Filed under: war-machine | Tags: anti-left, books, new york city, occupy wallstreet, pranking, slogans, socialism, the left, vandalism, verso
The vandalist is recognizable as the most obnoxious brat conjurable in society’s collective imagination. These Bart Simpsons struck once again this past weekend, pranking the Left and their enemies on multiple occasions in a joyous effort to devalorize everything it holds sacrosanct.
They started on Friday night by crashing a party held by the multinational corporation Verso, an enterprise which has made its fortune by cornering the market on socialist-oriented literature. While the paper they sell contains words arguing for revolt against the commodity form, they themselves ruthlessly defend it using lawyers, security guards, Zizekians, and other such police to prevent unauthorized consumption of their product. Such was the case when Verso lawyers sent a cease and desist notice to the beloved AAAARG.org, a website that hosts free PDFs of critical theory, putting Verso in the same category as the MPAA, RIAA, DOJ, and all other litigious enemies of free cultural exchange.
As young hip communists danced to 90s music in the bourgeois Verso loft, at least a dozen vandalists filled their bags with Verso’s inventory, intending to trade, gift, and fill their collective libraries with the volumes. The Robin Hood-like act was not looked at kindly by the Verso bosses and their Pinkertons, however, who finally became aware of the vandalism to their warehouse towards the party’s end. One bad citizen was grabbed, ordered to empty his bag, and threatened with arrest. Several corporate investors flocked to the scene, threatened violence against the bookworm, and declared themselves “true socialists” to defend themselves against the heckles of the proletarian attendees, generally sympathetic to the act of stealing from employers.
The sun went under, and so did the vandalists. Comrades need five hours of sleep to maintain their cognitive acuity. But no sooner had the great star poured its gold onto the streets once more, than the vandalists, refreshed by oneiric visions of the Metropolis sunken into bloody catastrophe, set out at a gallop toward the financial district of Manhattan. Finding the leisurely neo-hippie atmosphere of Zuccotti Park trite, the semio-hooligan band concocted a plan to tarnish the pacific scene. Embedded in the perimeter of this police colony like a benign tumor, the Left Forum at Pace University was to be the next target of our proletarian protagonists’ ruthless undermining.
For those who want a program for the revolution, the Left Forum has drafted it, and covered it with institutional endorsements. If you look in the index, between ‘reform’ and ‘revolution’, you will find ‘resignation’. Wedged like a weak nut between the two jaws of City Hall and Police Plaza, the Forum quaked in its vegan boots when this band of freaks appeared at its gates hollering “Autoreduce the Forum” in a sickening cadence and overpowered the University’s rented sentries. These one-time police academy hopefuls were no match for the berserk resolve of the invaders, who burst through the gates wielding slogans like nunchucks. The moldy academics in their lumpy seats didn’t know what to make of the lumpens, some of whom were already sizing up the vending machines for a siege in miniature.
More chants of “Communize Everything” and other such jargon seductive to trend-hopping Leftists allowed the group’s numbers to surge to around 100, who soon marched to Zuccotti amidst Pied-Piper-like chants of “Praxis! Praxis!”
Once in the park, the intellectuals tarnished the atmosphere of activist smug with discourse on such topics as young Marx’s hygienic rituals, the Death of God, and materialist analyses of punk lyrics. Indeed, both the over-lexed Left Forum and the over-praxed Zuccotti were now thoroughly intermingled, setting the stage for the night’s chaos.
As police began to wipe the human graffiti from the park’s pavement, numerous marches began to snake around downtown Manhattan, seeking icons to defile along it’s path. The ensuing police could not handle the swift, self-barricading crowd at times, and a window of Uniqlo was destroyed after a vandalist caught site of their face’s reflection in the glass over the blank visage of a mannequin. Perhaps seduced by the incoherent rage of the crowd, media recorded an affinity group of officers using the head of an Occupy medic to damage the window of an yuppie apartment building.
Like the fumes from a can of spraypaint, the betraying scent of the vandalist hangs for a few moments before it dissolves completely in the flowing air. The odorous memories of internal transgressions, pettiness, and provocations will soon be replaced by the reassuring scent of freshly baked historicity, allowing yet another Call of Action to be posted, and subsequently defaced.
Mayan Spring 2012