I once got into an argument at the anarchist study group in Berkeley, CA about where our anarchy came from. As I usually do, I loudly proclaimed that all anarchy means to me is “No!” and nothing else. To some at the group, this seemed an immature and childish sentiment, reminiscent of Crimethinc. and reeking of anti-intellectualism. Some shared their displeasure at this claim of mine, while some sat silently, as they usually do at the study group, being voyeurs, being takers, giving none of their energy or effort and absorbing(or not) the work others do in attempting to explain their thoughts and feelings.
No, I said to my parents
No, I said to my teachers
No, I said to every job when I finally found it within me to leave.
No, I said to every possible lover, despite what my body and mind said yes to
“No,” is the essence of my being, which of course has no essence. No is the arbitrary value placed at the center of my non-existence. From a deep blankness, from an imageless center, exerting from formlessness comes the inertia of “my” no. For in rejecting form, coherence, stability, and self, I am the embodied and foundationless no. I float above the heavens and below hell, for I am everywhere and nowhere, a duality and yet not duality, rather something else, some sound in the distance barely audible, scarcely real, am I a dream? No is One single arbitrary abstraction to open all others. My no grants everything. My no allows everything, for nothing requires permission. My no thunders out of chaotic non-forms to allow all possible forms and realities, all possible configurations and composites. My no gives birth to singularities and reduces the multiples to single points in a non-existent space and time. My no turns contradictions into each other, smashes them together into a roaring and rageful sea, and reveals everything that we cannot see, taste, hear, touch or feel, because my no overloads these false senses. It is the stimulus of creation, of negation, of which all possible forms are lied into existence, for all we know are lies. Our temporality allows all, every immoral “choice” and amoral philosophy. We become sheer terror. We are the haunting and resounding echo, no….no….no….no….that destroys all forms and returns our humanity to creatureliness, back to the body, back into an imaginary form which only exists as a creation in our mind, for there are no boundaries. Moving toward boundlessness, toward darkness, towards the everything/nothing at the false center of every false boundary and false form.
So I say no. And that is all I say. I owe me nothing, I owe you nothing, for you are me, an extension of me, a tentacle waving in the sea. The tentacle explains nothing to the beak, they are together yet not together, they meet yet are separate, they are alloyed in the strangeness of being. And so I say to you, to you all, to me, no. And I become everything.
0:00 The Pest by Charles Bukowski
14:23 My Own Business by William S. Burroughs
23:08 Misanthropia by Anton Szandor LaVey
32: 30 Fuck You All by Lawrence Labadie
37:30 Freedom + Solitude by Marilisa Fiorina
40:30 On Vagrancy by Isabel Everheart
Voiced by: rydra wrong & aufheben
Editing And Production: rydra wrong
Originally collected and Published by Enemy Combatant Publications
For more by them click here: http://littleblackcart.com/enemy-combatant-publications/