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The Sublime Lack of Discourse
In a society already dead, the activist is a necrophiliac.
In their outward bid towards a naive and uncaring mass, the activist places their own freedom upon the sacrificial altar.
Henceforth, all political projects fall under the scrutiny of the individuals that forestalled revolution in the first place.
the activist either presumes to know the other, or presumes nothing.
In either case, discourse plays to the status quo, acts fall into reformism—and nothing revolutionary arises.
To act unto the future is to forestall the present, but it is only in the present that suffering is felt.
The activist is simultaneously a charlatan and an ascetic, promising a relief to come for a suffering here and now.
Both spirit must transcend the moment, and body rescind the corporeal.
with each promise, we are oedipalised—again, and again, and again.
The slave revolts of the twentieth century died the moment capitalism realised it could profit from Che Guevara’s face on a shirt.
Since then, nothing has been lived—and nothing has been authentic.
Ours is a world haunted by the revolution that never was, where modernist angst collapses so fully into postmodern irony, no one knows what is mocked any more.
Thus, we mock ourselves, and become the spectators to our own miserable theatrics.
The unified spectacle of the past century has given way to the free play of metonymy, chaos, and relativity.
From social media to streaming services, the particular would seem to have triumphed the universal.
However, this phenomenal reconfiguration works only to mask its self-same alienating core—an economic system that transforms all use value to exchange value, all rationality to instrumentality, and all lived experience to images.
Under such a system, desire can be nothing but tautological—infinite variations of nihilism without negation—a necrophilic exchange devoid of dialogue.
Caught in the circuits of capital, desire too, comes to exist only unto its own autoerotic function/production.
Desire capitulates to the demands of a total narcissism—a will to power devoid of jouissance, better characterised as a will to subservience.
The true will that structures us all, the capitalist will, remains undetected.
So long as the mode of production is unseen, and the labouring subject alienated and alone, desire can only be theorised as lack.
The totally-administered society has given way to the self-induced narcoleptic fit.
The schizo, once forcefully sedated, is now offered twenty variants of antipsychotics, and given counselling.
We have nothing but the illusion of choice, in a mad, deadening world.
The will to knowledge claims to reveal the world as is—it achieves nothing but the standing order untouched.
Nowhere do the future medico-technocrats provide any materialist analysis, and thus, any real solution to our ills—the technocracy they instil themselves.
in their minds, all that can exist, is simply, all that has, and is, existing.
They provide no solutions, only opiates and charity.
Ergo, those most desiring to save the world, spread only necrotic desire—and those most requiring of help, forget they once stood upon their own feet.
To believe in the self is to believe in chains.
The will to power is nothing but the multiplication of intensity—and intensity knows no boundaries.
Yet under neoliberalism, coercion binds us at every step.
The democrats say they grant us political freedom—only the freedom to vote our successive oppressors into power.
The libertarians say they grant us economic freedom—a freedom predicated on the violent theft of land once common to all.
The Marxists say they grant us freedom from alienation—never connecting production to the greater social phenomenon of judgement, which lacerates will the most.
The feminists say they grant us freedom from violence—while imposing a total language, so incapable of ambiguity, that all spontaneity is choked from life.
Discourse is not a single current, but multiple eddies and flows, and all are failing us.
Every counter-technique utilised thus far has failed in resurrecting life.
Thus, we call for the abandonment of both society and self, so that the situation may be born anew in their shells.
Herein, we herald the death of both master and slave.
Neither worm, nor man, nor ubermensch—only textures of flight.
The situationist is neither a humanist nor an anti-humanist, but an irruption of the human altogether.
For before either the self or the other, there was the encounter, the moment, the situation.
—And only in the situation does anything arise.
The only revolutionary act is that which is prefigurative—an enacted now, free of foul perfection, and a futurity never to come.
For futurity is both a fascist and a spook, seeking total domination of the lifeworld by its very avoidance of it.
In place of the lifeworld, a spiritual utopia is invoked.
Futurity negates the very world it seeks to inspire—it does nothing but suck the joy out of every situation in revolt.
Thus we desire ontological anarchy, so that the haunt of futures past may finally be put to rest.
The nature of repetition is that it never inhabits the same spacetime position as its original.
The situation is thus an original birth through its failure to perfectly simulate the original—through its own authentic inauthenticity.
Every presumed totality is an accident waiting to happen.
The situationist opposes the liberal-positivist desire for total comprehension, for it is only in disintegration that language become necessary, and only when language is necessary, that the subject become real, once more.
To fail the simulation is to return to the current of the real.
Herein, we may, finally, escape the capitalist absolute, and be in awe of the phenomenal other.
Failing comprehension, we arrive at the sublime lack of discourse—a jouissance that overcomes capitalist desire and the false lack of consumption.
at this peak of becoming, a higher stage of lack is reached—that of production.
For both self and other are nothing but the productive after image of the situation.
It is in such a realisation—that the mystery of life is truly nothing—that seduction can occur, a play that escapes the false totality of the symbolic, to instead embrace finitude and uncertainty.
—The last living act in a dead world.
Situationist International \\ On the Poverty of Student Life
Deleuze & Guattari  Anti-Oedipus
Derrida  Spectres of Marx
babel \\ dada2mada
Debord \\ The Society of the Spectacle
Karl Marx // Das Kapital
Adorno & Horkheimer // The Dialectic of Enlightenment
Marcuse // One-Dimensional Man
Zizek // First as Tragedy, then as Farce
Nietzcshe  On the Genealogy of Morality
Foucault  Discipline and Punish
Draper // Marx on Democratic Forms of Government
Rousseau // Discourse on Inequality
IWW // Preamble of the Industrial Workers of the World
Deleuze & Guattari  A Thousand Plateaus
Haraway  A Cyborg Manifesto
Ahmed  Strange Encounters
Debord \\ Report on the Construction of Situations
Nietzsche  Thus Spake Zarathustra
Vaneigem \\ The Revolution of Everyday Life
Edelman || No Future
Stirner || The Ego and Its Own
Bey  The Temporary Autonomous Zone
Deleuze  Difference and Repetition
Arendt || The Human Condition
Virilio || The Museum of Accidents
Lyotard || The Differend
Lacan || The Ethics of Psychoanalysis
Butler  Gender Trouble
Baudrillard  Seduction