Fascist Expectations
by Carl Pwccaman
November 13, 2002
The raw life-force throbs in anticipation of expression, expansion, manifestation, struggling to exist and then to survive against the odds in the dog-eat-dog universe, creating people who rise beyond their culture to destroy the decadent remnant of the old way, the old limitations, and create the future of virility, power, spontaneous life. The moment, now, is all there is to burst forth and conquer. Only through a strong self is this possible. The core of any nation, of any thriving person, of the survivor, the progressive warrior, the artist, is life and joy, not vague fantasy.
None can adequately confront the wild reality in meekness.
As true as these sentiments are, they are fascist. Or at least, they may be called fascist because Mussolini spoke like this, and this type of writing was inspiring to Hitler and the Nazis, as well as Franco, etc. They also may be called Anarchist, which might explain how Nazi Punks infiltrated the 80's punk scene.
Instead of asking how something individually liberating as Anarchist culture could have things similar to Fascist culture, now I'd like to ask how the Hell Fascists got away with identifying their movement with life and noble spontaneity. And what, then, are we to see as a warning sign in propaganda, media messages, popular sentiment, under what conditions.
When bureaucracy, thinking of international relationships, stifling limitations on decorum, constitutional checks and balances, economic constraints imposed from without, etc., are seen together as the cause of a binding, embattled, restricted, imprisoned situation of ignorance and blindness, a rebellion that reclaims ancestral vitality and savagery may be seen in liberating terms... the reactionary mob may see itself as having the life force breaking through the grip of dead democracy, international vampires and domestic leaches. And this all seems true enough, as undesirable as the resulting government and culture of paranoia may become.
When it is beaten into your skull that self-defense and self-interest is wrong, or not politically correct, or makes you the bad
guy, and yet you are still held down, dealing with a devastating crisis that takes away your expectation of any stability, sanity, normality, or restraint, for many the power of raw unapologetic survival instinct is strengthened. When hypocrisy and corruption are rampant and yet the moral high-ground is withdrawn from those who would oppose it with righteous indignation, again the reaction of bitter unapologetic revolt is kindled. Yet it seems there must be a difference or dividing line between a natural reaction to a provoking situation and definitive, characteristic, and enduring reactionariness.
The damn IRS, the IMF, the World Bank, Kissinger, Greenspan, Enron, Bin Laden, pedophile priests, Imperialism, Stalinism, can be friggin maddening. Screw them all, I just bought a new computer and I don't have enough for the taxes and car payment left over. Why not be infernally addicted to eating out or buying CDs, art or music equipment, a video game? How the fuck else do you cope without Haldol or Prozac or the warm fuzzies of the optimistic believer. The warm fuzzies of those who believe in America despite the dangerous tendencies, the warm fuzzies of the faithful of the TwoParty, who insist on the good luck of our country to prevent collapse of the parts of our culture/system that we DO want to keep alive ... the warm fuzzies of those who believe one party will always be able to check the power of the other, or that one party actually has most of the answers?
The faith fades, then a good sign raises hopes, and then another fiasco disillusions. The fact is a quick fix does fix things for a few moments at least, maybe longer if luck holds out. So let's vote.
And why not be hopeful or cynical or believing or apathetic? Why not blame those who choose differently, damn them, the bastards. Fuck them all, especially the X wingers. The Empire in my mind will crush them, should no storm troupers fight for my future. But the fantasy is different than the real politic that may manifest, isn't it? It can't be that I should just suppress, repress, sublimate, or forget my concerns, my reaction to the reality.
So GRRR, there you go. Or WHAAAA BWAHHHAAAHH SHIT OH FUCK WHAA. Maybe BWA HAAHAAHAA BWA HAHAHA. A punching bag/voodoo doll seems necessary now. Ok, the bastard is destroyed in effigy. That helped for a while. During a protest that really gets a response.
Gets a response. Response? What, I believe in a response now? I suppose I must.
Dammit I expect one, no matter how cynical I become. Maybe the more cynical, the more powerful the expectation. Otherwise why care enough to be more than apathetic?
Oh bother, said Pooh.
If I wanted any Poo out of you I would have squeezed your head, said Piglet, as he gets out the fire hose...
No I just can't make the Te of Piglet into fascism, sorry. Imbecile meaningless parody is necessary, please accept my humble apologies. It couldn't rise to the level of sarcasm, there just is no analogy that expresses this well at the moment in my brain.
Why is it so easy to be laid back, making great use of one's smallness, sometimes, but not now? Oh, I know I'm small, I just feel depressed about ... vaguely, the atmosphere, for lack of a better way to put it. So I suppose I'm not so laid back or confident in my smallness. Not everyone can puff up their smallness like Howard Stern, and not everyone can be natural about it like Piglet, and not everyone freaks out about it and puts it out randomly on anyone else like the DC Sniper. And maybe the ideal is close to Piglet, maybe it isn't. The Stern approach is limited to entertainment and the Sniper approach is limited by legal ramifications and empathy for others, so I don't think they are the ideal approach.
At least crude humor and thumbing one's nose at society might occasionally relieve tension and gets us outside of our cultural traditional blind spots. If it is creative enough at least someone might see outside their prison for a moment.
Cheese and Rice, Gas and Go, Ralph Reed and Enron, Holy Crap-stains Batman, can't we go beyond sarcasm, whinefests, silliness, and mouthing off? Can't we DO something, can't we ACT? I mean, ANY action, has LIFE in it. I can't take death any longer, let's just KILL or something. I don't care if it's ONLY killing the bullying tendencies in our consciousness, I don't necessarily need anyone else's blood. But I don't need to blame those who kill an attacker, defend themselves from a torturer, or stab a rapist to death with a knife. Blame is too often just a bully looking for attention and the reward of humiliation. But we can at least stop playing with vipers, toying with totalitarians, ignoring harm to civilians, dehumanizing foreigners, rallying for more trust and power to police agencies and the pentagon... these things can stop, right? Or at least they should, in an ideal world.
And that vague ideal betrays me when I see it fail, when I see it compromised, when I see the complex realities that intervene and make the lesser of two evils still an evil.
What are these expectations, ideals, fears, addictions, but little totalitarians, the assholes in my mind? They can't wait to beat me into submission, turn me into a compulsive consumer, true believer, or crackpot, reactionary, addict. I DON'T WANT THEM ANY LONGER. GO HOME. LEAVE ME BE. GET OUT, INTRUDER. YOU DON'T BELONG IN THE HOMELAND OF MY MIND.
And they fight back. They react against the reaction. Then BLAME the demonic bastard comes around and I get caught in the crossfire meant against myself. Excuse me, those asshole parts of myself. What we tend to think of as our selves.
OK, I GIVE UP. Expect what you want. Truce. I just don't have to buy any. I don't have to slam the door or be rude. I just don't want any, thank you kindly. You can come by later just not right now. Yes it's a nice product, now back to what I was DOING right now. Too much to do, damn it.
Can't handle it easily when I'm too tired. Who's expecting this crazy schedule? Hello, no thank you, nice product, but I have enough, thank you, by. I think I'll try to BE before I DO. Always stressed out, pressured, moving, doing, no rest, can't think, must react, no wonder there is a mob. Alive shouldn't mean stupid and frazzled, should it?
A spontaneous foot up the ass reinforcing a police state isn't true spontaneity, isn't living, it's just action posing as connected to being, a fantasy of natural existence forced into a diatribe and a paranoid machine, dissecting the enemy and ignorant of any reason or honest self-reflection. The image of death, a corpse, gripping the throbbing heart, torturing it, squeezing the life-blood out of it, killing a nation. And in a weaker form it is all the reaction and fear we feel when we defend ourselves or our loved ones from the unknown terror outside. It's sad, I don't need to hate it, I don't need to feed it, I don't need to pretend it isn't there; I'd like to honestly recognize it and gently close the door, it can say hello another day. I'll take the tears over the hatred. It's more genuine.
