A riot, while often not the most effective attack against this culture, is beautiful as an act of frustrated opportunistic revenge – animals who’ve been caged against their will taking the chance to lash out against their captors. It’s beautiful as a refusal to renounce oneself to apathy and pure bystanderism, while equally refusing to be coerced into the immediate channels of the very culture the rioter is enraged at.
What disappoints me about many riots is that they often act as reverence towards a different Salvationist liberation theology – surely by now this temple has shown that, regardless of which pantheon is being revered, it is always the same temple, with the same sacrificial alter, serving the same purpose? It’s a comforting notion, that if only we get the right people in charge or the specific set of social organisations that we will attain some degree or another of liberation from the production narratives of this culture, the simultaneous horror and boredom, while retaining the technological apparatus that is sustained via the production narratives to be liberated from – you can feast on your cake and eat it too.
But still, a riot retains its beauty. It’s lack of bound definition, but transient fluidic form is like bird song, the movement of a river or of the tide, and certain forms of art – which is why the act, with all its meaning and intention being contained within the immediate act in itself, holds such direct potential (that people feel the need to speak out against rioting whenever it happens reveals its potential as a means of disrupting the narrative).
In the choice between being Gods worst enemy or nothing, I’d rather not be (that type of) nothing and find those who refuse to be beautiful; but I remain unconvinced that a different priesthood will bring about anything substantially different with their knives at the alter.