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.
Naturally it shits on schoolmasters & police, but it sneers at liberationists & ideologues as well–it is not a clean well-lit room. A topological charlatan laid out its corridors & abandoned parks, its ambush-decor of luminous black & membranous maniacal red.
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. So long as no one squeals to the FBI, CHAOS cares nothing for the future of civilization. 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.
It’s basically about the undefinableness of community. He hates the State so much he doesn’t want a revolution that just becomes the State again, but rather celebrates the groups that live within the cracks the State cannot stamp out.
Those groups have all the magic in this world. They are rebels at the barricades, or startups, outcast poets.
Those groups themselves, if they live long enough and become strong enough, will just ossify and become another State.
So he’s okay with knowing that any flourishing community will eventually die (or become something dead and bureaucratic).
So, Temporary Autonomous Zones.
It’s a good, in depth essay, and good to keep in mind when thinking about making new life as you flee the collapse of the old order (see previous post.)