The growing of XRs and DNAs: Una Nota between the 0th and 1st Declaration of The Concrete Jungle

Some brief and particularized genealogy for you concerned with XR’s past and future, zooming in on the concept of movement DNA. I’ve traced this concept back at least as far to Rising Up!, the Organisation that started THE Extinction Rebellion, intended as a campaign-movement (NOT AN ORGANIZATION).

This is pertinent because comrades within XR have been bringing up DNA with greater frequency as a mode of defining (controlling) what XR is and what it is not, (the DNA and origins of control is quite another thing, not for this post nor from me at this juncture… let’s say it is replicated and refined by Westernity). My response to them now is that actual DNA—from which the concept Rising Up! uses is inspired—is something that evolves…

thus @Free Movement and @Extinction Revolution, and other campaigns, iterations, vectors unknown to us, and those not yet evolved. We need not discard DNA, but must realize liberated DNA will discard some of our harmful turns that wreak of reinstating the very Extinction-tendencies endemic to our modernized species.

Open-ended DNA leaves us to wander the terrain of the Earth and of our minds to fashion new ways of existing and surviving on this land, in the name of a return to evolution and leaving behind what feels like an inevitable extinction for our own species and masses of others. We have definite directions that we would like to bring in to this mix, vectors of curvature. For one of these, we will say it’s not in my DNA to cooperate or even legitimate legal institutions and their codes. To be seen how that expresses in the coming weeks.

But More Generally, let’s leave human beings behind and return to Human Becomings!

¡Towards an Up Rising!
– Ejército Nomadista

Mirages of Wisdom 0021 (my thoughts inexactly)

Quit your job and get to work.

We can not create a new world if we keep giving the time of day to the old one.

Forget this world and remember this Earth.

We must turn work places in to woke places.

Rome wasn’t built overnight, but it did burn overnight.

At first you seed and then tree tree tree again!

Burn the candles at both ends and when the two flames meet, you are transformed and the darkness becomes your torch.

Leave the rat race and rejoin the human race. I’m not saying you all are rats, but you’ve been stuck in to a maze for rats and are failing to realize the walls are made of paper (money).

Lush the forest
Down the rain
Green the deserts
Dig the plain

In a coercive system such as ours, Inaction can be the most powerful Action.

Fossil fuels are not killing the planet, the machinery of capitalism is killing the planet #WarAgainstMachines

Instead of asking me to feel less, why don’t you try to feel more?

Remember Remember the 5th of September.

 

Zeroth Declaration Of The Concrete Jungle, Eastern Coast, Turtle Island

November 0, 2019 Untimed Released

We are saying this again
We are saying this against
We are saying this for the first time
We are saying this for the zeroth time

Life is too short… in a concrete jungle
Roots are too short… in a destroyed soil
Straws are too long… in a misunderstood oil
Machines too strong… not reducing our toil
Mouths are drying… in conditioned air
Forests are drying… only deserts compare
Species are dying… extinction extraordinaire
Vigilance is dying… few stewards to care

Is life, Is Life, really, just to die?
Shouldn’t those still living, ought to try?
To this bring your despair, don’t merely sigh
Hell likes us numb, not when we cry

So cry, comrades, cry
Cry, comrades, cry
Because without Tears
The drinking, the sweating
The bleeding, the urinating
Do not justify our privileged role in the water cycle
To roll along in this sacred circle of life

Water is life, let it flow
Land is life, let property go

Crying is not for the dead, it is for those who would choose to keep living. Cry for the Earth, it is the sweetest rain yet devised; cry for the great losses, tears hold memories that brains cannot; cry for the ongoing losses; ease the desertion with potent water; and cry for the future losses, for they are only written in concrete, when dried. Our future is in unwriting… our future is in reseeding! They bury us, but they forget we are rhizomatic.

Guerra Contra La Selva Concreta And The War Against Machines

Our death is written in Concrete. Our death is not written in stone—only the swords, guns, steel, machines in all forms that haunt us have their deaths by being re-Earthed. Un-inventing the wheel, that is our call. Replace these swords in the stone, for we need not the oppression of kings, nor of their metals and things—their contrived dependencies. Bury the machines of industrial civilization. Bury before by it we are buried. The land needs our attention, not our concrete. If the style of these words bothers you, the content of these words bothers us; we are not content, and by these words of defiance to all that has become normal, we accept the challenge to “die and lie down, not the other way around”.

Several words deep, should we—the ENT of the lower left coast, Ejercito Nomadista de la Tierra—make our aims and hopes more concrete?

Compas, we are concerned not just with bringing the dead back to life, but with bringing the living back to life. The bulldozer and asphalt kills not only the life that is below it—it closes off a peaceful existence—and what ensues is an ongoing war against what life lingers above. We who live in places where we call parking lots our yard, distant reservoirs and bottled liquids our drinking water, demineralized and demoralized packaged goods our food, and social media connections our relationships, have lost grasp of life as it has become more remote, more distant. Ya Basta! We are sinking on these false islands we have constructed for ourselves—these desert islands. If they are not desert islands then tell us why we always need essential goods shipped to them?

We, of the coastal plains of Eastern Turtle Island, are organizing a new way for humans to exist and be in symbiance with the ecosystem. We in some of the lands most entrenched by late stage capitalism, are beset with the task to create a model for other bioregions that must also battle to halt and reverse the 6th mass extinction.

Our first undertaking, is the seeding and fostering of a general strike against capitalism on May 1, 2020. We are not creating ourselves out of abstraction, but out of la lucha. We are not isolating ourselves from the struggle, but coming in to existence to call for a specific antidote to late stage capitalism that must be tried. We do this in affinity with Extinction Revolution, precisely because humans have been left with those two options: Revolution, or, Extinction. Evolution has been so badly marred by the methods and machines of industrialized and industrializing humans that a cautious return to allow for eco-system self-regeneration would lack caution. No, we must run out ahead to stop The Machine. We must halt it.

Here are fragments of the 0lder Zeroth Declaration that were not composted and fertilized in to the above writing:

the jungles provide the healing leaves, the bark, the sweet breeze; the concrete is a place of concentrated blow, of devil’s dust. Hell would burn if you weren’t numb to the fire; hell would freeze if there were any liquids.
Realities replaced with hallucinations and delusions to compensate a fragile psyche in a desert. Miracles for mirages.

We, the Ejercito de Nueva Jersey, are responding to the cry we hear from the land. The cry is one of a Murder but it is not just the murder of the land the land is telling us that sow-in being murdered our own death awaits us, humans. Not being dead yet, still having breath and the enjoyment of life when it is not taken from us right in front of us by the industrial overcapacities, is what makes us willing to respond to the call of the land to be warriors on its behalf and to allow life to once again flourish as places that are now not so long ago did.

Oppression has a very long history—but our time is short now. As oppression has grown, our time has grown shorter. Oppression can not last forever, eventually it oppresses itself, and extinction takes over. The extinction of what? That is the political question as well as the ecological.

These might be epic words, but what we need more are epic deeds. We need the deeds that would mark a new epoch. An epoch of creation, not of destruction, a story filled with the seeds of regeneration, not of the deeds of recent generations.

in these densely populated areas known as the suburbs, humans have never been more isolated not just from ecosystems, but from one another. These are not the grounds that can sustain a tribe, a people, a humanity. The lowest point is a turning point

Where to start? Hmmm… Not where to start writing, no no. This is not a question of how to begin, that seeks to focus the writer so to avoid being aimless. This is a writing against the very aimlessness of all the surrounding constituents that capture and particilize us, dividing us, resetting us, infantalizing us; this writing in it’s very nature must be very focused to hold appropriate contrast. No, “Where to start?” is a question that every new generation of besieged life must ask itself, faced with its lot in life here—to be born in a concrete jungle, with similar likelihood to be born on a paved parking surface as to be born on a field or forest with a healthy ecology.

a layer of pavement restricting its connecting to the web of life that sources from the terrain. The greatest and most ill advised dare of humanity’s history, namely the dare of how long we can continue landless, continues to new levels of perilousness. If only we could be fully awake to the sublime horror, but not, we are fast asleep.

Life must start again under less than ideal circumstances. Life for the Siberian Tiger, life for the blue whale, life for the orangutan, life for the human. Death for the tiger? Death for the whale? Death for the primates?

Even when ocean is available for species that can make a living out of such a connection, the oceans, too, are dying, under the burden of acidification.

As destructive as a high tide of the sea can be, we’ve let the tidal surge of our cars become ever more makers of misery, and pointlessly and unenchantedly so.

We have downgraded ourselves to a life on concrete. But it is not easy to mindlessly downgrade without a sense of great sorrow. The accelerations of water, the accelerations of wind.

With what little bit of us there is left, we cry so loud for the shrieks have not been heard. Hundred millions of years of evolution put under this urban and suburban placque.

We love the human animal, that’s why it makes us so very sad to see the destructive paths we’ve devolved down.

NJ as andalusia – andalusia cannot continue to swim on concrete.

Under siege so long we have forgotten that we are under siege.

The concrete statues, the problem is made visible right in front of us.

We are the Ejercito for our local Earth; ready to dance even when we don’t know the song.

Ejercito Nomadistas de la Tierra
If We Do Not Wander We Will Remain Lost

Aphorisms, Emotions, Suicide

Countless emotions and energies to process into myself. Where’d they all come from, and why am I under their siege? Now in the clarity that comes from externalization (in this case mid night writing) I feel like the answer is clear—they never were allowed to dissipate, be absorbed, or prosorbed: taken forward into evolution. They were just unspoken, unheard tragedies that linger on and even grow as weak generation after weak generation defers dealing with them. Well I am not one of those weak generations, so I am under siege by not just the breadth of genealogical back-log of lingering negativity, I feel as I’m under siege by my own generation’s weakness to deal with these energies and a bad karmic flow of it. They (my generation) are grand escape artists, except that there is not art in it, and there is nothing grand about it—at least on the individual level where countless individuals slink into prefigured norms such as pointless unneeded work and then private-indoor bread and circuses, mostly generated by the entertainment aspect of the culture industry. They escape themselves, and the obligations of the

People don’t know how to unplug, they just replug into a relaxing aspect of the same Matrix they were trying to escape.

I really don’t know where to put the suicidal energies. I have hundred of poems inside of me, but I fear to even begin writing them for the OCD that is so close to me will start telling me they are less than perfect and will stay my hand from releasing

The fucked up thing about language is that I don’t even know if this is what I’m thinking. It’s just the logic of language dictating the linear word “flow” come out in a certain way. I want this to be readable, but asdlfkjsflkjdsflsdkasfdfsadfladsj; feels a bit more expressive of me but less of the reader. Who the fuck would read this? And I don’t say that in a self-pity kind of way. I have no desire to read other people’s works. I think basically all written works and to get even larger—all human inventions, all human work, all human pastimes—are all a bunch of shit. I have little desire to toil through my own writings and expressions, no matter how decent and insightful they might be, and I have even less of a desire

Am I now a different character in an existentialist’s play? I don’t have a name for them, but I think I used to be one of the characters with great anxiety but also great love and hope. Now I am the cynical misanthropic one. I hate the word misanthropy and I hate that humans thought of it, obscuring that there are people who hate humans. Be proud of hating humans! Be a human-hater. I am even more proud because I’m both a human hater and a human lover. I hate most humans’ ideas and lack of thought, and there behaviors linked to their non-reflexive. I hate this in myself. I hate their sheepishness. I hate this in myself. I hate how their norms and ideas invade me and create a plaque. I love the human spirit, and its spontaneity, and that it breaks free from the countless generations of damage and shit all in an instant, when two or a group connect and come alive, or when an overpowering biological environment surrounds an absent human and brings them in to full, undeniable presence. This I love. I love the joy found in children. I absolutely fucking hate the control of authorities, I hate the weakness and pr

____

And so I write aphorisms, a lazy mode of expression.

We must do our part, and not just part of our part. And you must do your part, and not just part of your part.

I’m sick from being around people who think with their logic and not with their love.

Usually they are too weak to look up to somebody that is above them. Doubt in the sky doesn’t come from eyes raised but from eyes lowered.

No one else can say whether you’ve won or lost because they don’t know what you’re journey is playing for.

We are so successful as a protest force because we are not protesters, we are revolutionaries with a vision of a future that doesn’t end in our mass extinction.

I am a nomad and I forage for revolution. 2019 this fruit is ripe—join in and bring your own fire to counteract the Earth’s blazing fever.

Wild Earthlings with their wild Earth blings. (picture forthcoming)

I can’t escape it. I agreed I’m in the immanence, and only in the immanence. And the immanence—the Universal self-containing totality—is imploding.

Anyone you have to push to do the right thing is not a friend, they are a vulnerability in the enemy’s campaign.

Road blocking is an end in itself—an end to cars.

The real problem is when we let the matrix enter into us.

Fight for the living.

Figure it out when you get there, or you simultaneously disrespect the integrity of both here and there. #immanent #nomad

There is no theory of immanence—only the theoretical is theoretical.

 

 

 

Mirages of Wisdom 0020 – MayDay Earth (rush post raw)

If you won’t live to see it, live to seed it.

see it seed it doubled final

We are not out of control, we are outside of your control.

Extinction Rebellion Climbs New York Times Building

 

May 32: Our Struggle Is Timeless

May 32: If you want free time, then you must free time

May 32: Yes We May

 

Animals that have lost their kingdom.

There is no written language in all these lands that could convey the crimes done here. There was no written language in all these lands until an invasive species

Lead! Don’t follow this May forward.

Your religiosity is a measure of your oppression.

Let’s dig up (and root out) the antiquated ideas.

Those who only hunt diseases are apt to be yet another one.

The rule of globalization turns the Earth into the excluded middle.

With regards to the weighing the value of the older generations’ contributitions to where we are now, their colloquialism “separate the wheat from the chaffe” comes to mind. I’d like to say that we now know literally both wheat and chaffe are not healthful to humans, and both, along with over-used non-wisdomed
If we are in a critically failing civilization, we must spread our criticism to the bullshit we hold dearest, for it is quite possible the seeds of our current destruction linger in the most overlooked areas.

 

 

 

Fey

Fey

Fey

Into The Fire