repression; in Ecuador, raging protesters have established a real balance of power with the government, forced to back down to ensure a little rear-guard; so many examples can be given, so many revolts are born, that it is difficult to go through them all. In France, the first anniversary of the Yellow Vests movement showed a fury always on edge. Sensible, limpid rage, anger exacerbated against this despicable world and the ruthless bureaucrats who throw the Living into the grave for a few billion more. The forces of oppression, ever more over armed, militias of a totalitarian state that has no other response but to shoot into the many out of fear, can no longer stem the hatred that one feels for the horror of the time. This is the time when the helmeted executioners are pursued in the streets and hiding in the laundries to escape the torrent of legitimate justice that mows them down outside. It is the time when public places are forbidden by the powerful on days of protest, for the real fear of not being able to repress the tumult and to sink into the void of destitution by force. This is the time when the scientific police lift stickers in the streets to do DNA analysis, while the great State criminals walk with impunity. This is the time when all the institutions prostitute themselves in the fetid swaddling of mass surveillance to tighten the vice still more. Tomorrow, the slightest step will be done by facial recognition via the abomination ALICEM; every feature of our faces will be known, recorded, and taken out of the ocean of electronic archives every time a camera seizes a piece of our face, in the rush of a social gathering. This is the time when this civilisation at the end of the race no longer cares to maintain the ridiculous lie of order, calm and “business as usual”. Do not believe any more in the madmen and allies of this foul system.
These are more numerous than one would like to believe. They themselves often ignore each other, weaving between political lines so disturbing that they have not the slightest ounce of meaning. They say that they are of the left but legitimize state violence by condemning the “violence” of the people, which is only a response to the permanently ultra-brutal industrial society. Sweeping away opposing arguments with the back of the hand, with a flatulent “Oh yes, no, but of course, but you see that you understood me”, without suspecting that their hypocrisy has no longer fooled anyone for some time. To oppose categorically any form of violence is commendable, but it does not make sense at this time. The worst of all the violence, the one that tortures, the which takes the form of a planetary genocide, an administered extermination of all forms of life on Earth, which plunges and maintains billions of beings, human and non-human, in a raging misery for the benefit of rich countries, themselves eviscerated to guarantee the tranquility of the most fortunate, this violence is that of everyday life, the normal functioning of this world, that of the “every-day”, that of days like the others. To oppose violence honestly is to oppose this violence, and not the breaking of shop windows and machines that instigate exasperated and savage souls. Whoever defends the merits of this civilisation and advocates a strictly pacifist resistance by rejecting the rest is in fact the greatest assassin, a tyrant hiding her/his darkness behind a mask of humanism.
We must not be afraid of disorder anymore. It often seems paradoxical to realise that the real carnage, the real chaos, the real cataclysm, does not come from demonstrations, riots and altercations with the police, but from the unalterable continuum of absurdities in which we are stuck and that we perceive as “normal life”. Wake up every morning before sunrise at the ring of a phone, swallow a few bites of various industrial waste to hold up, clump together in subways, buses, trams, the empty stare glued to the window fogged with polluted respiratory flow, letting her/his ass take the shape of a chair all year long by typing on a computer or copying pages and pages of lessons, or breaking his back, his kidneys, his dreams, in servile labours fattening the multinationals so as to receive something to be able to go on, over and over, again and again, the same vile masquerade; is not the worst of tumults much better than this order, this platitude, this deadly organisation?
Once again, those who claim, in the name of humanism, to oppose disorder and chaos, are but the apologists of a system of which they see only the sweetest aspects. Ask yourself this question, if you are on this side: if calm prevails so much in your beautiful neighbourhood, is it not because disorder is erupting elsewhere? It works on a larger scale: if the West is often so quiet, so developed, so “civilised”, is it not because the war, the brutality, the depredations and the rapes committed in distant lands ensure it a shameful wealth and the peace of the guilty? An acquaintance dared to tell me one day that, if there are so many problems, it is not the fault of the system, which works perfectly, but of institutions that do not teach the population how to render them effective. Holy fuck. The ever-expanding misery so despised by indecent wealth, insatiable capitalism slaughtering existence for power and profit, the innumerable ecological and social cataclysms orchestrated by the elite to ensure the perpetuation of its disgusting dynasties that no longer speak their own name, all that, and so much more, would be then because of the ignorance of the people … Where was one’s head, when one thought oneself to be right in struggling against this world and its functioning?
These shameful discourses emanate only from the same type or profile, which is conjugated to infinity or almost. S/he who does not see, or refuses to see, her/his tranquillity is conquered at the price of massacres that her/his cowardice pushes her/him to condone. Whoever, in a few years, when the dictatorship will no longer hide from crossing over e limits, will willingly collaborate with the state militias if that can assure her/him the possibility of continuing to pretend that all is well.
To avoid reliving these less than glorious moments, perhaps it would be better to take the lead. Artists, comrades in love with the beautiful, did you know that, of all the possible flames, those those that exhale from a big luxury car burned by the insurrection are the most aesthetic? They have an I-do-not-know-what that is intense, deep, mystic, their curls are so pure that they look like dreams. Let’s chase these beauties! Whoever denounces the excesses lives daily in the most serious of them. Let us no longer attend to these calls for calm, to these injunctions to march in step, to the shameless treachery of those who call themselves our friends and allies. To shatter this empire does not prevent the organisation of the renewal that comes after. Everyone has a place in the current war. There is not only need for combatants, blockaders, rioters, but for everyone. Literally everyone provided s/he is clear on the hell that is devouring us.
At a time when the situation is simply not sustainable, when disasters are worsening everywhere, we can no longer afford to partition struggles. It took a student from Lyon to immolate himself before a CROUS to wake us up. In response to this horror, beautiful actions flourish: blockages of student cafeterias and free meals at university restaurants, demonstrations, calls for convergence … The University of Bordeaux Montaigne is currently the object of an occupation which, hopefully, seems determined to last. Yet, one question remains: why, still and always, remain attached to our student status? What to fight for, in the end: should we fight for decent study conditions, even though universities are factories producing future lobotomised employees? For the right to sit all day on chairs, to pass tests, get a degree and find a job, when the whole world is dying of this atrocious operation? To remain thus attached to this eulogy of the status quo that is the demand of students, this fierce opposition movement risks getting stuck in a muck which will be fatal to it. To fight against precariousness is to fight against the ensemble of this system: against the ideology of work which alienates us to the point where we cherish our chains as fundamental rights, against the totalitarian State which is looming with always more clarity, against the urban and technological cancer that enslaves us all the more because it makes us dependent, against the economy that poisons our lives and sees life as a market to conquer. We are, unfortunately, in the era of “all-or-nothing”.
For this reason, it seems necessary to give up those rags of identity to which we cling – students, yellow vests and other flags under which we are accustomed to gather. If the blockades of universities in Hong Kong are so marvellously grandiose, it is because they are undertaken by individuals who, strictly speaking, are no longer students, but resisters. They are beings thrown body and soul into the struggle, into this war, that is already thundering and that we must carry out despite all our plans, despite all our hopes for the future, peace and stability. We no longer have to call ourselves students when the whole of this society is to be demolished, so that what we build elsewhere has a chance to hold without being perpetually besieged. We cannot be content with creating alternatives (or even worse, asking for them) without accepting the inevitable conflict that is always born of initiatives that undermine the gears of the Machine. Negotiations and compromises are a trap: I know how tempting it is to arrange as many people as possible, to what extent it would be better to be unanimous; but let’s face it. Salvation is not to be asked of those who eviscerated it.
Let’s get out of our respective places, let’s embrace the horizon of torments that is piling up around us, and let’s dive all together and in solidarity into this chaos that is promised to us.
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