May 17th, 2011
Please note that this short article should be read as an appendix to “From Subculture to Hegemony:
Transversal Strategies of the New Right in Neofolk and Martial Industrial”
Ernst Jünger published in 1951 a small book called “Der Waldgang” where he conceptualizes a “Gestalt” (figure) of the Waldgänger. The one I have on hand is the 6th edition from 1986. I don’t know if it is an unchanged or edited version of the original text. Jünger sees the Waldgänger as a third “Gestalt” after the “Arbeiter” (worker, after his 1932 programmatic text of the same title) and the “unknown soldier”. The Waldgänger is the person who disappears into the forest, goes underground (Wald = forest). He conceptualizes this figure as a kind of (spiritual?) partisan in a totalitarian context. [Read more →]
May 10th, 2011
Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius ?
At supper ! Where ?
Not where he eats, but where he’s eaten : a certain
convocation of politic worms are e’en at him.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we fat
all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for
maggots : your fat king and your lean beggar is but
variable service, – two dishes, but to one table :
that’s the end.
Alas, alas !
A man may fish with the worm that hath eaten of a
king, and eat the fish that hath fed of that worm.
What dost thou mean by this ? [Read more →]
May 5th, 2011
by Riccardo Balli
1. (Clans Of The Alphane Moon, P. K. Dick, 1964 REMIX)
Before entering the supreme council room of the seven clans French colony, Gabriel Baines sent his man-made simulacrum ahead to see if by chance it might be attacked. The simulacrum – obviously equipped with a ghetto blaster – behaves like Baines, and dresses like Baines with oversize trousers, untied sneakers, and a baseball cap. He is a wizard in the Four Arts too. Baines has of course been outside Paris many times, but he felt safe – or rather relatively safe – only here, within the stout walls of this, the Hip-Hop city. Once he was even forced to visit that trendy, plastic town Nantes, the capital of the House clan, in search of escaped House members from the “melody on 4/4” work brigade. Considering they all look the same, well dressed in their cheeky expensive clothes, he had a great deal of problems in recognizing them. Anyhow, here today, at the twice-yearly council meeting representing all the clans, the House clan would of course have a spokesman and Baines as Hip-Hop representative would find himself seated with one of them. But more ominous would be the Gabber delegate: like every Hip-Hopper Baines is disgusted by the sight of those bald heads, their naive, stupid violence, which is not the result of any social oppression, but in fact just some transient fashion, completely business oriented. Baines still quailed at the anticipated confrontation with Howard Straw of the Gabber clan. [Read more →]
May 3rd, 2011
I’m doing form correlation, looking at shifting grids of dots on screen that resolve as alphanumerics, assessing the facts about the in-filler with those in other memory sources. Much of the data fits, but as if filtered through a third party recall, too much that fits too neatly onto the schema of one detail or another, or that bends away from inspection, refracting itself through a liquid that is denser than the memories we have stored and available to access. Almost nodding off, a sentence with too many clauses that reads like it’s been stored bit by bit in the bone structure of a crushed foot, I’m only jerked back to attention every minute or so by a video window. The license has expired on some of the software, the user base has expanded over the whole-site threshold and therefore we watch advertising in order for the vendors to recoup on the use of their intellectual property. The customary thing to do is to cover it over with a blank document, but as soon as your processor cycles slacken, the sound track starts to break through. [Read more →]
April 26th, 2011
Story by Dan Hekate
The smell of shit permeates the small murky room; the figure takes an age to pull himself out of the chair. A tangled mess of cables stretches out from his body to a bank of machines that hum ominously in the background. The drip that feeds his arm wobbles dangerously back and forth on its spindly metal legs before a withered hand stretches out to stabilise it. From distance it would be easy to mistake the character for an old frail man, closer inspection reveals he is just a 12 year old. The boy finally makes it to the small camera that sits but a few meters away. With some effort he turns on the record button and slumps back down into his chair. He takes a moment to compose himself, rolling his tongue around in his mouth to build up enough saliva to talk. [Read more →]