Fragment from the book-collection of works of the Gordin brothers “Anarchy in the Dream” titled “Anarchism and Modern Reality.” This is the publication of 1917, in which the Gordin brothers denounce the modern bourgeois system as shrewd and lapidar artistic metaphors.
Comrades! Whenever we are going to talk about anarchism, some reverent awe permeates our soul, it is pleasant, feverishly pleasant for us to know that we are talking about this sublime ideal. We remember the ancient words of the Bible: take your shoes off your feet, for the place you stand on is sacred.
Here he is in front of us – majestic and affectionate. Here he carried in front of us a hurricane of indignation, here he waudes a quiet marshmallow of meekness. Here he stuns us with his wild roar, there he undead our ear with a cute pigeon cooing.
The great ideal of anarchism!
You’re the only star in the darkness of our night. You’re the only sun in the cloudy sky. You’re the only divine tune in the cat-dog concert of our reality.
Anarchism and reality, Pananarchy and the bourgeois system – if anything more opposite?
The poet’s words are recalled:
stone Ice and
flames are not so different among themselves (1).
Anarchism is all-freedom, all-justice, all-love, all-beauty, all-beauty, all-color, omnipotence, omnipotence, omnipotence, all-madness, all-great-great-liberation, all-sale, all-time.
Anarchy is Love and Hope, and bourgeois reality is Hatred and Despair.
Anarchy is the kiss and smile of a child, and our bourgeois reality is the gnashing of Satan’s teeth and laughter.
Hungry dogs are gnawing from behind the bone – that’s a symbol of the bourgeois system.
Dog system, dog mores, dog life, dog god, dog nature, dog culture, dog science, dog morality, dog ideals, dog speech, dog language (2).
In this dog language, the gnawing of two dogs from behind the bone is called the Ideal of Free Competition, the Ideal of the Struggle for Existence. And the dog Darwin and Spencer find that it contributes to the improvement of dog nature, the sophistication of dog feelings.
And here’s the booth, here’s the tether.
The seeding booth is your fatherland, the dog’s culture says, “you must love it and not move away from it, and most importantly, gnaw at everyone and everyone approaching it.
The binding is the Law, it binds you to the state, to order, – says the dog science, – you do not rush, in submission to it true freedom – say the dog Kants and Hegeli – and in vain so indignant, it is not me, the state, you tied, it is the Unshakable Laws of Nature: the power of the clutch of rope molecules is too strong, – says the dog’s nature, the dog’s science.
Bourgeois reality is a dog’s reality. Small-minded people gnaw, classes gnaw, people gnaw, the floors gnaw, generation gnaws, society gnaws with the individual – everyone gnaws with everyone.
Horror and disgust.
The bourgeois reality is the exhaustion of the workers.
Here I see your exhausted faces, they talk about hard work, young faces with wrinkles! No! it’s not wrinkles, it’s tombstones over the bourgeois system.
You are dry, callous, of you survived the last juices, you withered like autumn leaves. No! You are not leaves, you are stones, tombstones on the grave of the bourgeois world.
You’re tanned, black, smoky. No! It’s not a sopos, it’s the Black Banner – it’s the Death of the Oppressive World.
Bourgeois reality is degeneration, extinction of women. Rogue state needs cannon fodder – give him more children, a lot, even if you go to the grave prematurely, the unfortunate woman! And if bourgeois women are lazy: it is pity for them to die, then this gap, the lack of delivery of soldiers should replenish proletarian women.
Give birth to children, suffer, have a dod with them, and I will stab them, kill them, – the state says. The main thing is to cook us delicious dinners, because women are created for the pleasure of men: pleasure in food and pleasure … – says the everyman.
The oppressive reality is the walluring of women in the kitchen – in slavery at the pots.
The oppressive reality is the extermination of weak nationalities by predatory peoples. Extermination and ruin. All the wealth of England is looted in India. Predatory peoples equip the expedition to plant predatory culture, predatory Christianity among the so-called low-cultural peoples: natives are sent to the kingdom of heaven, and “Christians” inherit the kingdom of the earth. This robbery is called the spread of European “civilization” among the “uncivilized”.
The bourgeois oppressive reality is the persecution of children and young people – these martyrs are bourgeois old-time savagery, cruelty and stupidity.
So look at us the pale emaciated faces of children, their eyes seem to ask: why do you ruin our soul with exams, lessons, book deadness, prejudices of your religion and chimeras of your science; Why your old junk on our young shoulders; why rotten your garbage in our fresh souls? Let us live our own way and think in our own way!
The bourgeois-oppressive reality is the enslavement of man. He is born by law (legitimate) and dies by law. The evil spirit of the state crushes his nightmare already in his little cradle, puts him on the list of his future soldiers and lay down a heavy slab over his grave – his life. From the first breath the state entangles it with different laws, regulations, orders, decisions. Man grows, grows, is brought up by a pathetic fluttering slave, always watching the movement of the whip, and all the thoughts of which are focused on one thing – how to deceive this whip?
The bourgeois-oppressive state reality is one prison; we’re all prisoners, indefinite, and we’re all jailers at the same time. We create these prisons for ourselves, thinking that for others. We weave this whip for our backs, imagining that for someone else. We’re going to put this loop on our own neck, believing it’s for the other.
That’s how beautiful and sweet bourgeois reality is!
But no. Wait up. Here you are the crown of bourgeois beautification – the yakhont tiara that adorns his head – a mountain of corpses, skulls and skeletons, world carnage.
Like a beautiful robber tiara, a tower of skulls, on the head of a giant robber!
How majestically burns this porphyry of blood on the bourgeois despot – bourgeois system!
But it’s all in the daytime, but the sun is your mind. You see all this panorama, the beginning and the end, you understand it: the crown is like a robber’s head, the head – a robber’s crown.
But at night. It’s dark in a circle. It’s just blood. Waves are raging, roaring:
“Why? For what? What about what?
Sleepless night. The pale hands of the dead, drowning in blood-stained shafts, grasp at your feet, drag, grab your neck, press, suffocate, suffocate, suffocate, and suffocate, and your bulging eyes ask:
And they receive in response from the same snous pupils:
And here’s the field. The moon is decapitated and bloodied. Furiously dance legless corpses, skeletons hug and laugh, and eye holes wink at you.
“How long ago have you gone mad? I ask myself.
And suddenly I fall prostrate – sobbing; I hide my face in dust – I am ashamed:
“I haven’t lost my mind yet!
Really, I’m still sane. After all, I still know, I know that our reality is a nightmare; our reality is a madhouse, and we are all in straitjackets called “laws.”
Oh! all this is already beaten, everyone knows, has long been said.
But how can you not go crazy?
It’s not enough to rape women – they’re your sweet, clean sisters!
Is it not enough painted with the blood of the elders – it’s your fathers and grandfathers!
Isn’t it not enough to make fresh flowers fragrant – it’s your brothers!
But the blessed are the victims – who did not survive our horror.
Blessed raped and exhausted the spirit of their woman, not ded to our shame –
Live and go crazy!
Shame, shame and shame!
And you sometimes want to hang yourself, to be stabbed, – to poke your eyes out, as long as it ceases to blow, small before you, this blood, you want to deafen, if only to stop ringing in the ears of your sighs of dying …
24,000,000 dead and wounded.
5,000,000 disabled people (3).
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Take pity, oh you, the tyrant of consciousness – and go! go out and shroud me in darkness, the darkness of ignorance, – the darkness of nothingness.
1. See: Shattuck R. Les Primitifs de l’avant-garde. Henri Rousseau. Eric Satie. Alfred Jarry. Guillaume Apollinaire: The Banquet: Origins of the Avant-garde in France. 1885 to World War I. Paris: Flammarion, 1974. P. 29.
2. See: Morawski S. Sztuka i anarchizm … Teskty. 1975. No. 2; It’s his. Anarchizm, dada, Artaud // Dialog. 1976. No. 7.
3. See, e.g.: Ethuin P. L’anarchiste fran’ais au miroir du nihiliste russe dans la s’rie “Fantzmas” / Belph’gor: Litt’rature Populaire et Culture M’diatique. 6.2 (2007). Web.