by Rachel Haywire
Things were bad in Berkeley. It was a last resort for me. I’d already been a jaded industrial scenester hating on the liberal establishment. Did it have to happen all over again?
I was stuck in Berkeley for reasons I won’t get into here. The vegan coffee houses and organic yoga shops (for the people) were everywhere. Cooperate, collectivize, and recycle. “Mellow out or you will pay.” I needed to get the hell out.
Yet the martial neofolk seduced me all over again. It was the perfect soundtrack for a contrarian like myself. Deja vu but who cares? As long as I didn’t need to deal with the goth scene it was fine. This counter-revolt felt like the new revolution. I could finally sit down and read me some Evola. Now things were getting serious.
I made the leap. I read up on radical traditionalism and many of the ideas appealed to little anarchist me. I guess this was all a bit shocking. I mean, wasn’t this reactionary stuff just a sexual fetish? An industrial song with satirical lyrics? I couldn’t actually be a conservative. I was a freedom-obnoxious radical. Not a golf playing gay-hater!
Yet Evola was right. Our culture was undergoing a downward spiral. God was dead and nobody cared. Trent Reznor was the closet thing to Nietzsche we would ever have. The meltdown of digital culture: an Occupy workshop for crowdfunded social activism: let’s have a goddamn return to normalcy. Evola said what I had been trying to say for ages. He discussed how class should be intellectual as opposed to financial. He discussed how the true 1% should be an esoteric elite of freethinkers “on the level.” Mutant and proud, bitches.
So I began to call things for what they really were: decadent. Everything around me was decadent. The entire culture of San Francisco? Decadent. I declared myself “sex negative” while having sex. (yes this turned me on) The sex was wonderful but the “sex positive culture” was Stalinist conformity. I could no longer, as a bisexual, enjoy gay pride. Conservative was the new gay and everyone was in the closet. Decadence!
Now here is the thing. I was obviously someone who enjoyed decadence myself. I was a cyborg, a raver, a burner, a club kid, an orgy-loving postmodernist, etc. Evola would have hated me. Why was I reading his stuff? Cruising through Berkeley blasting fascist military music all over again?
I asked myself a few philosophical questions. Could I resurrect decadence but get rid of the cultural baggage that came along with it? Could decadence be radical? Could decadence have a pulse?
Throwing the Extreme Futurist Festival I made sure that decadence had a pulse. I had to prove that somewhere among the noise of techno-utopian-occupy-rights-now (please click here to support the movement) there was a thriving pulse of radical decadence. This was my calling. It was evolve or die.
And recently someone who will remain nameless sent me a message. “You love decadent culture. How will you ever be the poster child for the reaction when you room with fat black prostitutes?”
Now this was someone who I personally got into Evola. Cue Frankenstein? Listen up paleo-con. This black woman is a close friend of mine and yes: she is bold and beautiful and does sex work. If this gets me kicked out of Reactionary Incorporated I’ll deal with it. I only called myself “sex negative” because I was living in Berkeley anyway. I live in LA now. I may not get along with most women because of my personality and politics, but I do get along with my friends. Friendship > politics.
Decadence can be resurrected to represent a raw and organic (in the Evolian sense and not the Berkeley sense) movement of liberation without the social fluff. Gay pride without gay culture. Independent women without feminism. Transhumanism without futurepop. Freedom without freedom propaganda.
The taboo-crushing brilliance of the Marquis de Sade. Georges Bataille. Lydia Lunch. Einstürzende Neubauten. The higher race that Evola was talking about. Or maybe that was Nietzsche. Or just my own sick fantasies. Does it really matter? The ship is sinking because the captains don’t understand how decadence is not Berkeley.
Berkeley is below decadence. The orgies in Berkeley are full of social causes. Meanwhile we just want to have orgies. Ride the rainbow tiger without being protested. It goes both ways. Just have a pulse, you paleo-con. Don’t insult my beautiful friends. Decadence is power. Will too.
Categories: American Decline