As a guide and / or example

-9 volt battery
-small light bulb
-electric cable
-battery connector
-metal containers
-match powder
-a box

First you must verify if the bulb works, or if the battery has power.
Then check the connection of the cables and the connector.
Then make a test of your electrical circuit so that the device is effective and there are no faults.

Inside the box

In this case we use a shoe box, but it can be any box of any size, the important thing is the electric circuit.
Let’s take the example to see how it works.
This cable must be in this position so that it is hooked with the other cable.
The wires have to look like this, so that when the target opens the box, they touch and generate the explosion.
When closing it, take EXTREME care so that the cables do not touch each other.
Obviously the box must be closed, not like in this example.
When you open the box, the bulb should be turned on, checking the mechanism and being very careful when you put the explosive charge, this is just a test.
As you can see, the cables touch correctly, verifying that the device works.

Container options

The metal containers that you can use vary and depend on the amount of explosive you have. It can be a galvanized nipple, which you must make a hole on the cap with a drill and put the cables together with the bulb, so that the detonation is direct, without the need for a fuse.
Or it can be a 1 kilogram extinguisher like the one shown, with which the same procedure is done as with the galvanized nipple. Or if you prefer, it can be a 2 kilogram extinguisher,  It depends on the destruction you want to cause.
It is recommended to add nails, pieces of metal, BBs or any material that can be used as shrapnel to generate more destruction, injuries and even death to your target.

Wearing away the lightbulb

For this, you can erode with a sandpaper the glass of the bulb.
The bulb as shown in the video, must be filled with match powder or phosphorus. The same heat of the ignited light causes the phosphorus to ignite immediately and generates the source of heat (sparks) that causes the explosive to burn and detonate.

Filling the lightbulb with match powder

And so, it is filled with match powder (it does not matter if the match powder is not as pulverized as ours, it works either way) and the bulb hole is covered with adhesive tape.

Lightbulb and fuses

As it has been said, the explosive can be detonated directly with the bulb inside the metal base or fuses can be used, this is done for the terrorist’s safety, because if by some fault, the cables touch earlier than planned, the terrorist has time to run and the explosion will not stop him.
The fuses and the bulb full of phosphorus should go this way.
Example of bulb and fuses united (next picture)
This is how it looks at night the union of the cables that heat the bulb and ignites the phosphorus of this, whereby the explosion is generated and the fuses are burned.

Another alternative. More security.

In the previous example we could see that the act of closing the box is a delicate moment, understanding that the explosive will be connected and the slightest friction can generate the explosion.
In the example that we will see below, a new method will be shown when closing the box, a variant that will undoubtedly give us more security when it comes to closing it.  This method is simply to make a hole on the side of the box, which will serve to interrupt the circuit, pulling the two wires through the hole.
In this way we can close the box without any problem. The next thing is to connect the two wires that come out through the hole, thus closing the circuit.  Then we proceed to introduce the connection, and patch the hole.
In the images that follow you can see how the mechanism works with the box already closed, thanks to the hole we have made to the side.  We can see how the circuit is activated correctly.
Diagram of the circuit with the hole (next picture)

Let the explosives detonate in the face of progressivists!
Let them get injured or die!
For the perversion of the mind and our actions!
Go ahead, Eco-extremist terrorists!
Go ahead, Nihilist terrorists!

Black Nihilism

Let chaos come, death is our only certainty, we have always known that we are going to die, no matter when, no matter where and how it does not matter. Eternal life is meaningless,  eternity is not life, only death is the repose to which we aspire, life and death are linked, those who demand something else ask for the impossible and will only get smoke as a reward.  We who do not content ourselves with words, we consent to disappear forever and we consider ourselves fortunate not to survive anywhere. I did not choose to be born, life was imposed on me,  life full of worries and sorrows and troublesome joys. That a man is happy, what shows? Happiness is a particular case and we observe only the laws of genus,  we reason from them, on them we meditate and deepen, we despise whoever seeks the miracle and we are not avid for ecstasy,  our evidence is enough for us and our superiority is not found elsewhere.

When humans know there is no choice but death, they will bless those who kill them, so they do not have to kill themselves,  make all our problems insoluble and with new problems adding incessantly,  It will be necessary that the horror of living in which we are consumed is exhausted and that the destitution ends criminal optimism, which seems to me the shame of these times. Well,  the prosperity of rich countries will not last forever,  in a world that is sinking into absolute misery and because it is too late to get them out of there they will have no choice but to exterminate the poor, or to be poor in turn,  they themselves will no longer avoid chaos and death, so no matter how hard they try, they will only come to horror.

I do not believe in the future anymore, our descendants must recover from the chaos in which we are going to disappear,  I hate this world full of human insects and those who swear that these are human beings, they lie, the mass has never been of men but of condemned people,  and from when a sleepwalking automaton must be my neighbor, if this should be my neighbor I say that my neighbor does not exist, and my duty is to not be like him at all.

Once people are persuaded that their children will be more unhappy than their parents and that their grandchildren will be even more unhappy,  once they are persuaded that science will not work miracles and that heaven is as empty as its purse and that all religions are reviewed by fashions and that all religious are impostors and that all the rulers are stupid and that all policies are impotent, then they will opt for desperation.  Without despair men will never consent to become sterile, women less still, it is the optimism that kills us, and optimism is the biggest mistake.  Even those who want to depopulate the world before it’s too late,  Do not dare to speak openly about this need and that is why nobody denounces the causes of chaos and points to the inevitable consequences of overpopulation.

The only remedy to end poverty is sterility, you should not tolerate more than families without children. Our intellectuals and religious know nothing but talk and lie,  none dreams of rethinking the world, everyone wants to make a career and admires the art with which they use each other without ever hurting the conveniences,  we become more and more conservative, our revolutions are purely verbal, we only change the words to have the feeling that we change things.  We are afraid of all change and fear of ourselves. We oppose nothing and we tolerate everything, it is the triumph of mediocrity.

The world can no longer be saved, the idea of salvation is no more than a false idea, we must pay for our innumerable errors, it is too late to repair anything, the time for reforms has expired, the happiest will die fighting and the most miserable will die piled up in the depths of caves or in bonfires, the world will be no more than a place of pain where the purest among men will have no choice but to kill each other so as not to despise themselves, the final chaos will come sooner than you think, from one day to the next we will be thrown to the precipice and from there we will wake up only to feel that we die and then we will see what the conquerors of the new world saw, when at their arrival entire tribes threw themselves from the top of the mountains to evade the horror of inevitable slavery thus deceiving death with death itself.

We are going toward the final catastrophe and the world is full of people who want to stop the imposed order, an order increasingly absurd, the public order. The order is awarded its death because it is increasingly chaotic and increasingly devoid of reasons to be, public order is criminal,  the order we serve needs producers and consumers, not whole men. The whole men bother it. But man is not here on earth to produce and consume,  it is about being and feeling that one exists! The rest lowers us to the level of the ants.

We refuse to be social insects to which fashionable ideologies condemn us, we prefer chaos and death, and we know that it is already underway, while the ideologies boast of establishing paradise lost on earth, we will find ourselves on the grave of the masses of perdition. Religions are the cancers of the human species,  they are pests and the powers that support them are conspiracies of poisoners, our spirituality is nothing more than a masturbation of our mental faculties.  The common man is more and more indifferent, he feels satisfied while the entertainment industry offers him the appearances of happiness even if they are temporary.

From now on we will need all our resources if we want to recreate the world. A world where man is the only owner of his life and death. To renew the world catastrophe is necessary, catastrophe is desirable, if the world is not renewed the world must disappear with the man who infects it. We can not change our cities except by annihilating them even with all the men inside, and the time will come when we will applaud this holocaust, when men know that the only remedy is death they will bless those who kill them so they do not have to kill themselves,  and the survivors of the next destruction will call the world inverted to the world we inhabit now, a world that is increasingly absurd.

Albert Caraco (Le Bréviaire du Chaos)

An Incendiary Provocator

“I feel a deep contempt for modern Man, for the citizen. I feel that its extermination is undeniable like a holocaust; time gives me reason and circumstances reaffirm me.  The human being has to be sterilized en masse, as vaccines are administered. It is fundamental to disregard the morality of the family, its gods and ideals. I live in emetic times,  the stench that surrounds me is nauseating and the citizens are even more so. Well, actually, the conclusion is simple. Life does not deserve to be lived, life does not have any price,  amount or value when it is lived by innocuous beings who kneel above all. I do not feel respect for the life that has been imposed on me, full of problems or failing, problematic joys.  I would like to savor the freedom of abortion. The one that destroys the concept of the amount of life, the one that does not understand ideology or reason. The aborted one is wild and provocative.  I laugh at the good understanding of the priest, the politician, the father and the mother, the free market democracy, modern feminism, society and the citizens who inhabit it.  As an abortion I rise above all good and bad, of emancipatory ideologies, of humanistic reason, I only understand and share the passion of my Ego ».

Albert Caraco

Congenial Horror

From this bizarre and livid sky
Tormented by your destiny,
Into your vacant spirit fly
What thoughts? respond , you libertine.

-Voracious in my appetite
For the uncertain and unknown,
I do not whine for paradise
As Ovid did, expelled from Rome.

Skies torn apart like wind-swept sands,
You are the mirrors of my pride;
Your mourning clouds, so black and wide,

Are hearses that my dreams command,
And you reflect in flashing light
The Hell in which my heart delights.

Charles Baudelaire

Fragment from ”Les Chants de Maldoror”

Old ocean, crystal-waved, you resemble proportionally the azure stains seen on the disfigured tops of mosses; you are an immense blueness on the body of the earth: I love this comparison.Thus on seeing you first, a prolonged breath of sadness which one would take for the murmuring of your delicious breeze, passes, leaving ineffable traces on the deeply-moved soul, and recalling to the minds of those who love you—though one does not always realize this—man’s crude beginnings, when he first came to know sorrow, which has been with him ever since. I hail you,old ocean!

Old ocean, your harmoniously spherical form, which gladdens the stern countenance of geometry, reminds me only too well of man’s small eyes, which are like the boar’s in their minuteness and like the eyes of night-birds in the circular perfection of contour. However,throughout the centuries, man has considered himself beautiful. For my part, I rather suppose that man only believes in his own beauty out of pride; that he is not really beautiful and he suspects this himself; for why does he look on the face of his fellow-man with such scorn? I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, you are the symbol of identity: always equal to yourself. You never vary essentially and, if somewhere your waves are raging, further away, in some other zone, they are perfectly calm. You are not like man who stops in the street to watch two bulldogs snarling and biting one another’s necks, but who does stop to watch when a funeral passes; who is approachable in the morning, in a black mood in the evening; who laughs today and cries tomorrow…I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, there is nothing far-fetched in the idea that you hide within your breast things which will in the future be useful to man. You have already given him the whale. You do not easily allow the greedy eyes of the natural sciences to guess the thousand secrets of your inmost organization. You are modest. Man brags incessantly of trifles. I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, the different species of fish to which you give nourishment have sworn no brotherhood among themselves. Each species keeps to itself. Temperaments, shapes and sizes, which vary from species to species, satisfactorily explain what at first appears to be only an anomaly. The same is true in man’s case, though he cannot plead the same excuses. If a piece of land is occupied by thirty million human beings, they feel obliged not to become involved in their neighbour’s existence, rooted as they are to their own piece of ground. From great to small, each man lives like a savage in his lair, rarely venturing out to visit his fellow-creature, who is also crouching in his lair. The great universal family of men is a utopia worthy of the most mediocre logic. Furthermore, his ingratitude stands out against the spectacle of your fecund breasts; for one thinks of those many parents ungrateful enough to their creator to abandon the fruit of their wretched union…I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, your physical immensity can only be conceived if one tries to measure the active potency needed to engender the totality of your mass. You cannot be embraced in a single look.In order to contemplate you, the sights of the telescope must be turned in a continuous movement towards the four points of the horizon, just as a mathematician is obliged when doing and algebraic equation to examine individually all the various possible cases before arriving at an answer. Man eats nourishing substances and makes other efforts, worth of a better fate, to appear huge. Let him puff himself out as much as he wishes, this adorable frog. Set your mind at rest, he will not equal you in size; at least, I suppose not. I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean your waters are bitter. Their taste is the same as the rancorous gall which criticism distills and pours on the arts, the sciences, everything. If someone is a genius, it condemns him
as an idiot; if another has a beautiful body, then he is a frightful hunchback. Certainly, man should have a strong sense of his own imperfections, three-quarters of which are due to himself alone, in order to criticize them thus. I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, men, despite the excellence of their methods, though they are helped by scientific means of investigation, have not yet succeeded in measuring your vertiginous depths. Even the largest and heaviest sounding-lines have failed to plumb your inaccessible gulfs. Fish may: but not men. I have often wondered which is the easier to fathom: the depth of the ocean or the depth of the human heart! Often as I stood on ships’ decks with my hand on my brow, while the moon swung fitfully between the masts, I have found myself grappling with this difficult problem,having set aside anything which could distract me from my object. Yes, which the deeper, the more impenetrable of the two: the ocean or the human heart? If thirty years of experience of life can sway the balance from one to the other of these solutions, I will venture to say that despite the depth of the ocean, it cannot rank, as far as a comparison of this quality goes, with the depth of the human heart. I have had connections with men who were virtuous. They died at sixty, and not one of them failed to exclaim that ‘he had done his best on this earth, that is he had practised charity; that is all, that was easy enough, anyone might do the same.’ Who can understand how two lovers who idolized each other only the day before, separate over a misinterpreted word, one going east, one west, with needle points of vengeance, hatred, love and remorse, and never see each other again, each one draped in his solitary pride. It is a miracle which recurs every day but is none the less miraculous. Who can understand how it is that we relish not only the general misfortunes of our closest friends, at the same time as being distressed about them? An unanswerable example to close the series: man hypocritically says ‘yes’ and thinks ‘no.’ That is why the wild boars of humanity have so much trust in one another and are not egoists.Psychology still has a long way to go. I hail you, old ocean!
Old ocean, your might is such that men have discovered it to their own cost. In vain do they deploy all the resources of their ingenuity…they are incapable of mastering you. They have met their match. I say that they have found something stronger than they. This something has a name. That name is: the ocean! The fear that you inspire in them is such that they respect you.In spite of this, you set their heaviest machines dancing with grace, elegance and ease. You make them execute gymnastic leaps right up to the sky, and admirable dives to the bottom of your domains: a circus acrobat would envy them. They are fortunate if you don not enfold them finally in you whirling, bubbling embrace, taking them on a trip–not by railway–to see your aquatic entrails, to see how the fish are, and above all, how they are themselves. Man says: ‘I am more intelligent than the ocean.’ That is possible; it is even quite true; but the ocean is more terrifying to him than he to the ocean; this does not need to be proven. This observant patriarch,contemporary of the first epochs of our suspended globe, smiles with pity as he witnesses naval battles among the nations. The hands of men have created hundreds of leviathans. The pompous orders given on deck, the cries of the wounded, bursts of a cannon-fire, these are noises whose only function is to kill a few seconds. It seems that the excitement is over, the ocean’s belly has swallowed everything up. Its mouth is formidable, it must be huge towards the bottom, in the direction of the unknown. And at last, to crown the stupid comedy, which is not even interesting, you can see a passing stork in the air, slowed down by fatigue, beginning to cry,though not slackening its wingspan: ‘Well…how annoying! There were some black specks down there; I closed my eyes and they just disappeared.’ I salute you, old ocean!
Old ocean, great celibate, when you survey the solemn solitude of your imperturbable realms,you are justly proud of your native magnificence and of the true praises which I so fervently bestow on you. Rocked voluptuously by the gentle effluvia of your majestic slowness–that most imposing of all the attributes with which the divine power has endowed you–you unroll in sombre mystery, along all your sublime surface, your incomparable waves, in calm awareness of your eternal power. At short intervals, they follow one another in parallel lines. No sooner does one subside than another comes to meet it, accompanied by the melancholy sound of the frothing foam, reminding us that all is foam. (Thus human beings, those living waves, die one after another, monotonously; but they make no foaming sound.) The bird of passage rests on the

waves, then abandons himself to their movements, full of proud grace, until the bones of his wings have recovered their accustomed strength and he can continue his aerial pilgrimage. I wish that human majesty were only the incarnate reflection of your own. I am too demanding but my sincere wish glorifies you. Your moral grandeur, image of infinity, is as vast as the philosopher’s reflections, as woman’s love, as the divine beauty of the bird, as the meditations  of the poet. You are more beautiful than the night. Answer me, ocean, will you be my brother?Swell more violently…more…still more, if you want me to compare you to God’s vengeance.Lengthen your livid claws, as you clear a way over your own breast…that is good. Unroll your frightful waves, hideous ocean, whom I alone understand, before which I fall, prostrate, at your knees. Man’s majesty is a deception; he does not overawe me; but you do. Oh when you advance with your high and terrible crest, wild and hypnotic, surrounded by a court of sinuous coils of waves rolling on one another fully aware of all you are, while you utter from the depths of your breast, as if weighed down by and intense remorse whose cause I cannot discover, the perpetual suppressed moan which men so often fear, even when they contemplate you, in safety,trembling from the sea-shore, then I see that I cannot claim the illustrious right to call myself your equal. That is why, in face of your superiority, I would give you all my love (and no one knows the amount of love in my aspirations towards the Beautiful) if only because you make me think with sorrow on my fellows, who form the most ironic contrast with you, the most farcical antithesis that has ever been seen in the whole of creation; I cannot love you, I detest you. Why, then, do I return to you for the thousandth time to your welcoming arms which caress my flaming brow, your touch dispelling its feverish heat. I do not know your hidden destiny; everything about you interests me. Tell me, then, if you are the abode of the Prince of Darkness. Tell me…tell me,ocean (only me, so as to cause no grief to those who till now have known only illusions), tell me if it is the breath of Satan that creates the tempests which whip your salt-water cloud-high. You must tell me, for I would rejoice to know that hell is o near to man. I intend this to be the last strophe of my invocation. Thus, one last time, I want to hail you and bid you goodbye. Old ocean, crystal-waved…Free-flowing tears well up in my eyes, I have no strength to go on; for I feel that the moment has come for me to return to men, brutish in their appearance;but…courage! Let us make a superhuman effort and, conscious of our duty, fulfill our destiny on this earth. I hail you, old ocean!
Comte de Lautréamont

My Anarchism by Armando Diluvi

And I will immediately declare that I don’t even agree with Martucci. For example, where he maintains: “if there are individuals who have to cooperate with others to satisfy their needs, there are also strong individuals who are sufficient in themselves for the preservation and development of their personality.” This, I repeat, I do not believe. I think that, by character and temperament, I am one of those who tries to be as sufficient in myself as possible. But I am not able to do this. The material needs of life are so numerous that I still have need of others for some things.

And spiritual needs? Intellectual satisfaction and amusement? If, for instance, I would like to make love to one or more women? If I want to go to the theater? If I want to ride in an airplane? And then, when I might do any of these things, what if I don’t want to do it by myself? What is left of my satisfied I?

For me, the logic of my I is what preserves it from concern for others. Privates and generals aren’t supposed to exist for me, contact counts for nothing to me, I serve myself with them here even when materially instead I serve them. It is either because my concept of slavery is so low and vulgar or because my instinct for rebellion doesn’t have the force of those whom I detest and who enslave me.

However, I can’t conceive of the realization of any anarchist communism like Malatesta yearns for. If the thing remains a desire and aspiration that everyone else does it as I still remain to do it… this is fine. And here perhaps we are in agreement, I—individualist… at least, I think—and communist Malatesta. But why did Malatesta complain in an article a while ago that anarchists were “not organized enough”? Then, how did he come to write in this debate: “We say, and we say it with doubts, that, in our opinion, a communist way of life would respond best to the needs of individualists, but we have never dreamed of imposing our ideas on others and even less concrete way of life”? But the organization you demand to make? To bring down current and coming governments and carry out expropriation? This is logical. But communism would only occur through “the free adherence of human beings.”

I ask, dear Malatesta, if I could consider the anarchist communist form of society to be the best… because it would a society of angels as opposed to today’s society of demons, but I don’t know if it would satisfy me and I don’t know if it would be practical. Is it true, are we pounding a nail back in, one that might be rusty? And what if I want to live without producing anything for you? And what if, by instinct, I don’t particularly want with living together in such a society? It is true, I could by asked: “and what do you do now?” If I make myself strong, I rebel, and society strikes me with… law. But with what will communist society strike me?


But I am aware that I’ve gone on about other people’s anarchism, and my own? I understand anarchism from the side of destruction. Its aristocratic logic lies in this. Destruction! Here is the real beauty of anarchism. I want to destroy everything that enslaves me, weakens me and suppresses my desires and I would like to step over the corpses I make of them. When remorse, scruples, conscience exist in me and make me their non-christian slave, my iconoclastic spirit destroys them. And when I don’t feel them, one sees that they don’t exist in me. Yes, iconoclastic negation is the most practical.

And when you realize your communist society tomorrow, would I be satisfied contemplating my navel? Furthermore, I don’t offer a better aspiration where you all would come with us, oh today’s prophecies of tomorrow’s communist society.

The masses? But then, they will never be able to conceive of the individual!

In fact, the singular is what makes the great secrets that are not even conceived by those who enjoy and exploit them, the singular will of the individual is what accelerates progress, the individual is what is emerging and prevailing, the great mass is mediocrity, litter, feed for the ravenous desires of governors and politicians. The lone nihilist is the one who demolishes all the powerful, the iconoclast is the one who destroys all absurd beliefs with his negation. There can be nothing truly free in reconstruction. And this is why all that is not free and destructive is not anarchist. Stirner’s destructive philosophy is undeniably more real that Kropotkin’s reconstruction, no matter how mathematical.


I have argued above that the attempt by Paterson to saddle Der Einzige with a metaphysics of his own fancy is a buffoonish ploy to distract from more central issues. Egoism for Stirner is, however, grounded in a quite original analysis for his day of thinking, thoughts, and epistemology of everyday life.

Egoism, nihilism, and liberation all have to do with mindsets, which far from existing only in thought take human shape and become human flesh. Since for most philosophers the question of what is thinking is fundamental, I do not wish to exclude Stirner from philosophy as being only a social critic and educator. It seems to me his focus is epistemological or metapsychological more than metaphysical.

We can now tie up some loose ends from previous chapters. The final chapter of The Nihilistic Egoist, “Philosophy as Play”, addresses the issue of thinking. Certainly egoism is intimately tied in with how we think, as opposed to what we think in any instance, and while I have sworn not to impose universality on Stirner, nevertheless I believe his place is that of a modern thinker in tune with some of the most creative minds of the 19th century.

Nor should one think we have separated from the religious world view to the point all these issues are irrelevant, because even if technology has advanced dramatically, the operating systems for the mind are still present interactively and incorporate the archaic as many centuries of programming and reprogramming persist embodied in our cultural experience. Continue reading


Stirner deals with the problem of the law in the first introductive pages, and he points out what the Ego (mark well, not the man), degraded to simple subject-citizen, is demanded not to do: ‘to be egoist’.
‘Only my cause must not be my cause’, or ‘What a shame an egoist who only thinks of himself.’ The author of ‘The Ego’ destroys this so-called truth, which is nothing more than a lie consolidated and repeated during the centuries, also thanks to an invading Christianity. The cause of God and of Man is not my concern, that is not my cause. There is no cause, be it Humanity, truth, morals, ethics, etc., I do not kneel before higher causes, instead of that, I make my own cause and my end, and I become and I am an egoist.

Here is my egoism peeking out from the cave where it had been shut up, the Cerberus of greedy passions, ‘the nothing of any other’, whom you wanted to sacrifice for your evenings with a lustful lady, who can’t placate my anger and my insatiable will of pleasure, and which – this is very important – pushes the concepts and principles of the law standing outside me away.

We are not going to be the prodigal sons subjected only to juvenile transgression, nor are we going to be dirt cheap Raskolnikov, we will kill the old usurer and her sister with everything that is within our reach and we will face whatever follows, energetically tearing the thorns of claudication without falling into the guilt instinct of Christianity.

We will never offer our wrists deliberately to the great inquisitors, rather we will throw ourselves into the abyss of the unconscious in order to recover the Self,  falling back into the void and in the darkness we will be able to look in the face at the material reality and we will not hang ourselves like Smerdijakov if it is not of our own will,  nor will we fall into brain fever, a cold fever of madness and guilt, the same fever of the philosophical genius of “everything is allowed,” immortalized in Ivan Karamazov. No, the metaphysics of the bishop of Rome and his entire theology advances to annihilate the unique one, the nothing, the creator, the Self.

Stirnerian Ethics

All those who have been fortunate enough to read “The Unique and His Property,” by Max Stirner feel the deep desire to make his doctrine known to others, particularly to the workers. It is with that aim that I attempt to give, in a few lines, a glimpse of that doctrine. It does not seem that his book has been well understood by several of those who have attempted to give an account of it.

What Eltzbacher says about it in his book “Anarchism” is not very exact; he should first of all say that Stirner is not especially preoccupied with being clear and that he makes use of an individual philosophical jargon. We too often confuse the egoist — or rather nihilist — philosophy of Stirner, with the individualist philosophy of an Emerson for example.

Stirner has proclaimed, and this seems the fundamental point of his theory, the doctrine of the property of the self. That was a bold conception which will help one day to bring about a great revolution in philosophy. Here it is, in essence: “You are your own masters; work for your own interests. Respect no ideal; do not make your actions conform to any moral standard. Scorn custom, duty, morality, justice, law. I am God, and king, and law. — Hold as sacred only your appetites and desires.” That is what he means by that nihilist expression: “All things are nothing to me,” “You are not bound if you refuse to belief yourself bound; you are to yourself the Most High; respect nothing, and be your own God. Obey no pact.” In short: “Nothing is more dear to me than myself!”

Now, between the nihilist and individualist philosophies, there is a rather subtle distinction that it is necessary to bring clearly to light. The individualist philosophy says: Be a strong individual! Raise yourself above the common! Develop your individuality!” The egoist or nihilist philosophy says: “You have no duty to fulfill. If you desire to be a strong man, an influential man, an individual really above, as much as is possible, the influence of the herd, in that case, be strong! Not as duty, but as privilege.” The first theory commands: “You must be a superman.” The second says: “Be what you want to be.”

The Stirnerian egoist — the man who accepts no morality – does not limit himself with regard to sympathy. He follows the impulses of his heart. He denies the rights, the titles of property; he fosters no respect the State, even if it was the freest Democracy that it was possible to imagine. He concedes no ethical view superior to his own desires. But there is nothing in Stirner that is contrary to the feeling of solidarity, to sympathy, or to fraternal love. Stirner proclaims the liberation from all that which can chain the individual; he is the prophet of unchained egoism. He makes litter of the ethical rubbish of the past, he shows the last ideal of an idolatrous race, morals, and he cries: “Look! It is an imposture.” He turns to the Ego, to all the Egos of the Universe and cries: “Each of you is for himself the true God, do as you please.”

Between the ethics of Kropotkin and that of Stirner there is no essential difference; what the first expresses in a simply scientific language, Stirner explains in metaphysical terms that are correct, but a little confused. When Kropotkin shows that, in each individual, there exists a passion for the good of the race, he gives a strong support to the thesis of Stirner. We have hesitated to proclaim that morals are an illusion and duty an imposture until Kropotkin assured us that the sentiment of solidarity is inherent in the nature of man. This determined, we can cast morality in the trash without danger to the species.

According to the conception of Stirner, the good is that which pleases him, and evil is what he detests. That which wounds your sympathy is evil for you, so that, while denying absolutely any value whatsoever in morals imposed from outside, we find impossible to deny the existence of good and evil.

But it is me, the Ego, which will be its touchstone. A tyrant, a brutal murder committed by this blood-stained monster that is the law, a cruel act, what undermines my feeling of solidarity, that is evil.

Then we will add to our war cry a new call.

Before now, we have cheered the death of the all-powerful enemy, God; the fall of the law, the destruction of the rights of property, we can add: “Down with morality!”

Egoistically claimed Antisocial Misanthropic Nihilist attacks

I claim egoistically and antipolitically the following attacks:

1. Abandonment of an incendiary device right outside a house door.
2. A van burnt to a crisp.
3. Poisoning of soft drinks abandoned in various places of the city.
4. An RV destroyed, with just a 500 ml device, nobody was inside unfortunately.
5. Abandonment of incendiary device at a garden shed of a residential yard.

Experimentation continues. Finding the weak spots of places, of methods, but most of all of myself. To keep up the indisciminate and methodically selective indisciminate attack means to be totally awake, to be always quicker, while knowing that anything can happen. There are no ethical elements in my selection. Only criteria are the specific and even different reasons, that each time, I, myself, choose to act, which is not a value. I might choose an easy prey, something that will look more satisfying after an arson, or anything connected intimately to the inner sanctum of the humanoids. Thus in a misanthropic way violating their secure and pathetic psychological and everyday stability, something that gives me joy.

Mechanistic life continues and the limp organisms don’t even pay attention to the consumed and melted properties by the fire, as if they are totally engulfed by the error of their own existence. Nothing thrills them, if they are not in immediate danger, another day goes by.

You little humans with your stupid faces, your stupid clothes, your stupid hair and your little slimy fingers who wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to point them at me, showing me to your gods for divine retribution, if you didn’t see on me the hide of the human being. Look around you and see the world of sickness of hypocritical artificiality that you’ve made. You worms… I’m not going anywhere… I’m eager to affirm Nothingness… And wield it…

My Solus Ipse insists in eradicating everything that constitutes reality through consciousness. I enter into a blender of corrosive Negation. No idea crosses my Abyss no value emits who I am. I am the Shadow of shadows and only bludgeoning Blood is the ink on the trails of my Misanthropy.

In the sickly existence of today’s artificial dump I expedite the Russian roulette of my Egolatria, searching for either my death or of others, searching for the elimination of ”human” existence, searching for the annihilation of everything conceived by the human minds.

What are you looking for? Meaning? Fuck off! Heroic justification? Fuck off! I transcend all these petty notions of the past because I keep my eyes open and I live in this world. This world has other demands and does not allow for imaginative drugs anymore, that is, if you want to have your wits about you. Otherwise there are plenty of any kind of salvationist ideologies to choose from. I reject the numbness of the mind and all language artifacts that become the coffin of my Will. I will enjoy every moment for my own fuckin self!

I would like to destroy the whole world. But can I? No, I cannot. I would like to burn everyday and push the explosion of my anger and hate to the limit. Can I? No, I have to suppose my own regulations if I want to Live another day. Whoever imagines otherwise needs a slap in his stupid face in order to wake up from his ideological nightmare.

Complicity with ITS, Nihilist Misanthropes, Chaotic Individualists and Nihilist Terrorists!

Nihilist aggressor, Misanthropos Cacogen