Hello good people! Summer is here. I hope your gardens are doing better than mine. I’m sure the government is thwarting my efforts. Even if it isn’t spies peaking over the wall to spray pesticides, the strange and unwholesome climate is doing the system’s dirty work on a large scale. Bad juju is in the air! Anyway, I want to write a post-script on the recent zine For Those With Visions of the Apocalypse: Hopi Prophecy and Revolution. I imagine not too many who have read it understand what it’s all about. First and foremost, it wasn’t about any hoity-toity 2012 crap—although the time is very ripe for this subject, considering. Secondly, it didn’t have anything to do with trying to create any kind of sensationalist, pseudo-spiritual fear about the end times. Rather, it was a call to recognize the nature of our universal captivity so that we might work to transcend it.
I wrote these poems to submit to an anarchist journal whose theme for their next issue was “Occupy”. They were rejected. Wah. Maybe because they don’t really seem to have anything to do with the Occupy movement. Well, exactly. Neither does the occupy movement have much to do with any kind of meaningful movement towards liberation (except where anarchists took hold of the opportunity to make a public and sometimes riotous appearance, piggybacking as usual). Especially now, when the remaining groups of Occupiers have mostly given up on taking public space as a spontaneous communal living experiment and decided instead to focus on things that won’t bother the authorities quite so much, it’s achingly clear that no amount of consensus is going to turn this failed, reformist movement into anything remotely fun or liberating.
In ye old early days of Occupy, when it seemed to have some promise (apart from being an outdoor movement with winter on the way), I started saying, “Occupy the universe.” Why? Because in order to go somewhere you have to get to where you are. Trying to begin a revolution in autumn is probably the first indication that the Occupiers were still living in the realm of phantoms that is modern politics, where the spectacle of a revolution is nothing more than that–an image among images whose unreality begs negation in a revolution of sensibility. Anyone occupying their own two eyes can see that everything’s got to go if we want out of the nightmare, and yet the slogan “Occupy Everything” doesn’t seem to inhabit the same planet that is ruthlessly occupied by empire, civilization, and consensus oppression.
Here are the poems. They aren’t very good. Good bye.
What is the light that lights the lights? What is the power which turns on our machines, which hums through our power lines? What is it which we call energy in this modern landscape, where does it come from?
Fire. Wood. The life of the tree, its energy, the sunlight which gave it strength released in flame. The tree’s life is sunlight, wood is grown by sunlight, fire is sunlight. The earth, the earth is the ashes of the wood. The seasons are the cycles of the earth, the seasons are the growth rings of the wood. The breath of the wind are its leaves, the air that gives life to the smallest mouse and the greatest buffalo. The rains are its sap reaching skyward. The flowers, fruits, and seeds are promises that life goes on, that the seasons go on, that the heavens and earth endure forever. The flame is sunlight.
They say that man invented fire, but fire was always there. Man simply unlocked the key to fire, and ever since the obsession with mastering the forces of nature has driven the conquest of the earth. This urge is considered holy, sacrosanct, and innate. It is called our intelligence, our destiny, our responsibility and our right. To control. To carry the flame.
“Lucifer” means “Light Bearer.” He tempted Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge. That got us kicked out of paradise. Prometheus stole fire from the gods. He was a thief. He came bearing light to humanity, and was punished by having his liver eaten eternally by birds of prey.