Filed under: war-machine | Tags: anarchist man, comrade, dictatorship, IEF, imagination, liam sionnach, post-feminism
“After a few dozen email conversations, grammatical and content edits by our beloved friends, and the addition of critical annotations, the Institute for Experimental Freedom is proud to announce the release of The Dictatorship of Postfeminist Imagination.”
from the preface:
This text is a sort of meta-critique of anarchist practices of feminism. It was provoked from this editor, generally, because of a certain absence of critical feminist theory within a milieu which adopts the assumptions and imperatives of identity politics. It was provoked specifically, because of the intelligence which the text “Is the Anarchist Man our Comrade?” and “Why She Doesn’t Give a Fuck About Your Insurrection?” honed in on—of which many of us already know: the affects produced by our practices of consent, accountability, community and identity are weak. Moreover, because the forms, which mimic legal practices, that are taken up to combat internal gendered and sexualized oppression are empty of a consciousness of their historical development. Although this text is responding to particular texts and particular utterances which followed, as a sort of ethical practice, this text refuses the limitation of the milieu that speaks to itself in a particular jargon. By revealing the discourse that is taking place and staking a claim in it, this text intends to overflow its sad boundaries.
The text has multiple voices, contradictions; seams which exist as a threshold between this idea and the next. It always does. It is assembled merely as a temporary space which these bodies who are attached to worlds and their meanings communicate. Although it comes from an editing process which seeks to weave an amalgamation of intelligences and sensibilities into—at the very least—the raw intellectual materials to reveal a political position, this text is also only one such rudimentary position in a long history of feminist theoretical development. And although the voices which are put to use by this assemblage may very well scoff at certain feminist writers, it would be foolish not to examine this history.
The writers, or worlds, which inhabit this text are both infantile and full of a decade of scars. We’ve been experimenting with our lives, our bodes, spaces, and temporalities, and we’ve met similar and unique pitfalls. The theory we write is an extension of the theory we inhabit. We start from the horror that we are all potential perpetrators, because we are not sure we have developed the spoken language, or gestural vocabulary to articulate our experiences, and because we can’t count past one in four—or was it one in ten? We love power, we even sometimes love to authorize, but we’re terrified by the means which we must encounter our power. Because we know it’s often at the expense of others.
Hating the irreversible time of daily miseries
and their repetition,
-Liam Sionnach | IEF | 2010
Filed under: war-machine | Tags: anarchist, anarchy, computers, police station, portland, riot, vandalismz, windows
“PORTLAND, Ore. — Someone vandalized the Portland Police union headquarters doing thousands of dollars in damage early Tuesday.
Spokesman Scott Westerman said just before 1 a.m., bricks and rocks were thrown through their windows, doing about $20,000 worth of damage to the outside of the building.
Eight people were arrested and three officers were injured Monday night when protesters clashed with police in downtown Portland in a rally against two recent officer-involved shootings.
Westerman said computers and other items were damaged inside the office.
No suspects have been named in the case.”
Filed under: Milwaukee area | Tags: 732 e clarke st, anarchist, anarchy, cream city collectives, gender, judith butler, milwaukee, queer theory, riverwest, splatch, whatever urge
at the CCC (732 E Clarke St.)
Apr. 4th – Toward the Queerest Insurrection
Apr. 11th – To Destroy Sexuality
Apr. 18th – Towards a Gay Communism (only available at the CCC)
Apr. 25th – Gender Trouble (book)
This is the last month of scheduled discussions. People have talked about either continuing with new topics (some ideas being: situationist theory, feminism, identity politics, etc) starting next month, taking a break from the series for a bit, or being open to changing the format. Also people should be reminded that Gender Trouble is a book length text so they might want to start and give themselves a little more time to finish. There are copies of the book at the CCC, in the Burnt Bookmobile distro, online and at multiple libraries in Milwaukee.
Supplementary readings may be posted soon…
Filed under: update | Tags: BwO, capitalism, deleuze, deterritorialization, french people, guattari, julien coupat, tarnac 9, wolves, zines
All put together by a new formatting project and distro called Petroleuse Press
Their about section:
“For most Americans, the image of the pétroleuse setting buildings and homes ablaze (either to delay the invasion of troops or simply to gratify her ”love of riot”) confirmed the connection between feminist agitation, political revolution, economic conflict, and cultural catastrophe. “Pale, frenzied, … [and] fierce,” as a poet in Harper’s Weekly described them, the pétroleuses presented a nightmarish specter of women aggressively repudiating bourgeois norms of womanhood. Many witnesses (and subsequent commentators) identified the arsonists as prostitutes, morally dizzied by their distance from domestic life, hystericized by their all-too-public vocation and their abandonment to their bodies. Most commentators did not distinguish the pétroleuses from other women of the [Paris] Commune, all of whom they saw as rowdy, reckless affronts to nature. Given over to unfeminine theorizing and public speaking, these woman formed clubs where they urged the legalization of divorce and women’s sexual independence. (As historians have subsequently detailed, they also smoked pipes, toted pistols, and wore revolutionary garb, delighting audiences, male and female, who thronged the clubs to see them.) These feminists led marches and fought at the barricades. During the Bloody Week, they reportedly not only set fire to homes and civic buildings but also plundered the city, gave enemy soldiers poisoned wine, and murdered officers after they had surrendered – atrocities recounted in dozens of histories, short stories, novels, poems, and plays about the Paris Commune though the turn of the century.”
- D.A. Zimmerman, Panic!: Markets, Crises, & Crowds in American Fiction (2006)
“Q. The police consider you the leader of a group on the point of tipping over into terrorism. What do you think about that?
A. Such a pathetic allegation can only be the work of a regime that is on the point of tipping over into nothingness.”
“”underneath all reason lies delirium, drift…”
an interview with Deleuze and Guattari”
“Lines of flight or of deterritorialization, becoming-wolf, becoming-inhuman, deterritorialized intensities: that is what multiplicity is. To become wolf or to become hole is to deterritorialize oneself following distinct but entangled lines. A hole is no more negative than a wolf. Castration, lack, substitution: a tale told by an overconscious idiot who has no understanding of multiplicities as formations of the unconscious. A wolf is a hole, they are both particles of the unconscious, nothing but particles, productions of particles, particulate paths, as elements of molecular multiplicities. It is not even sufficient to say that intense and moving particles pass through holes; a hole is just as much a particle as what passes through it. Physicists say that holes are not the absence of particles but particles traveling faster than the speed of light. Flying anuses, speeding vaginas, there is no castration.”
Filed under: war-machine | Tags: anarchists, anarchy, breaking things, murder, pigs, police, portland, rioting, vengeance
From Anarchist News:
“We don’t give a fuck, the time is now.”
When word spread that the Portland police had just shot a man to death at the Hoyt Arboretum, we knew we had to make a choice: to allow ourselves to be human, or to participate in our own murders, to hide away in sleep and the unfolding of a routine that ends, for all of us, in death. It’s a choice that has been made for us so many times before: by the media, by community leaders, professional activists, bosses, teachers, parents, friends who do not push us to confront this fear with them. We are killing ourselves with so much swallowed rage.
Tonight, we would not go to sleep with this sour feeling in our stomachs. Tonight, we gave a name to what we feel: rage. This is how it started.
Within hours of word getting out, local anarchists met in a park, and decided we had to march on the police station. Not the central precinct: that neighborhood would be dead at this hour. We wanted to shout at the police, but also to find our neighbors, to talk to the other folks in our community, to let them know what happened and call them down into the streets with us. To not let them find out about this murder in the sanitized commentary of the glowing screen but to meet them and cry out to them, the rage and sadness plain in our faces: we cannot live with what has happened. We cannot allow this to go on.
The march left the park and headed through a residential neighborhood, interrupting the dead Monday night silence of consumer-workers recovering from another day ripped from their grasp. Chanting at the top of our lungs, we encountered our own anger, our own sense of power. “And now one slogan to unite us all: cops, pigs, murderers.”
Many expected this march to be only symbolic. Few were prepared for anything more. But we encountered a collective force that amplifies the individual rather than smothering each one of us in the mass. The two who took the initiative to drag a dumpster into the street changed the history of this city. This small sign of sabotage spread. We all made it our own.
When the first little garbage containers were brought into the road, a couple people put them back on the sidewalk, trying to clean up the march, to make it respectable. They were confronted, shouted at. “This doesn’t send a message,” they said. “You can do that if you want, but go somewhere else,” they said. But we have nowhere to go, except for the spaces we violently reclaim. And our message is unmistakable: we are angry, and we are getting out of hand. People continued to be uncontrollable, and soon those who had appointed themselves the censors of our struggle saw that it was they who were in the wrong place. No one attempted to control their participation. They were not allowed to control ours.
Once we got on Burnside Avenue, dumpsters were being turned over every hundred feet, blocking both directions. Folks had scavenged rocks and bottles and sticks and drums. One person had had the foresight to bring a can of spraypaint, also changing the history of our moment. We were no longer a protest. We were vengeance.
When the crowd passed the first bank, a few individuals erupted into action, while others watched their backs. The ATM got smashed. A window got smashed. Rocks and bottles were thrown. Sirens began ringing out behind us. A Starbucks appeared one block ahead. A race: could we get there before the pigs arrived? We won. More windows broke.
When the police tried to get us on to the sidewalk, they were shocked by the intensity of rage they faced. “Fuck the police!” “Murderers!” Their lights and sirens had no effect. Someone shoved a dumpster into the lead cop car. They were temporarily speechless.
Only when the cops outnumbered the people did they try again, with some pepper spray and brute force finally succeeding to push us onto the sidewalk. But we were smart. We knew we couldn’t win a fight just then, and every chance we got we took the street again. We didn’t surrender: they had to work for it. And never did we surrender our power over the mood of the night. Louder than their sirens were our ceaseless screams, our chants, focusing our range and wiping the arrogant smiles off the pigs’ faces. They were visibly upset by the level of hatred they encountered.
We got to the police station and yelled at the line of police waiting there for us, yelled at the media parasites standing by with their cameras, calling out their complicity in police violence and racism. Most of us didn’t worry about sending the proper message or appearing respectable. We expressed our rage and the power of our analysis, our ability and willingness to take initiative and change this world.
The first TV news clips, ironically, were the best we could have hoped for, but we do not put our hope in the media. We will communicate our critique of the police to the rest of the city with our protests, our fliers, our bodies, our communiqués. With graffiti and smashed windows.
It should also be noted that the police have not yet released the race of the person killed. We don’t know yet which community is “most affected” by this murder. We respond because police violence affects all of us, because we want to show solidarity every time the State executes someone. We know that racism is a critical feature of control in this society, and we also believe we must find ways to act responsibly as allies to communities that are not our own. But solidarity must be critical, and it can only be practiced by those who are struggling for their own freedom. It is clear from tonight’s actions that we fight against police violence because we feel rage and sadness whenever they kill someone.
We fight in solidarity with everyone else who fights back. And by fighting, we are remembering what it is like to be human.
In these moments when we surprise ourselves, we catch little glimpses of the world we fight for. Running down the streets, stooping to pick up a rock, we realize that in our hand we have nothing less than a building block of the future commune.
Our commune is the rage that spreads across the city, setting little fires of vengeance in the night. Our commune is the determination that comes back to the public eye the next day, meeting in the open, not letting the rest of society forget this murder, not letting our neighbors numb themselves with routine. Our commune rattles the bars of our cages, and this noise is our warcry: “out into the streets.”
Filed under: update | Tags: ardent press, books, crime, french stuff, insurrection, reading is cool, stopping time, tiqqun
This book compiles newly translated TIQQUN texts such as: Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Juene Fille, Theses on the Terrible Community, and others, plus original material by the editors. We should have copies of this for $7 dollars as soon as we receive them from Ardent press.
From the Ardent Press Description:
“What citizens are abandoned to in the guise of “existence” is no longer anything but a life or death effort to make themselves compatible with empire. But for the others, for us, each gesture, each desire, each affect encounters in some way the necessity of annihilating empire and its citizens.
On this criminal path, we take our time. What we are talking about here is nothing less than the constitution of war-machines.”
Filed under: update | Tags: agamben, autonomia, community, gender, italian feminism, the city, whatever singularity
The City in the Female Gender by Lia Magale
From Autonomia: post-political politics
The Coming Community by Giorgio Agamben
“For your viewing (and printing) pleasure, we present the Coming Community by Giorgio Agamben… this zine will look really, really cool poking out of your sidebag, especially if you “splurge” on the color cover. Trust us.
Part of a series of 3… the rest coming soonish…”
(thanks to our friend, Yadira)