CONTRABAND

Contraband

The Nietzschean dichotomy of culture between the Dionysian and the Apollonian is dead. The rise of hypercommercialized cultural expression has led us to a landscape that is hard and often confusing to navigate. The bourgeoisie no longer make art for themselves, they feed it to the masses as opiates. Art produced by the ruling classes is no longer bourgeois in nature; it is simple, decadent, meaningless and pseudo-dyonisian. Most subversive art reacts to this by being expensive, complicated and Apollonian, pretending to uphold some obscure “artistic ideals”. It is the artists attempting to subvert the capitalist system that fall into bourgeois traps of the “value of art” or its alleged capability to be “true” or “false”. Artists that attempt to escape commercialism make art for themselves and their colleagues only, no one outside of their wine-drinking shithead social circles could care less. True Dionysian expression is hard to find as it never really stays in one place. It spurs up in the name of youthfulness, anger, intoxication, love and a disdain for the present state of things. Other artists often find it childish, aggressive or absurd. But it exists. And it is our duty to keep it alive, to always keep youthful, bad, disgusting, childish, obscene, simple and subversive art alive. We must free art from the shackles of capitalism, we must free art from the Apollonian ideal.

KILL-FREUD

Find joy in suspending time,

Find joy in realizing God is nothing more than a child who’s never done wrong.

The sad passions betrayed you, and many others before.

No one is taking the world from you,

we have all been removed. 

Find joy in overturning everything you see.

Find freedom in a process of production so vibrant

that it destroys.

Kill Oedipus.

Walk, run, move

refuse to spew your words a to a business man 

while laying down,

ears without empathy.

They made you a producer.

In panicked consumption of existential commodities.

We are more than this, 

if we abolish ourselves. 

We must abolish ourselves,

everything we know

to escape

schools,

suburbs,

prisons,

camps.

I am not a cog in a machine,

nor am I autonomous.

I am a machine

inside a machine

a loving machine

a breathing machine

a pain machine

a fucking machine

inside of the innocent machine.

There is no context in this.

A flower growing in a vacuum.

The movement to destroy humanity.

I desire to be controlled,

I want domination and nothing else.

There is no other, no outside force attacking.

Fascism is inside us,

we are fascism.

To kill it,

we must kill a part of ourselves.

To rip the tumor off a bleeding body,

might hurt the body.

But we are afraid of pain.

So we blame the sun,

we condemn it,

for giving us the tumor,

that is ever growing,

we shoot arrows to the sky,

that fall back down,

on patches of grass,

penetrating us,

through the ground,

releasing a smell och chlorophyll,

that burns our nostrils.

Eat the flower of fascism,

Let the thorns cut you throat, 

Swallow it and shit it out.

I want nothing but pain now,

to save myself.

the minimizing of suffering 

slows us down

on our path

to liberation.

Hit me,

make me bleed,

I’ll rip the tongue out of your mouth,i

It is not your father,

not your father,

leave room for multiplicities,

it is everything.

Not your father,

not your father,

listen to yourself, it is that. 

Be nothing

Become everything.

Burn Apollo,

Burn the apollonians,

we will lift his head as a warning,

the herd with their slaves.

The movement for all that is joyous in life,

for love and pain.

God is all-loving,

without morality,

and they exist without qualms.

She will forgive us,

for ripping everything apart.

You will wake up,

and recognize nothing.