Friday, February 24, 2017

Eat The Rich

SAME WHERE ELSE PART THREE
| AS FAR AS I CAN SEE |
Episode Three


“The government… the system has become… abstract.
We are no longer required to believe that they know what they are doing.
Abstract: the whole governmental level of society lives in a parallel and fairy tale world, a world that cannot be sustained without the consent of the worker bees in our world.
We are indeed the Morlocks.
But it doesn’t end there, there is yet another parallel world which relies on the fairy tale world to feed and maintain its existence. This is the world of power, greed, excess and mass murder.”
P.Norodnik – Thug Culture (N.O.W. Issue #3)


Atom once said he thought it was all about Real Estate – “Consider the trees,” he said (He sometimes manifest a minor messiah complex) “their success at spreading their seed is measured on how far they can throw it or have it transported to new ground. Since Real Estate is, for any given tree, finite, success carries with it the seeds of failure; in the end it will be his offspring that encroach to strangle his patch of sunlight.”
I can quote that verbatim since I wrote it down at the time; I remember the little crowd looking bemused, as if waiting for the punchline.
I got it though, but I knew that we are not trees (more’s the pity), that Real Estate was only part of how we ended up where we were.
Greed, selfish protection of ‘the air that’s mine’, perverted patriotism (is there any other kind?), loss of vision, anything for an easy life.
Easy; we had a real problem with Easy – we had been duped into believing that those things that made the process easier were good things – more than that: easy was the goal we should all aim for.
Since the Industrial Revolution, we had been sold the dream of automation; the dream of a population at leisure.
Reality is such a dream-fucker.
Those of us who had read Wells’ Time Machine were perhaps surprised to find that all those years later we had become the Morlocks – there to service the leisure needs of the Elite Eloi. There to make things easier for them.
In those days you could be arrested for anything: looking dangerous, talking out, texting while wearing a polo shirt.
It was becoming more and more easy to see that we were not all created equal.
Call it what you want: Capitalism, Neoliberalism, the law of the market, the natural order of things, the system had led us to the point where more and more of us were becoming aware that easy wasn’t working at all any more, it seemed to us that the tide was turning and we were gonna have to rise with it.
H.G. Wells being almost certainly a member of the 19th century Aloi himself, is interpreted as imagining the Morlocks as low class brutes, reduced to the baser traits of mankind while the Aloi were cultured, gentle creatures elevated to the higher (good) characteristic of mankind.
It now seemed that perhaps Wells did have deeper insight into the mechanisation of the world, perhaps those dark, post-industrial revolution nights planted a seed in his mind that he had not the experience to interpret; perhaps the Morlocks were the oppressed and the Aloi the oppressor.
And here we were, 21st century Morlocks, feeding the thieving elite by making ourselves easily consumed, or easy consumers – easy money, easy credit, easy access, easily led, easily fed with zero nourishing bullshit, easier than 123, easy as falling off your bike.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

...this is N.O.W.

Nous Somme le Peuple Qui Manque [We Are the Missing People]. Rue de Chaligny. Paris, May 26, 2016 ~ Rémy Soubanère

Monday, February 20, 2017

Friday, February 17, 2017

Atom’s Journal: The Day Before Yesterday

SAME WHERE ELSE PART THREE
| AS FAR AS I CAN SEE |
Episode Two


I was watching some animated kids’ movie on my watch today and there was this lightbulb running around in the forest being chased by a giant bulb-less lamp and I was reminded of those days in the Lazarus Woods (where the crickets famously chirp “…kredit.kredit.kredit.”) with Cajones and that mad fucker with the loin-cloth whose name I ‘m still struggling to remember.
I do remember he joined the army (when that was still a voluntary option) after we got out of Lazarus, probably got himself killed in the food wars or fell out of a lorry – he wasn’t as tough as he thought he was nor as bright as the lamp-less lightbulb in the kids’ movie; I remember Cajones (vicious bastard that he is) chucking the mad little ninja into a thorn bush; poor fucker was pulling thorns out for days after.
The past seems so simple now; now that we are in the midst of this mind-fuck, this battle for the last remaining scraps of our humanity; our sanity.
C says history will be written in the sweat & skill of the anarchist army – Phoebe says yeah but we haven’t quite figured out how that’s gonna work yet. I say the anarchist army will be there to give back the basic skills that we are losing to the digital world, like screwing in a lightbulb.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Who Goes There

SAME WHERE ELSE PART THREE
| AS FAR AS I CAN SEE |
Episode One

Black Lives Matter, Baton Rouge 2016 ~ Jonathan Bateman

“The ‘I’ in this revolution is a penis with which men believe they can solve all of the world’s problems. If one were to be reasonable, this could be qualified by saying ‘some men’ or ‘most men’ but it is a mistake to let reason enter into an unreasonable situation; that’s just the way it is.
How should we who believe that revolutionary change is possible, how should we deal with the testosterone ego?
Should we deal with it at all?
For to deal is to barter; to come to an agreement, and I’m not sure this can be achieved, since the goods we bring to the table are, for men, valuable only for the time it takes them to reach ejaculation. We are then tolerated until such time as we are once again needed as a receptacle.”
P. Norodnik - Don’t Call Me Darling (N.O.W. Issue #1)

“The world spins regardless of the hopes and dreams of the insignificant lives that scratch its thin crust.
Phoebe Norodnik runs with a bad crowd; those pranksters that call themselves The Pointing Finger spend their youth in loud denial of the future; smoke the night trash to a soundtrack composed of eardrum heartbeat and alleyway echo; adrenalin laughter’s guitar wail.
Norodnik bites her lip to be one of the crowd while distant planets whirl in all the reality of a Van Gogh sky. It is this and the drugs in her veins that cause her to cry: let’s blow this place to kingdom come.”
Nathan Uprising – Start the Revolution without Me (Daddy Loves Ya Magazine – April 2019)


The language of the media can be subtle and subversive when propaganda is tuned to the maximum; how much does it take to corrupt the messenger when those who own it all know that the cracks are beginning to reveal their duplicity, their dishonesty and their inhumanity.
If I knew anything then, I knew that, in the world of men, an opinionated woman is considered troublesome. I know now that that can change; that men can shed their bad habits when challenged with idea of being the best men around in the eyes of those who love them.
Looking back from this little room it’s easy to see how the chinks in the system’s armour could be so seductive to those of us with a predisposition to discontent.
My father, in a moment of drunken lucidity, once said that the world would be well advised “not push my Phoebe’s buttons, especially not the one marked ‘injustice’”.
My mother asked me once during those days “Are you proud of what you’ve done?”
Proud? No. But somebody had to do something; we were trapped in zombie-land, we were the zombies, stumbling forward on autopilot with our eyes glued to the tiny screen, fantasising ourselves into oblivion. We were being fucked over and we had given consent to the act (a consensual rape).
You may have heard a lot of bad shit about me; you may believe or disbelieve any or all of it; in my defence, I will say that I regret nothing Mum (where-ever you are), and if the name Phoebe Norodnik is to go down in infamy then so be it – I don’t give a fuck about fame anyway