Incomplete Incoherent
Here is something I wrote a week ago about my trip to West Virginia:
I have been up to too many things to recount now, but I will relay one from this weekend.
My co-worker Lauren invited me to a shindig at her boyfriend’s place in the woods of West Virginia. Her boyfriend, Craig, runs the east coast office for AK Press, an anarchist press. Once a year, Craig and Lauren invite their network of anarchist friends to come camp out at their place. It is always a good time, and I was delighted to join them this year. There were many wonderful young people present who work in various (mostly book-related) collectives and co-ops in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and some smaller towns.
It was exciting to meet such cool people in such a beautiful place that got me out of what I can only describe as the “constantness” of Washington, D.C. One fellow, a soft-spoken and moderately bearded thirty-something named Matthew, has had the kind of young adulthood I can really appreciate. Went to school for architecture, joined the Marines and ended up in Timor, came back to work for Merrill Lynch and some other companies. He is now working on a master’s degree in development at MIT. He plans to return to Timor to do his research. We spoke fairly at length about the history of East Timor, including the roles of Indonesia and the U.S. All conversation was enjoyed over some serious vegan food.
At night, we all watched Sacco and Vanzetti projected onto a screen outdoors. The film depicts the story of the extremely controversial trial of the two Italian immigrant anarchists who were executed in 1927 in the face of worldwide protests. I am still undecided as to what I think of the film, but I am glad I saw it. The history of radicalism, especially when presented in film, draws me into thought as an excellent painting does. The line of thinking that has not left me yet came during the successive campfire when the host Craig noted that people dressed better back then and that it was difficult to dismiss anarchism as fringe when tens of thousands of workers in suits and hats took to the streets to demand the release of two (seemingly) persecuted anarchists.
This also relates to a question I asked Craig. Had he encountered in his office library a lot of anarchist authors who demonize Murray Bookchin? Yes, Bookchin could be quite personally vicious, and his ad hominem style was frequently reciprocated. Another fellow in the circle mentioned that Fifth Estate authors, such as David Watson, were sharply critical of Bookchin, including his critique of “lifestyle anarchism.” Bookchin emphasizes the need for a class movement rather than individualist personal changes. As Craig noted, that is quite understandable given Bookchin’s life, coming from a working class, Russian immigrant background.
The important point here, is that anarchism (in addition to socialism, communism, and trade unionism) was a serious belief held by many serious people when American industrial production actually came from American cities. Workers in factories didn’t need convincing that something was deeply wrong with the system that impoverished and worked them to death while the factory owners got rich. As Craig said, anarchists (minus a few violent ones) looked like average Joes, with respectable suits and hats.
The conversation didn’t necessarily probe this further, but my mind continued on. Production is basically overseas now, the trade unions are all but caput, the radicals were sufficiently repressed and deported, and this is now a service economy for the lower rungs. And who are anarchists? A few twenty-somethings with black shirts, tattoos, and piercings. There are small, often dysfunctional collectives of once-privileged white kids in most American cities. “Anarchist” is a demographic now, with its own network of bookstores and T-Shirts (I got a free one with a guy in a gas mask playing guitar). But what are they changing now-a-days? In what sense is power threatened? It used to be that the fucking U.S. Attorney General ran stings and mass deportations for the country’s “radical elements.” With the threat purged, the state now has nothing to fear.
My friend Julie was in the hospital in the days leading up to that weekend. It was chaotic to say the least. I visited her on Saturday morning before her colonoscopy and endoscopy. I was thoroughly hung over and wrote the following during her procedure:
What’s all this chatter now?
The noise of human culture is ceaseless
Spread across buses that weave through cities that envelope the earth whole
Words.
Words everywhere - and not a thought to think
Humans -those colonizers of silence
Like gas, discourse fills any space it can
Except it doesn’t spread itself thin
The number of speakers has been growing
But, more importantly, the media of messaging has become ubiquitous
How can the animals just carry on
when there’s lipstick to wear,
exercising to do,
2 for 1’s,
live girls,
genital herpes,
and a glut of images smeared across every surface?
What do the endless speakers have to say?
Not “Eat more fiber,” but simply “I am speaking,”
or rather -“there is speech.”
We should approach every advertisement,
doll or posted announcement
as we do a cave painting.
The first question is always
“What the fuck is the point of this?”
Why did some human animal arrange the material of the world in this manner?
To make an object speak.
The content is virtually irrelevant.
The object says “here is a message, it points to an unseen speaker
who anticipated a future recipient or perhaps future recipients.”
The noises that other animals make are of a different order.
Their communications go something like “Fuck me,” “Help!” or
“fresh kill over here.”
While we share the first one,
Certain others seem unique to us.
None of their communications say “You were made in God’s image”
or “straightened white teeth look the best.”
I have been up to too many things to recount now, but I will relay one from this weekend.
My co-worker Lauren invited me to a shindig at her boyfriend’s place in the woods of West Virginia. Her boyfriend, Craig, runs the east coast office for AK Press, an anarchist press. Once a year, Craig and Lauren invite their network of anarchist friends to come camp out at their place. It is always a good time, and I was delighted to join them this year. There were many wonderful young people present who work in various (mostly book-related) collectives and co-ops in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and some smaller towns.
It was exciting to meet such cool people in such a beautiful place that got me out of what I can only describe as the “constantness” of Washington, D.C. One fellow, a soft-spoken and moderately bearded thirty-something named Matthew, has had the kind of young adulthood I can really appreciate. Went to school for architecture, joined the Marines and ended up in Timor, came back to work for Merrill Lynch and some other companies. He is now working on a master’s degree in development at MIT. He plans to return to Timor to do his research. We spoke fairly at length about the history of East Timor, including the roles of Indonesia and the U.S. All conversation was enjoyed over some serious vegan food.
At night, we all watched Sacco and Vanzetti projected onto a screen outdoors. The film depicts the story of the extremely controversial trial of the two Italian immigrant anarchists who were executed in 1927 in the face of worldwide protests. I am still undecided as to what I think of the film, but I am glad I saw it. The history of radicalism, especially when presented in film, draws me into thought as an excellent painting does. The line of thinking that has not left me yet came during the successive campfire when the host Craig noted that people dressed better back then and that it was difficult to dismiss anarchism as fringe when tens of thousands of workers in suits and hats took to the streets to demand the release of two (seemingly) persecuted anarchists.
This also relates to a question I asked Craig. Had he encountered in his office library a lot of anarchist authors who demonize Murray Bookchin? Yes, Bookchin could be quite personally vicious, and his ad hominem style was frequently reciprocated. Another fellow in the circle mentioned that Fifth Estate authors, such as David Watson, were sharply critical of Bookchin, including his critique of “lifestyle anarchism.” Bookchin emphasizes the need for a class movement rather than individualist personal changes. As Craig noted, that is quite understandable given Bookchin’s life, coming from a working class, Russian immigrant background.
The important point here, is that anarchism (in addition to socialism, communism, and trade unionism) was a serious belief held by many serious people when American industrial production actually came from American cities. Workers in factories didn’t need convincing that something was deeply wrong with the system that impoverished and worked them to death while the factory owners got rich. As Craig said, anarchists (minus a few violent ones) looked like average Joes, with respectable suits and hats.
The conversation didn’t necessarily probe this further, but my mind continued on. Production is basically overseas now, the trade unions are all but caput, the radicals were sufficiently repressed and deported, and this is now a service economy for the lower rungs. And who are anarchists? A few twenty-somethings with black shirts, tattoos, and piercings. There are small, often dysfunctional collectives of once-privileged white kids in most American cities. “Anarchist” is a demographic now, with its own network of bookstores and T-Shirts (I got a free one with a guy in a gas mask playing guitar). But what are they changing now-a-days? In what sense is power threatened? It used to be that the fucking U.S. Attorney General ran stings and mass deportations for the country’s “radical elements.” With the threat purged, the state now has nothing to fear.
My friend Julie was in the hospital in the days leading up to that weekend. It was chaotic to say the least. I visited her on Saturday morning before her colonoscopy and endoscopy. I was thoroughly hung over and wrote the following during her procedure:
What’s all this chatter now?
The noise of human culture is ceaseless
Spread across buses that weave through cities that envelope the earth whole
Words.
Words everywhere - and not a thought to think
Humans -those colonizers of silence
Like gas, discourse fills any space it can
Except it doesn’t spread itself thin
The number of speakers has been growing
But, more importantly, the media of messaging has become ubiquitous
How can the animals just carry on
when there’s lipstick to wear,
exercising to do,
2 for 1’s,
live girls,
genital herpes,
and a glut of images smeared across every surface?
What do the endless speakers have to say?
Not “Eat more fiber,” but simply “I am speaking,”
or rather -“there is speech.”
We should approach every advertisement,
doll or posted announcement
as we do a cave painting.
The first question is always
“What the fuck is the point of this?”
Why did some human animal arrange the material of the world in this manner?
To make an object speak.
The content is virtually irrelevant.
The object says “here is a message, it points to an unseen speaker
who anticipated a future recipient or perhaps future recipients.”
The noises that other animals make are of a different order.
Their communications go something like “Fuck me,” “Help!” or
“fresh kill over here.”
While we share the first one,
Certain others seem unique to us.
None of their communications say “You were made in God’s image”
or “straightened white teeth look the best.”