Affinity: In the desert, hell
Life can be a parody of itself or simply a choice. When banality creeps into the guts, horror is always at hand, lurking, to make everything seem normal. If we were to think of the world today, in addition to the ongoing massacre of war and the genocide of consciences in the last two and a half years in the age of contagion, we could, without euphemism, think of the desert. In the desert, everything tends towards the identical, and the most distressing thing is that one never sees the end of it, even when thirsty for oases of shelter.
On the night of 3 June, an entire section of the prison of Cremona goes up in revolt. That place catches fire, the cages are one with black smoke. A few days earlier a prisoner attempted to strangle a screw. The revolt is put down in a great hurry also by cops and firefighters who’d rushed to protect authority, i.e., the segregation of those bodies. About eighty prisoners are evacuated. Who knows how long that section will remain unusable.
In this case, the desert was responded to with hell. No one sought an oasis where they could feel better, reducing the damage and not giving a damn about the surroundings. For whatever reason it arose, the tumult definitively set aside resistance to retribution to make way for revolt against its condition of exclusion.
Is it possible to set fire to one’s cage? How many cages does domination impose on us? How many cages do we build for ourselves by listening like automata to the propaganda of power? Can destroying that which devastates us open the idol called the norm with an imaginary wrench?
That’s when every revolt that is irredeemable by those in charge – because when fire moves with desires, it is always like that – we can see it as the impossible opening up before us. That is why we should solidarise with these acts, because the most sensitive action we can do to feel alive is to want the destruction of every place that represses even one inexpressible passion. The rest is just intellectual chatter and mystification of the possibilism that never reckons with hell, which assaults the desert in an attempt to traverse a lush jungle conjured up by unfettered freedom.
Translated from DARDI N°10 PDF
via: infernourbano