The Wicked Waiting and Resting 

Woods, bird song, squirrels, the cold air and the sound of this stream are a wonderful means of finding rest and calm, when feeling frustrated and excited and full of passionate desire. 

There are words I have written who are having to wait to fit into history – though they are words not for history – and that wait is one I will just have to sit out. 

Spaces like this, with all their Life and beauty, are points of immediate immersion, sensuous return to the eternal return of the present, and with all the dances happening here, I can hardly describe this as being alone – except perhaps within my mind. 

But this solitude, as in away-from-society (to whatever degree that may be), is a wonderful one, devoid of any gaze – solitude being valuable for reclamation of our self’s (even solitude with another).

Here the fungi, trees, squirrels and waters do not in any way attempt to assert any authority over me, content in the power of their being; and I can enjoy them, simply for being who they are, in this instant. 

My words, which are waiting, would be of no value here, as this place is outside of History and its machinery. 

They will wait, as will I, and when the present comes that they can be shared, their fury will be a thunderous one, unforgiving towards the machinery of History. 

While they wait, there are other projects, games, dances, struggles and songs for me to be undertaking.

But in this instant, the wicked shall rest. 



The Untame Fury of the Storm

11 more storms they say are coming our way,

And you know there will be more than their eyes can see.


We are in the deafening silence. Blinded by the lights of an abyss that surrounds our bodies, like a mist that clouds everything.


Rains will fall and the winds will beat as acts of vengeance in a primal war against that one revolution that will not end.


History is the tomb for those who would kill the womb from which rivers of life flow out.

History, that revolution, that assault.


The storm as wild revenge, to kill the cancer, so the body can mend.

In it’s destructive wrath it bares no name, just the energetic fury of the untame.


The untame fury of the storm.

Cutting Off the Cock of the Leviathan

So what I am going to write here is going to require a great deal of tact and sensitivity on my part, and anyone reading this I ask to please leave prejudices aside. While I don’t feel a need or desire to be politically-correct, my desire is not to go on the offensive and offend, but to challenge, question and clarify.

From this I will move into what it is I am going to say and will be as honest and authentic as I can be.

I am, at this point in writing this, feeling abundantly aware of the words of Wittgenstein around the limits of a persons language being the limits of their world, and how language and discourse are tied to ideologies that penetrate our individual and collective lexicons, which leaves me with a feeling of pessimism around what I am about to write being read as I’d desire. This feeling of futility is an Absurdity that dominates my thought processes all too often, though I generally just see it as something to embrace and/or overcome. Today though, I am remembering the adage from Fight Club about how on a long enough time line the survival rate for everyone is zero – but I don’t want to get started on time and mathematically quantitative measuring right now.

Generally when I talk or write about ontological anarchism I am talking about the active destruction of situations, psycho-geographies, technologically constructed environments and other forms of geo-spatial territorialising that civilisation attempts to Form as bound totalities, totalitarian forms of arrangement; and the creation of new spaces, places, ecosystems, environments, alongside the release of repressed ones. But ontological anarchist praxis equally involves embracing amoralism, in the same way that egoist, individualist, nihilist, existentialist and other authentic anarchist ideologues do and have done – embracing the notion that there is no ontic-moral ought to aspire to and nothing that will provide us salvation from what-is. And as such, we are condemned to what-is and condemned to the personal responsibility of creating a what-is that we find desirable, through destroying that which we find personably undesirable in what-is – with personal desires being bound to the subjectivities of personal aesthetics.

For me, what I desire is what is wild and living, and I am utterly convinced that, when you deconstruct the means of mediating people from their desires and release the repressed energy of their being, that what people actually desire is what is wild and living – not the manifestations of desire, through internalising the ideology of this culture.

This is one of the reasons why amoralism leads me to eco-radical thought and practice, whereas most eco-radical thought comes from very moralistic arguments – whether it is the rights-based arguments of veganarchists, the anti-humanist misanthropy of eco-extremism, or those leftist moral arguments of many of the other eco-radical milieus, they’re predominantly moralistic.

Morality-as-herdism is also a key feature of this cultures production narratives, as a way of maintaining socio-normative behaviours in individuals and groups, and avoiding upsetting the machinery of everyday life.

One of the predominant moral narratives of this culture, civilisation, has been that of women’s subordination to men, referring to the categories of biological sex, rather than those of sociological gender. Gender as a means of repression of our authentic selves, into the socially constructed selves of socio-normative production, is an oppressive force upon all of us who live within the body of the Leviathan. But sex-based oppression has a different narrative, though similar, equally bound to the ugliness of patriarchy.

I could go into stuff around Sameness in thing-types, essentialism, spooks (in the Stirnerite sense) and more on the limits of language, but that doesn’t seem necessary for this piece. I’ll leave that stuff with just a simple acknowledgement that, apart from within the language of this culture, I don’t actually believe in the species of Form-types/object-categories, which ultimately exist only within the abstractions of the ideal – everything in every present moment is unique and beautiful, in its transient state of becoming as a creative-nothing, outside of categorisation and reification/thingification/objectification.

But returning to patriarchy, the ugliness of this narrative is obvious and apparent. That civilisation has taken women to be a resource, like it has taken the land to be one too, and not beautiful in their own right, seeking to repress women, like it does the land and all those who inhabit it, is an ugliness that disgusts me. And given that patriarchy and rape-culture (not the act of rape itself) finds its origins in the birth of agriculture, I feel very comfortable with a lot of the analyses of the semio-linguistic and political movement eco-feminism.

Being an individual who fits within the basic categories of male, biologically and sociologically, (though my anti-civ praxis feels stronger ties to gender-nihilism (as you might have gathered from this piece and others I’ve written)) I have a general approach towards anti-patriarchy practice, which some might consider lifestylist. This is predominantly because the political movement of feminism is comprised of individuals who’d find my input useless, because feminism as a movement doesn’t need men to be feminists, but to be allies to feminists. And while I have personal feelings of scepticism towards social and political movements and ideas around progressing history, I don’t feel any need or desire to get in the way of this project, that is in many ways supportive of my own, which is basically all that would happen if I were to try to be part of the movement – also most of my experience in movement-based eco-radical stuff was pretty soul destroying, so I don’t wish to return to this approach to action and discourse.

But yeah, anyway, I rarely comment on stuff relating to feminism and patriarchy, because there are those better suited to commenting on that, and generally only comment when the specific subject matter is relevant to lived experiences I’ve personally undergone. So I will share a personal experience here, perhaps one that lacks the intensity that many others have undergone, but one that is significant to me.

After a series of shitty times in my early childhood, including the death of my mother, my father nearly dying from crack and heroin addiction and being forced to live with my mothers psychologically abusive parents for 2 ½ years, when I returned to living with my father, I moved to a small school, with tiny classes of 8 kids to a class, where I could feel safe for a time and have help with the “learning difficulties” of dyslexia and dyspraxia I had been diagnosed with by an educational psychologist – I could comment more on the stuff around this time, the issues and whatnot, but shan’t. At this school though there was a teacher who kids would often joke about being a paedophile. This teacher tried to groom me, by showing me violent pornographic images, and, while it didn’t go any further than this, for me the experience was one that has affected me, with it contributing to my phenomenological understanding of rape-culture – this also occurred during a period of identity and existential crisis for me, that I have previously written about on this blog. I could go into more personal life details/experiences, but don’t feel any desire to do so here, as this doesn’t feel like the appropriate medium. (He was eventually caught, convicted and put in the safety of a prison cell, before any revenge could be made – personally I prefer the idea of him getting beaten to a bloody pulp than sitting in a cell, but you know – savage-aesthetics.)

But getting back to the point of this piece; I could join in the practice of #MeToo hashtag-activism.

I’m not and I won’t.

But I could.

Now there are many means of challenging this culture that I don’t engage in, out of a disbelief in the effectiveness of the approach, but don’t comment on. And I’m also not someone who rejects any means of attack, because, to quote leftist radical environmentalist Derrick Jensen, “we need it all”, if we are going to challenge this culture and achieve any of our desires, as individuals or groups – fuck it, vote, write to your local council, petition or whatever else you want to do, I don’t need to shit on whatever you want to do (I might voice my disbelief, but I generally won’t seek to stop people from engaging in whatever they choose to do).

In this instance though, I am choosing to voice a challenge to this #MeToo campaign, and at this point invite anyone reading to reread how I opened this piece.

In Feral Consciousness I wrote about how technology mediates the consciousnesses of those living within civilisation from the Real, alienating them from their authentic selves and into the machinery of Symbolic ideology, which in the present is dominated by the hyper-Spectacle of contemporary digital media. The ideology of this culture is the material apparatus that maintains the business-as-usual of this culture, which includes, as an overarching narrative, rape-culture.

So in seeking to challenge this culture, through spectacles of trend-activist hashtags, I am concerned that feminism, as a movement, is only succeeding in alienating itself and others from the traumatic Real of rape-culture’s abhorrent and intolerable ugliness.

There is a romantic beauty in many of the aspects of solidarity campaigns that seek to challenge this culture, which I can appreciate the beauty in. But the Weinstein’s, Worboy’s, Elliot Rodger’s and paedophile IT teachers of the world are going to maintain their ideological activities, so long as this culture’s ideology is maintained – patriarchy being rooted in agriculture/civilisation/the Leviathan.

It seems difficult to envision other approaches, given how much of this culture is now immersed in digital media. But it seems to me that challenges need to be more direct, immediate, authentic and iconoclastically-destructive.

A writing contact I know through virtual mediums wrote this in response to the #MeToo campaign –

“I’m well aware that what I’m about to say will alienate and upset many of my dearest friends, and welcome debate and criticism on the subject.

I personally feel that reducing conversations about sexual harassment and violence to a women’s issue is deeply problematic. I feel that often abusive people of all genders have been abused. I tend to see sexual violence as part of a complex sysyem of violence, not often aided by telling men to not rape or be accountable. I agree strongly with bell hooks when she wrote:

The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.

I feel that in some ways, this #metoo dialogue is not enough of a dialogue.

I feel it reinforces the idea that women are victims and men are aggressive animals not in control of their impulses.

And it makes me profoundly uncomfortable that any survivor of sexual violence would be silenced.

I don’t think it’s an “all lives matter” argument because I feel that sexual violence is a very different type of issue with different origins, than anti-blackness.

I do not intend to silence any of you who have been posting #metoo. My intention is simply to say that I think this could be more powerful campaign if we were to include all people who have been harmed by sexual harassment, violence and abuse.

I feel compassion for all beings who live in this terrible world of pain and hurt.”

In these words, this woman articulates many of feelings that I have around this campaign, in a way that I don’t believe I’d be able to voice as well – again feminism/anti-patriarchy-discourse is best voiced by those who are in that category of “female” (in whatever sense that means).

As a “male”, regarding this struggle, I feel that I am best suited to speaking about the “psychic self-mutilation” Bell Hooks (someone I am going to try and study, as I haven’t come across them before) refers to – something I have spoken about on this blog previously and touch upon in Feral Consciousness.

Something I also comment on in my book is our condemnation to freedom, in the existentialist sense, and the responsibility than entails. This places the power in maintaining this culture’s ideology in the hands of those who inhabit society and maintain the machinery of its production narratives.

This is something that mirrors Rhyd Wildermuth’s (writer and editor for G&R, who I’ve written for) words in his piece on his personal blog, when he states –

“They don’t fit into the master narratives, because the oppressors are all of us.

Women are as guilty here as men, even if those women don’t make as much as their male counterparts in IT. Blacks are as guilty as whites, even if their white coworkers can go shopping in malls without getting followed. Gays are as guilty as straights, even if those gays can’t hold hands walking home from the bars on the weekends. Disabled people are as guilty as the abled, even though not every restaurant in a nice neighboorhood is accessible.”

All of us, as participating members of this culture, are in some way or another responsible for the perpetuation of the uglier aspects of it. And if we want this culture to stop enacting the types of violences it enacts in every present moment it exists, then it is our responsibility to claim what we desire, through whatever means are best suited to actualising those desires.

Now Rhyd has recently experienced a backlash of criticism over the piece that the quoted section is part of. And this backlash seems to be part of an overarching aspect of contemporary liberal-culture. That aspect is the politically correct sense of entitlement regarding individuals and groups conforming to the moralities of postmodern liberals.

These types of witch hunts are an ugly aspect of discourse, that largely surmount to the maintenance of this culture’s ideology – again, I write about this more in my book FC (check out the My Books tab). This is because this culture is built upon the repression of the self into conforming to socio-normative morals, behaviours, narratives, etc., and denial of authentic uniqueness, in thought, body, selfness etc. I recently defended another friend, Ramon Elani, in the piece on this blog Some Words for Friends, because of a similar type of inauthentic defamation of character he was being put through. Witch hunts seem to be the prevailing strategy for contemporary liberalism, though maybe they always were.

The witch hunts, call-out culture and other types of liberal-left social-justice-warrior thought policing are a totalitarian-semiotic, which is seeking to dominate the geo-spatial territorial boundaries and psycho-social-geographical landscape of contemporary society and repress the thoughts, feelings, bodies, identities and desires of everyone and everything into its ideological lexicon.

This practice, as far as I can see, can only succeed in maintaining the modus operandi of this culture, civilisation, the patriarchal ecocidal Leviathan that is consuming all Life on this planet, through its relentless violence.

The beauty of the wild-fire burning within all life, which is then reborn in the ashes, as time passes from one present living-moment to another, is something to be embraced, and embracing that means rejecting this culture’s ideology, to whatever degree suits any individual within their relevant situated setting.

For me, right now, this involves voicing some criticism of the #MeToo campaign and totalitarian-liberals.

Right now, in this present moment, I can’t help but remember the adage from Fight Club, about the survival rate of everyone, but there is beauty in that our passing transforms into some other set of geo-spatial, relational, topological cartographies.

I’ll leave this piece here, hoping my point has not been missed, and end with this quote from the anarcho-feminist voice who first got me interested in anarchy –

“The history of progress is written in the blood of men and women who have dared to espouse an unpopular cause, as, for instance, the black man’s right to his body, or woman’s right to her soul.”
― Emma Goldman

Actually I’ll end with this return to savage-aesthetics – rather than naming the phallus of the Leviathan, lets cut it off, before we slice our knives into the rest of its body, and let it rot and decay, so that a forest of tall oaks, song birds, deer and badgers can grow where it stands now. (Just for clarity sake, I don’t mean castrating male members of civilisation, though I have no personal issue with anyone castrating their rapist, but that of the cosmic phallus of normative rape-culture – it seems a shame ending this piece clarifying this statement, but I don’t want to be mis-read in anyway.)

Before The Beginning Were The Waters

My second piece on Gods and Radicals. Give it a read, follow this site and support these guys who are giving writers/philosophers like me a platform.


From Julian Langer

We are witnessing the destructive power of wild-Being, through the medium of water, as well as wind and fire.

Before the beginning there was the waters. This is the case in a great many mythologies. In Genesis the spirit of Yahweh floats atop the surface of the waters, when the earth was Formless. Before Vishnu commanded Brahma to create the form of the world, Vishnu slept floating upon the waters of the world, wrapped in the coils of a great snake – Vishnu the preserver and Brahma the creator are one being, in the Hindu pantheon, as is Shiva the destroyer.

In the Sumerian Eridu creation story, An, Enill, Enki and Ninhursanga first create the world, for mankind and the animals, before a great flood comes to destroy everything. Zi-ud-sura learns of this and, like Noah in the Abrahamic mythology, builds and ark to save the animals…

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Song Inspired By Friends

Last night when I arrived back home from work (at a little after midnight) I received a message from a friend asking me to collaborate with him on a writing project.

Immediately I was excited, flattered and my mind was buzzing with thought.

This then lead to a night of dreams full of imagery that rendered my sleep rather restless.

I’m no stranger to this type of experience – for a period I was going through daily dreams of ecological apocalyptic events, such as standing before skies full of black smoke, with butterflies falling like rain. And when I woke this morning my buzz continued, so much that I felt an urge to write a song – something I’ve not done much of over the past year.

Following the dream I had last night, which I shan’t bore you with, I felt compelled to draw from the poetry of my internet friend/contact Ramon Elani, who I wrote about in this piece Some Words For Friends. The original poem can be found here The Dreamlike Realm and is well worth reading.

I wrote the song and recorded a demo of it, for anyone who would like to listen to hear.

I’m personally grateful to both of these friends, the one who has shown me love by inviting me to write with him, and Ramon for the imagery of his poems. So, while it is not the subject matter of the song, in many ways this is a song of love – but maybe all are really (yeah I know, yuck gross hippie!).

But anyway, here is it.

A Machine I’m Glad To Have Left 

The city is a machine I’m glad to have left

With its air devoid of breath 

A scar on the breast of the land

Where undead cyborgs stand then move on repeat 

Along concrete streets 

And in and out of temples that rise high into the air 

But God is nowhere to be found 

There is no ground and no sound 

Just an echo chamber reverberating a lie

A lie that hides in plain sight

But I left my words to guide others to become a night of dark trees

And find lungs to breathe 

To reside there in the dark 

That they’ve fled from from the start 

Into their temples of death and deceit 

I have been told that the city has a heart beat 

But that is not a heart, but the sound of cogs turning 

And the burning of an engine 

It is a soundless sound, hidden by the noise of industry disguised as life

A creature that can be killed though, if it were stabbed with a knife 

Death to all nations of death and the numerical symbologies of their idolaters 

Priest caste of innovators and all the rest

The weight of history will break their backs 

So leave behind the dead and instead embrace the wild of the now

And right now I am out and away 

In an another machine, down the pathways of the scars of the roads

Thinking about what is owed for the weight of the load

Of what had been taken and denied the eternal return 

And the fury of the wild that burns and burn and burns and burns

But soon I’ll be away from these scars of concrete, in a place of less deep wounds

And far away from the tombs of kings

Where I can hear the sound of the birds sing, from the branches of trees that I know and love 

And I hope that the rains open up from above 

And wash me clean of that machine, as I stand naked before the stars

Some Words on “People vs people”, Life and Some Interactions With people in the Last 24 Hours

I’m not someone who engages in, or really takes much seriousness in the notion of, the “double lives” approach to being-a-radical.

In one sense, this is because I am “my” life, I am my body and I only have 1 body, which is an extension of Being/the-world/life (in unending eternal return).

In another sense, this is because I simply cannot trace the boundaries and borders of the geographic-territory of where one life starts and another life ends, as this culture is basically everywhere now, as far as my life and this planet is concerned – T.A.Z’s may function as temporary points of deterritorialisation, but the reterritorialisasion is often swift and the rest is obvious.

In one (possibly larger) sense, this is because I simply doubt the level of “radical practice” of individuals who claim to engage in “double lives” – if you’re doing underground stuff and need to engage heavily in security culture then you aren’t talking about having “double lives” and if you’re engaged in overground stuff then any amount of “double life” is largely an excuse for inauthenticity, dishonesty and big-talk to hide quietism.

But anyway, I don’t buy the whole “double life” spiel.

And I’d generally characterise my daily life has having 3 primary aspects to it – surviving this culture, challenging this culture and taking as much personal joy and fun in the process (though these aren’t necessarily distinctly separate in any given moment).

To survive this culture I work a day job that provides me with a wage to buy what I need and deal with the awfulness of economics, finances and money. Now having to participate in the ideological narrative of workerism and the idea that I have to engage in a practice that only this culture of civilisation engages in, just to survive as an animal on this planet, is one I’m not entirely comfortable with. But my day job is working in children homes, with the kids who have been fucked over most by this culture in this country, by caring for them, looking after their welfare and providing stimulating activities for them (which often involves a lot of playing and fun stuff). So I’m not exactly contributing to the Leviathan’s consumption of the earth a great deal through my employment and I don’t do a whole lot of self-betrayal in this.

To survive this culture I also challenge this culture, as to not challenge this culture would render me unable to survive it, as my life would have been reduced to existing in a passive nihilism, which to me would surmount to an existential suicide. So I challenge it through writing projects and engage in activist projects (to the degree that my post-cancer health can take).

One of the ways I take personal joy and fun in this culture is in engaging in immediatist type acts of everyday poetic terrorist activities, where I play with people/strangers, as well as with loved ones, by actively creating interruptions in their day that subverts their normative expectations of social interactions.

And another way of taking personal joy within this culture is by going to woods, rivers and other places where I can enjoy a stronger presence of the flow of wild-Being and find myself as naked mammal upon the body of the earth, dancing an absurd dance, and beautiful for it.

All of this is within one life though.

Though my life might be part of the transience of flux and acosmic nihilism, on a metaphysical level, the univocality of my life and Life is a monism I cannot divorce one aspect of entirely from another.

And despite its geographic location within the body of the Leviathan/civilisation/this-culture, I fucking love my life! I love the day to day struggles, the political/anti-political struggles, the existential struggles and the shit that is just easy and isn’t a struggle in the slightest.

Following from this, while I hate People, as in civilisation/society/the-Leviathan/this-culture/capitalism/socialism/whatever word you want to use for it (I honestly don’t care which, they’re all banal, arbitrary and exchangeable), I love people, as in I love the sensation of interacting with living beings. I love interacting with and feeling the trees in the woods I visit. I love the songs of the birds who live near me. I love the wind and the air off the sea and the rivers I go to. And I love many of (though admittedly not all) of the humans I interact with in my day to day life. Thats not just limited to those I consider friends and family (in the sense of family being something you make for yourself and not just genetic and legal kin). I love those strangers who I bring into my poetic terrorist games and who join me in them, for fleeting moments that dissipate into nothingness, but are beautiful in the present they are located in.

So while, fuck People, I can’t deny that I love people, if I am to be honest and authentic – which is largely why I don’t embrace the term misanthrope, though I sometimes undergo misanthropy.

And following from this, I want to share a few of the things that have happened to me in the past 24 hours.

Yesterday I was at work and it was a work day like any other. Because I mostly do 16 hour shifts, I end up generally only working 11 days in a month, so my work days are quite different from my non-work days, in the way that no two houses are the same and that we all live with relative degrees of difference, despite being channeled into heightening degrees of normative Sameness, through the mechanisms of contemporary corporatist capitalist society. But anyway, I was at work. This involved the usual challenges of working with young people who are damaged because this culture damaged them, and the challenges of working with staff members who are people and have their own idiosyncrasies and the rest. But it was a perfectly enjoyable shift. What was particularly interesting for me yesterday was that, at completely separate points of the day and without hearing the other say anything, the two colleagues I was working with made two comments about my practice at work, which made me smile. The first was one colleague stating that I have a “radical direct action approach” to the job, which basically means I don’t faff about, I’m honest and direct in my communication with the kids and my colleagues (which can sometimes mean I am not always everyones favourite), and if I think something needs to be done for the welfare of the young people then I make sure it gets done. The second one was another colleague saying that I should train as a therapist for kids or work in the management of the company, so I can teach the managers about developmental psychology and push for more therapeutic approaches.

This is an example of what I have been trying to articulate in this piece. That is that I do not stop being who I am from one point of my life to another. When I’m working as part-of-this-culture (to whatever degree that is) I take an approach that is based in being honest/authentic, that draws from a therapeutic approach of trying to heal/regrow relationships/individuals/places and that doesn’t faff about and pussyfoot, but just does stuff. This doesn’t mean I do things perfectly, or I always succeed in whatever it is I attempt to do/engage in, but the approaches are part of who I am. And in much the same way that, life is in-itself Absurd in an existential sense and condemned to decay and ruin, but I take joy in the act of revolt, I am aware that all the projects I engage with (or that anyone engages with) are Absurd and ultimately subject to ruin and decay, but I take joy in revolt against death and the dance that is life.

The second was a chance street encounter, after I left work this morning after the sleep shift. I ran into someone I counted among my boring-commie-lefty-Marxist friends, on the highstreet of the town I live near, as I was walking to a cafe to get some breakfast. This individual told me as soon as we stopped to talk that they had converted to Christianity in the last fortnight, from having been an atheist for 30 years, put their hand on my shoulder and in a very gentle and loving way did the evangelical Christian thing of trying to invite me into God’s ever loving glow (and all that). I know many people like me, who aren’t religious and aren’t theists, don’t like this thing Christians do, but I’m basically no more bothered by this than I am by liberals, commies, nationalists and/or any other ideologue engaging in their rhetoric. And like with all of them, in their “moral” way, they are all, when they do this, acting somewhat lovingly towards me, through the doctrines of their iconography, as was my friend this morning. So I wasn’t too bothered by the interruption to my day.  I come from a mixed religious background of Christians and Jews, and actively sought out people of different faiths to talk with about God and religion during the identity and “meaning” crisis I underwent during my teenage years, and during this time spoke with a lot of evangelicals, and told my friend this, and very gently told him that I am where I am today and know myself and how I see things, and while it is not the same as his vision right now, we can differ and still love each other and take joy in each others company. He was respectful, in that way that a lot of people shy away from arguing with me, and we went about our days.

Now I personally find Christianity and Marxism to both be forms of hyper-civilised life-renouncing ideologies of herdism, in a generally Nietzschean-Stirnerite spirit, but this has never lessened the joy I took in the relationship I have with this individual, nor any other of my loved ones who embrace these categories of identity politics. And there was no need for me to “double life” into inauthenticity and deny my-self in relationship with this individual, nor any other.

I love my beautiful and unique self, and hide this to no-one. This praxis of active cynicism might seem vulgar to any who embraces the civilised moralities of humility and quietism, but this doesn’t matter to me (and if anything fuels my fire to be more vulgar in their eyes).

And again, I wish to state that, as I love my beautiful and unique self, I love life, the existential freedom to which I have been condemned, which might seem vulgar to nihilist contemporaries whose passive pessimism takes no joy in the Absurd practice of existential revolt, and all that entails, but again, my cynicism doesn’t care what they (or anyone else) thinks of my individualism, my life as a feral being, thrashing upon the earth, trying to tear that which is wild from the teeth of the Leviathan, and take exquisite  pleasure in living the life I do.

Some Words For Friends

I’m caught somewhere between a schizoid split and a state of ambivalence towards discussions around eco-extremism and ITS.

On the one hand, as an anti-civ eco-anarchist they both fascinate me, as a group and movement who are doing things that are worth the life energy to think about; I find the expectation that they should adhere to Euro-American moral aesthetics ugly and racist, under the guise of liberal-political-correctness; and I find many of their writings beautiful and moving, with some similarities with my personal approach to anti-civ anarchist praxis.

On the other hand, I find much ugliness in their approach and rhetoric; find their fetishising “violence” crass and from a misunderstanding between the difference between destruction-as-creation and violence-as-violating; their “misanthrope” to be a dualism that deifies humanity to the level of demons (though perhaps demons is the wrong term, as Abe Cabrera (ITS’s spokesmen for those of us reliant on the English language) worships demons, in his inversion of Catholicism – which is like his inversion of Marxism – but I don’t want to comment on him, as I think that, for now, I’ve said enough); their Otherising of the wild/wild-Being; and many other aspects of ITS and eco-extremism.

When I read Atassa: Readings in Eco-Extremism I found much the was beautiful and much that was ugly, but I’d recommend it to anyone involved in or interested in eco-radical philosophy and politics. This journal, which was edited by the aforementioned ITS translator, was published by Little Black Cart.

Now, I have a lot of love for LBC and many of the projects their members are involved in. I’ve enjoyed a number of titles they have released and distribute. And they published my book. Through LBC I’ve connected with other writers and individuals who are brilliant.

So you can imagine my personal feelings towards the bashings they’ve received lately.

From being included in polemics, aimed at bashing ITS, to being bashed for responding to individuals destroying copies of books they made by hand, and more examples; LBC  are now viewed as some kind of cosmic evil for simply acknowledging that this movement, which has come out of the green anarchist anti-civ project, is worth acknowledgment and discussion within anarchist discourse. LBC released a statement, responding to the call to arms made against them, which covered their position on the matter, but it seems that the hate they are receiving won’t quit.

In this piece criticising Atassa and LBC’s recent issue of Black Seed, the bashing continues. Now I confess, I didn’t finish reading the piece – partially because it was just so boring, but equally because, while I think ITS and Eco-Extremism are worthy of criticism, this piece was more about bashing individuals who comment on their movement, rather than critiquing the movement itself – and I’m not gonna just sit and read people I personally value being bashed in the ugly way this piece seeks to bash them.

One of these individuals is pagan poet and philosopher Ramon Elani, whose writings I have often enjoyed the beauty of. I’ve spoken to Elani a number of times through Skype, and enjoyed discussing aesthetic differences, regarding spirituality vs philosophy, politics and personal life stuff. Elani is a thoroughly beautiful individual and does not deserve the bashing he receives in the piece, which thoroughly misunderstands a lot of what it seeks to criticise him for – if anarchist discourse could get past name calling each other we might have a better time and quit hating each other. I’ve included Elani’s blog in my list of suggested materials on this site and am disappointed that people who share in the same struggle that I engage with are reducing the struggle retaining the narrative of in-fighting and insults.

Now please don’t get me wrong – I have no issue with being critical of groups and individuals who deserve criticism. But witch hunts are an ugly dogmatic narrative, which perpetuate the same processes that keep civilisation going. So my personal desire is for this LBC bashing to end (which probably won’t happen) and for anarchists to quit hating on ITS and Eco-Extremism for surface level vulgarities and to engage critically and intelligently with a movement, which is in many ways more interesting that our own – for the time being.

So love for friends, contemporaries, cohorts and the rest.

Death to the Leviathan and Gilgamesh.

Feral and iconoclastic dances should be beautiful, not boring.

Some Brief Words On Anarchy

Anarchy is inescapable.

Anarchy is what is.

Freedom is inescapable

You were born wild and repressed into believing the illusion that you are part of a collective, outside the multiplicity of living anarchy, a collective known as civilisation, and so are unfree.

The collective tame deny themselves the joyous tragic beauty of the wild.

The feral, the iconoclasts know this beauty, and delight in its splendour.

Whether it is the dances of deer and badgers, or the piercing touch of thorns digging into our skin, the beauty of anarchy, the passionate unrepressed, untamed energy of life is wondrous in its unrelenting transient dance, of Being and Becoming.

As anarchists we embrace our anarchy, our nihilistic nakedness, our creative-destructive becoming, and reject the systems of collectives and systematisers.

Traps, cages and all other technologies will be destroyed and transformed into creations of a ruinous and broken form – works of art as semiotics of chaosmic fury.

No-Thing will last; hurricanes, fires and earth are testament to this.

The acosmic flowing flux of wild-Being is all there is, outside of time and history to be conserved or progressed.

I tire of anarchist who chain themselves inside cages of ideology and history, and have little patience for them.

Like Diogenes and other great cynics and individualists, my main request of the civilised is that they remove themselves from my sunshine. But I also desire they get out of the way of the sunshine of other feral and wild beings, for their ugliness is something I find continually abhorrent and disgusting.

The trees that once stood are here no more, but they are unforgotten, and I, like my friends, allies and cohorts, am a forest and a night of dark trees, before the dawn and the new sun rise, whose unique glory is that of the rivers boundless flux.

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