We are a cacophony of unrecognizable, unwilling, and inappropriate joy, volleys, creativity, play, violence, and imagination. This is a refusal of the norms – especially those around “writing” and what it’s supposed to look like, sound like, and adhere to. You are boring, and we don’t care…4u2h8
This is an intersection. We throw off any conceptions of expertise, authority, completeness, righteousness (Except for those who rat on their own damaged consciousnesses with accusations that they’re not “holy enough” for us. You said it, not us.), professionalism, or decorum. Things change, standards rise and fall, the youth die, and the old fall into obscurity. What matters is divestment from the socio-economic systems that closes off our minds and possibilities. What matters is the fight; a fight for people and their wholesale liberation from the joyless death machine of colonialism, capitalism, and technocracy.
This is not a brand. No opportunity exists here for our salvation within the pecuniary obsessive disorder. We throw off privileges and chains alike. You’ll find no interest or sympathy from us toward the crocodile tears of complicit actors and their beneficiaries. Settlers be damned! We have no love for the current state of affairs. Yes, we want it all burned down and redistributed to the people; the loss of control and hierarchy; an eradication of the racialized capitalist labor system, to be followed with an unbridled joy of life.
If this is confusing, good! If you can’t help but smile, even better! Nothing but love for our comrades, friends, accomplices, and anyone burdened and beaten down by society’s endless mirage of “value,” “worth,” and “love.” We love each other by destroying what you love and replacing it with an erotic, erratic, and unseemly new fuckin’ world (it’ll blow your mind).
Who fuckin’ cares who’s writing *gags* what where when who how here. It doesn’t matter, and we don’t want it to matter. This is the death of the author through an endless blooming of nonsense (a fickle rebellion, but an annoying rebellion nonetheless…to you). Let a thousand genders bloom! No idols, no fuckin’ masters! Blasphemy reigns supreme! We laugh as we piss on your artifacts, your art, your sensibilities, your silly worries! This isn’t art, it’s a FUCKING FUCK FEST OF ENDLESS FUCKERY AND WE DON’T FUCKIN’ CARE ABOUT THE RULES!!!!
Things will appear, disappear, reappear ad nausea on here. That’s how life is, and that’s how we want [blank] to exist (existing endless, nothing everywhere, no concept of time…dEATH).
For our comrades, for anyone who wants to see the boots of the oppressors swinging from a tree….we love you and wish you endless militant joy through playful militancy. You are not broken, less than, worthless, or alone… We might never have met and maybe never will, but we love you. The brutes and asshats who ravage and mock your individuality (while preaching their own soulless hyper-individualism that’s hiding a malicious collectivism), who downplay your concerns and trials, and who attack you physically, emotionally, and mentally will not own you! FUCK THEM! They live in a living hell of their own empty never-ending desires and obsessions. We might live within a hellscape, but we’ll kill it.
Destroy, reuse, play, contort their realities, defy their golden images, kick them when they’re down, love one another radically, unleash creative hell, forget the time, forget to work, refuse to conform, be irresponsible, and laugh when we make a mockery of them. Punch up!
Reality is our fabrication. And only we know it.