Wednesday, 11 February 2015
Principea Communia or How I Found the Communist Party and What we Did to Them When We Found Them.
(Good morning traitors, trot scum.)
I'm thinking about hardcore and bliss - how it's easy to disguise that bliss as primary jouissance, and why the hell not? Have you ever listened to Nightcore? Everyone who knows me well knows how much I romanticise the aesthetics of state communism - how I wear Lenin on my lapels and quite regularly listen to the USSR anthem on repeat. There's a few different dimensions to this. The justifications, when I pretend they exist, go something like this: You are sickened by the representation: You are the sickest representation - got it? You're a murder. Every time you switch on a light (using that example far too much) - the terror of Capital which has never ended, totally terminal, literally the worst regime imaginable - makes the KGB look like Raphael or Clytemnestra. But really it's just a kind of unexplainable heady excitement like too much coffee too quickly or like some new game when you're tiny and you're in the woods in the summer. And a joke too, how much you can piss off a Tory on the train, their lovely indignation. It's great. Watching them bluster and squirm, telling them their whole comprehension of history is a lie (it is) and then assuredly blaring out some made up statistics. Probably not very responsible. I think that's why, 30 years ago today, I joined the CPGB-ML. I go along to the meetings and I put my left fist in the air and we sing the Internationale. I go out into the streets and hand out Proletarian and I have a little shrine the the Kim Dynasty in my garden and I wear my pashmina and my buttons and I sleep and wake up and sleep and wake up. Anyway, back to Nightcore. I found them because they have this sweet version of the USSR anthem. In fact they have a few, but one of them in particular, it's really cute. It's a whole genre. Sped up eurodance, trance, happy hardcore. And this is the thing, the same kind of blind exhilaration gets me when I listen to gabber - and again, I've called that jouissance, but really it totally lacks pain. It's more like the ideal 'I believe in paradise' 'I believe in full communism' 'I will blast through the social stage' 'I will grow and smash the paving stone / root / smash everything', and so really it is probably cultured and dumb, but then again it's involved in some kind of total abandonment, like peeping round the curtain, past alienation, over the horizon. And perhaps attacking culture involves attacking that too. But jesus, give it a rest. It's not really explainable. I just couldn't help myself. Yesterday I was telling you about the various supports and props I use to distract you while I make good my escape. It's more or less the same. If you'd just join the party you'd totally understand. You'd know what you're micro-manager is really up to, saying things like [Not-I take Not I-Have not I deliberately-I not moving], and you'd also understand the kind of bliss we experience, every single day, the three of us, the symbolic order, lying on this soft bed, tangled in each other's threads - threads as legs, legs as splinters in bourgeois consciousness, which, to be clear, is all consciousness [yes all n/t-I yes fucking destroy the patriarchy yes-keep Lenin, yes-reanimate the body,, yes Zombie Lenin is coming to rip out your limbs,, yes-still smash the symbolic, ,,, yes smash everything not-I-will-refuse-all-forms ((of violence)) and yes, amen to that, beautiful sisters.] Join now. This is a call. Join us right now. This marks the creation of a new party. Join us, real, imaginary - all caressed in the sphere of the symbols, all covered in light, all destruction to the real. All destruction to real. All destruction is all real.