On Playing Out the Game Without a Reason

“Nevertheless human life was thus image-graced and image-cursed; it could comprehend itself only through images, the images were not to be banished, they had been with us since the herd-beginning, they were anterior to and mightier than our thinking, they were timeless, containing past and future, they were a twofold dream-memory and they were more powerful than we: an image to himself was he who lay there, and steering toward the most real reality, borne on invisible waves, dipping into them, the image of the ship was his own image emerging from darkness, heading toward darkness sinking into darkness, he himself was the boundless ship that at the same time was boundlessness; and he himself was the flight that was aiming toward this boundlessness…” read more

LEAVE ME ALONE: Misanthropic Writings From the Anti-Social Edge

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

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FRR Books Podcast #1: The Festival of Insignificance by Milan Kundera

This is the first episode of FRR’s new books podcast.  Our goal is to discuss books(mostly fiction), especially where they intersect with our lives, nihilism, and anarchism.  I(rydra) will be the most consistent host with a rotation of friends and others I find interesting broadcasting when we desire to.  In this episode we discuss Milan Kundera’s final novel, “The Festival of Insignificance.”  I began reading Kundera as a teenager and my fondness for him has only grown as I have slowly felt the effects of his writing, ideas, and brilliance sink into me over the years.

Tom Robbins has written that in life we start as fools and if we live the good life, we end as fools.  Milan Kundera’s first novel was called “The Joke,” so it makes perfect sense that his final novel would again engage the idea of jokes, laughter, insignificance, and how to possibly live the good life.  In this novel, Kundera discusses how to give birth to an apologizer, how society is an army of apologizers, why nobody got Stalin’s jokes, how our obsession with the future is really an attempt to fix the past, and so much more.

Kundera was living in Czechoslovakia when Stalin’s tanks stormed across the border and occupied his country.  Shortly after he was exiled to France, which has given him a unique view on politics and history.  In his writing he deconstructs History, nostalgia, identity, and is able to write with a heavy lightness that seeps deep into my bones when I read him.  I’m forever grateful that he shared his thoughts because they have changed the ways I interact with society and individuals and myself more than I will ever realize.  So, enjoy a discussion between September and I where we discuss what reading this book meant for us, how it relates to our anarchy, our nihilism, and our selves or lack thereof.

And in the words of Milan Kundera when speaking of the value of fiction:  Suspending moral judgement not the immorality of the novel; it is its morality.  The morality that stands against the ineradicable human habit of judging instantly, ceaselessly, and everyone; of judging before, and in the absence of, understanding.  From the viewpoint of the novel’s wisdom, that fervid readiness to judge is the most detestable stupidity, the most pernicious evil.  Not that the novelist utterly denies that moral judgement is legitimate, but that he refuses it a place in the novel.

Voiced by September and rydra wrong

Sound and editing by rydra wrong

production by rydra wrong


The Collected Writings of Renzo Novatore: Part 3


We must kill the christian philosophy in the most radical sense of the
word. How much mostly goes sneaking inside the democratic civilization
(this most cynically ferocious form of christian depravity) and it goes
more towards the categorical negation of human Individuality.
“Democracy! By now we have comprised it that it means all that says
Oscar Wilde Democracy is the people who govern the people with blows of
the club for love of the people”.
Against all that is sounded the hour of insurgence and not with only
some unpleasant and repugnant theoretic bleat of the lambs…Much more is wanted in this bloody twilight of a civilization that has had its time! read more