Life[ edit ] While undertaking a classics major at Columbia University, Wilson met Warren Tartaglia , then introducing Islam to students as the leader of a group called the Noble Moors. Attracted by the philosophy, Wilson was initiated into the group, but later joined a group of breakaway members who founded the Moorish Orthodox Church. Appalled by the social and political climate, Wilson had also decided to leave America, and shortly after the assassination of Martin Luther King , Jr. In the words of Michael Muhammad Knight , "The emerging postcolonial world was crowded with American hippies blowing their trust funds on mystical quests He spent a month in a Kathmandu missionary hospital being treated for hepatitis , and practised meditation techniques in a cave above the east bank of the Ganges. He also allegedly ingested significant quantities of cannabis.
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Chaos: The Broadsheets of Ontological Anarchism. Poetic Terrorism. Amour Fou. Wild Children. Art Sabotage.
The Assassins. Chaos Myths. Communiques of the Association for Ontological Anarchy. Communique 1 spring Communique 3: Haymarket Issue. Communique 4: The End of the World. Communique 6. Murder — War — Famine — Greed. Communique 9: Double-Dip Denunciations. Special communique: A. Announces Purges in Chaos Movement. Post-Anarchism Anarchy. Instructions for the Kali Yuga. Against the Reproduction of Death.
Ringing Denunciation of Surrealism. For a Congress of Weird Religions. Hollow Earth. The Temporary Autonomous Zone. Pirate Utopias. Waiting for the Revolution. The Psychotopology of Everyday Life. The Net and the Web. Music as an Organizational Principle. The Will to Power as Disappearance. Ratholes in the Babylon of Information. Appendix A: Chaos Linguistics. Appendix B: Applied Hedonics. Appendix C: Extra Quotes. Pirate Rant. The Dinner Party.
Chaos never died. Not only have the chains of the Law been broken, they never existed; demons never guarded the stars, the Empire never got started, Eros never grew a beard. Agents of chaos cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition, their fever of lux et voluptas. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs. The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors.
Weird dancing in all-night computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earth-works as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places public or private where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience, etc. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption galleries, publications, media.
An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life — may be the ultimate PT. Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. Art as crime; crime as art. Amour fou is not a Social Democracy, it is not a Parliament of Two. The minutes of its secret meetings deal with meanings too enormous but too precise for prose. Not this, not that — its Book of Emblems trembles in your hand. Each of us owns half the map — like two renaissance potentates we define a new culture with our anathematized mingling of bodies, merging of liquids — the Imaginal seams of our City-state blur in our sweat.
Ontological anarchism never came back from its last fishing trip. Amour fou breeds only by accident — its primary goal is ingestion of the Galaxy. A conspiracy of transmutation. Words belong to those who use them only till someone else steals them back. Its ego evaporates in the mutability of desire, its communal spirit withers in the selfishness of obsession.
Amour fou involves non-ordinary sexuality the way sorcery demands non-ordinary consciousness. It is not the derangement of the senses but rather their apotheosis — not the result of freedom but rather its precondition. Lux et voluptas. No question of writing to Wild Children. You may write about them, so that others who have lost the silver chain may follow.
Constellations by which to steer the barque of the soul. The organ which senses the numinous atrophies with the senses. Those who cannot feel baraka cannot know the caress of the world. The personal mythscape. Paganism has not yet invented laws — only virtues. No priestcraft, no theology or metaphysics or morality — but a universal shamanism in which no one attains real humanity without a vision.
The hulls of its pirate ships are lacquered black, the lateen sails are red, black banners with the device of a winged hourglass. Art sabotage strives to be perfectly exemplary but at the same time retain an element of opacity — not propaganda but aesthetic shock — apallingly direct yet also subtly angled — action-as-metaphor.
Art Sabotage is the dark side of Poetic Terrorism — creation-through-destruction — but it cannot serve any Party, nor any nihilism, nor even art itself. Just as the banishment of illusion enhances awareness, so the demolition of aesthetic blight sweetens the air of the world of discourse, of the Other. Art Sabotage serves only consciousness, attentiveness, awakeness. A-S goes beyond paranoia, beyond deconstruction — the ultimate criticism — physical attack on offensive art — aesthetic jihad.
A-S can never seek power — only release it. This or that poet or painter cannot be condemned for lack of vision — but malign Ideas can be assaulted through the artifacts they generate. To throw money away at the Stock Exchange was pretty decent Poetic Terrorism — but to destroy the money would have been good Art Sabotage. Galleries turn beauty into a commodity but banks transmute Imagination into feces and debt.
But how? For them the hierarchy of being has compacted to a dimensionless punctum of the real — for them the chains of Law have been broken — they end their fasting with wine. For them the outside of everything is its inside, its true face shines through direct. True, in this myth some aspirant disciples may be ordered to fling themselves off the ramparts into the black — but also true that some of them will learn to fly like sorcerers.
The emblem of Alamut holds in the mind, a mandals or magic circle lost to history but embedded or imprinted in consciousness. The attar of his propaganda seeps into the criminal dreams of ontological anarchism, the heraldry of our obsessions displays the luminous black outlaw banners of the Assassins And Fireworks. The Assassin-child, psyche of fire, holds sway for one brief dogstar-hot night. Neither Being nor Non-being.
Marduk will be the first to rule, to invent government. Chaos is Hun Tun, Emperor of the Center. Or else he becomes Lao Tzu, prophet of Tao. In fact, poor old Hun Tun is the Tao itself.
The various apertures, pipes, flutes, all living beings together make up nature. Things are what they are spontaneously, not caused by something else. The 10, things have 10, different states, all in motion as if there were a True Lord to move them — but if we search for evidence of this Lord we fail to find any. In our world Chaos has been overthrown by younger gods, moralists, phallocrats, banker-priests, fit lords for serfs.
If rebellion proves impossible then at least a kind of clandestine spiritual jihad might be launched.
T a Z by Bey Hakim
Chaos: The Broadsheets of Ontological Anarchism. Poetic Terrorism. Amour Fou. Wild Children. Art Sabotage. The Assassins. Chaos Myths.
T.A.Z.: The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism