To Fascist Contemporaries (first letter)

 

I believe there are important truths that we intuitively grasp in childhood.  Everything alive has a common ancestor. We are of this world and cannot claim it. I’ve certainly sensed these things for as long as I can remember. Who hasn’t? You and I are one. This must seem as unbearable to you now as it does to me, but for very different reasons. You deny these truths in becoming what you are – in propagating the biggest lies of your kind – the ones most repeated. Consider everything in existence — it’s all made of the same stardust. Whatever you hate is within yourself. Poverty is you. Brown, black, red and yellow are you. Women and children are you. The kindness of strangers is your kindness — their fragility and dependencies too. The unknowableness of an animal’s thoughts is your unknowableness — or at least it was before you were taken.  You incarcerate, torture and murder your animal selves, your human selves, all of your selves, within an interstitial gulag of ontologically impossible impulses (between something and nothing). The barest of lives among us, no matter how wretched, still escape this place. They persist in resisting what you’ve become. It’s been said that your Nazi predecessors reduced their victims (including each other) to uncomplaining animals, but this is a misleading description. Your triumph of the will is a cowardly betrayal of the responsibilities inherent to life in all its forms. Your celebrations of law, discipline and obedience perversely test the limits of what is permissible, possible, what is reducible to an autonomous mechanical reflex, devoid of philosophy, history and understanding. In a tolerant world of possibility, intolerance isn’t tolerated. The future, any future beyond a perpetual state of crisis, depends upon a sacred commitment to our unity.
We are orcas, maggots and mud — the momentary beauty of blossoming trees. We are refugees. We are of something held in common, a fabric or cloth, a whole. Your fearful deference to unconscionable acts, behavior severed from thought and all justification, is too often masked by a loud and vulgar spectacle of unanswerable lies. It fascinates as it repulses. Maybe this is what got the better of you. I care whether I want to or not. The you that is me has been occupied, denied, silenced. You’ve been replaced with a parasitic simulation. It’s as if you’ve been disappeared from our common body, returning as an attacking phantom limb. You’ve been stolen from yourself, from us, from reality, hypnotized by a corporate hoax of personhood, contribution and belonging, an occult-like sacrifice of all empathy, a negation of being as false proof of life and absolute power.
I want us back but we’re imprisoned, tortured, murdered within you. The struggle won’t end until your empty imitation of purpose and the market logic that has both nursed and provoked it, the false equivalencies and differentiations, capitalism, whatever one wants to call it (or never mention), are no longer capable of tormenting our togetherness, dividing and replacing what we know to be true. When you and your comrades die, others will quickly take your place. No one ever thinks it can happen. No one thought it could happen again. Not then. Not now. All of existence is nauseous. If you could still feel for yourself, for us, you’d notice it too. I want to kill you – most of us do — but this will continue, go on and on and on, until we can bring you back to us. This must seem as unbearable to you now as it does to me, but for very different reasons.
jeremy