#situationism

Tiqqun I

Of Course You Know This Means War

What Is Critical Metaphysics?

Theory of Bloom

Phenomenology Of Everyday Life

Theses on the Imaginary Party

Silence and Beyond

On the Economy Considered as Black Magic

Raw Materials for a Theory of the Young Girl

Machine-Men: a Users Guide

The Critical Metaphysicians beneath the ‘Unemployed Persons’ Movement

Marginal Considerations on the Present Movement

The Jobless Speak

A Few Scandalous Actions of the Imaginary Party

Tiqqun II

Introduction to Civil War & How Is It To Be Done

Final Warning to the Imaginary Party Regarding Public Space

The Cybernetic Hypothesis

The Conquerors Had Won Easily

Theses on the Terrible Community

Untitled Notes on Immigration

The Problem of the Head

Progress doesn't want Those that don't want Progress

Stop Domesti(caf)tion

Robert Walser Quote

Report to the SASC Concerning an Imperial Apparatus

Notes on the Local

The Little Game of the Man of the Old Regime

You're never too Old to Ditch Out

Sonogram of a Potential

Hello!

This is not a Program & Critical Metaphysics could be born as a Science of Apparatuses

Commentary

El primero, a la derecha, es una edición a modo de fanzine de los viejos materiales de revista la Internacional Situacionista, que venía a ser los grupos (¿comandos artísticos?) que se unieron al movimiento de Debord. Anteriormente habían pasado por el blog de SpaceIntruder, pero eso eran los originales y yo no domino ni francés ni alemán que hacía falta. AQUÍ ENLACE.

El segundo es posterior y libro copyfree para entender la historia del activismo artístico y político que fue aquello, lo que me viene genial para orientarme, que Debord leído directamente es bello pero me cuesta seguir a lo que se refiere. AQUÍ ENLACE.

Busted up, old automobile factories, Abandoned cars with no batteries, Decrepit modern art galleries, A set of concrete abnormalities.

Squatting isn't that bad just ask my friends at the Sorbonne. We drink coffee from tables who have no legs to stand on. We grab whatever food and drink we can come upon. Though we look like we're struggling, we have books to con.

My favorite place to sleep is the old cemetery. It fills my mind with thoughts so revelatory. I pass through, talk with the dead as an emissary, though the interest I have is nonhereditary.

I look for new friends, oh this one's Romani and that one's Jewish. Oh this one died because he slipped down a flight of stairs, how foolish. Every night I spend here I begin to become more of a Nihilist, becoming more brutish. Though I quite enjoy what they did to the czar and the others, making them ghoulish.

It helps that the cemetery is right next to a bar. Yes I mean it, truly mean it, it isn't quite far. I know a guy there who plays quite the guitar. It's a place like this where I would meet de Beauvoir.

I participate in the communal poetry of the bathroom stall, inscribing 'No Gods, No Masters' into the wall. It looks good next to the number labeled 'call' and next to the initials and an 'X' crossing it all.

I hear two young lovers cannibalizing each other next door over. At that point I know I'm going to be hungover. I climb out and scale the city's entrails moreover. Like a voyager, avoiding indigestion and closure.

The roads are long and full of history, I can feel the pavement hiding a certain mystery. Sirens echo through the night sky celebrating victory. I can finally understand their wicked trickery.

Concrete towers stalk my solitary journey. I can see why they made music from this truly! Remembering that fact, I start to dance unduly. I'm starting to understand why my mother called me unruly.

While I'm here alone on my walk I can wonder on something in this clime, like on the Passage of a Few Persons Through a Rather Brief Unity of Time. Enthusiasm seeps through me like never before, I can feel I'm in my prime. This feeling may dissipate soon, but nevertheless I feel sublime. I'm only wary of the church bell starting to chime.