Anarchists

What the left’s become. Technocrats! Corporatists! War-mongers! Authoritarians!

The way the left were played. Like a fiddle. With such ease. The way the left’s buttons were pushed. Obvious. Simple.

The great names of the left: fully in favour of tyranny. Chomsky and Graeber and so on. Lovers of the state. Lovers of state measures. Of the corpotocracy. Their instincts didn’t save them.

The true left is underground, deep underground. Deeper than the Old Mole. And perhaps even lost underground. Perhaps just asphyxiating there. For lack of light.

 

The hopeless compromise of the left. The travesty of left. Didn’t that pain us most of all. Finally, our expulsion from the left.

The true left wanders in the night. On a very distant orbit. A comet, tail turned to the sun. Not approaching – receding. Gone.

We have to make a new left for ourselves now. New forms of solidarity. With each other, since we’re the only one’s left. Since there’s no one to turn to anymore. We have to be our own left.

 

It’s gone – that world has gone. We’re the last ones left, pretty much. A few, here and there. The move they made – so brilliant. They used the left’s virtues against it. The left’s desire to do good. To be kind.

 

Our old sense of the left. Our sense of who we were and what we were. Our old points of orientation. The stars we steered by. The ground beneath our feet – all gone.

The left died, and will not be resurrected. The left’s lost. We’re lost. And we have to wander all alone.

The night of the left. The left, deprived of the left. Who are we supposed to be now? What’s supposed to happen next? We’ve been beached. We’re lost.

No politics – no more politics. Does that make us anarchists? Perhaps.