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Los vivos, los muertos
A mediados de los años 60, como parte de una exposición que pretendía reivindicar la desviación absoluta con respecto a una sociedad del consumo y de las máquinas que en la época no había dado mas que sus primeros pasos, hubo quien pensó en crear (o presentar) un disfraz particular, el del Necrófilo...
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The Living, the Dead
Because there are dead who with their words and actions remind and criticize us, spur us on and question us, inspire and console us. We may no longer be able to look them in the eye, but they are there, at our side – perhaps inciting us to unleash the bad passion, not take over the means of production, to savor joy armed, not chase after worker's power.
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The Bloody Pillow
The fanfare of the oppressors is at work. Everyone tears their clothes, faced with yet another slaughter of a girl perpetrated by the ex-boyfriend tormentor. Everyone is climbing on the bandwagon of the Good: polished fascists, very chic and not very radical leftoids, movement activists always ready to ask the state to do something, pious souls who aren’t able to understand how the children of this society can be as possessive as they are brutal. This whole bandwagon, in every one of its gestures, in every one of its moments, in every one of its steps, always brings us back to reality: this is certainly a rotten world, but without a bit of slavery, a…
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En tiempos de ecocidio
Algunos interrogantes contemporáneos para la acción anárquica
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Tripping so as not to crawl
Stubborn is the one who keeps sticking his head into the infinite darkness of the world. Full of wounds, he is very often not able to bear the desolation of life, the suffering that surrounds us, the pain that digs deeper and deeper into us. Not at all easy to turn on a small light in the world where there are few eyes able to catch sight of it. Sometimes when walking in broad daylight, everything goes dark. It’s not easy to retrace the same roads, like red Indians, who follow the same paths trying to stop time.
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El mejor ataque no es la defensa
Carta abierta (y desesperada) a quienes comen nuestro mismo pan.
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Aniquilados por la ausencia
La rutina. La frustración. Es difícil todos los días mirar el mundo y cerrar la puerta. Sentarse en tu sitio y ver cómo nuestros deseos se hunden como el Titanic contra el iceberg del existente.
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Comedia tragica
Una consejera del Príncipe enviada más allá de las fronteras hoy declara estar muy “conmocionada”. Gracias a su valiosos servicios, consideraba que solo merece prebendas, honores, entrevistas, aplausos. Nunca habría pensado ser despertada de repente, en plena noche, por uno de sus coches envuelto en llamas.
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Las tinieblas de la huelga y el hambre de ideas
Para hacer una tortilla hay que romper los huevos
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Defence is not the best attack
Open (desperate) letter to those who eat our same bread