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

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.


FOR THE MANIFESTATION OF EACH UNIQUE ONE’S PARTICULAR MISANTHROPY!“You are from [your] father the devil and you want to do the wishes of your father. He was a murderer from the beginning, and he has not stayed in the truth because there is no truth in him. ”
-John 8:44

We reject to death the truth imposed by Western culture, the one that shows that the “sacred writings” are above men and women free of moralistic and religious ties.

We are not sorry for anything, there is not a single drop of remorse or regret that accompanies us in the life we choose to live, we face life and death and we will continue like this, crossing the limits of what is allowed, advancing beyond the point of no return.

We are a sect of incorrect individualists who travel through roads, cities and towns in search of our next victims, so we let them see when we killed the couple of hikers at the foot of Mount Tlatoc last May, now we reaffirm it.

We choose to be declared enemies of any trace of modern humanity that hypocritically declares itself concerned with nature, we are bitter enemies of scientific reason, we antagonize with any religious creed that imposes an anthropomorphic figure at the center of everything and nothing.

We hate their buildings called “temples”, their immaculate images, their priests and fathers, bishops and nuns, but we also hate their faithful and pilgrims …

“In the first place, we must set fire to their synagogues or schools, and bury and cover with dirt everything that does not ignite …”
-Martin Luther

As a result, we take responsibility for the armed aggression against a couple of pilgrims that occurred on October 28 at the height of the community of Miranda in the municipality of El Marqués, Querétaro. We observe these two beings walking along the road with a ridiculous image of Saint Judas Tadeo and at a short distance we aim them and shoot them leaving them badly wounded.

From what little the media covered, we learned that one of them died, while the other is still in critical condition, so we want his death to be painful and agonizing.
We know very well that the believers of St. Jude Thaddeus, who usually make pilgrimages to their temples every 28th of every month, are delinquents and drug addicts, but that does not matter to us, to our egoic eyes we only see idiots followers of Western beliefs, and that’s why they deserve death.

It is clear that our hatred is not only in curses, but transcends the physical.

We have no responsibility to anyone, think what you want, we do not care, we know very well what we did, and that is why we claim it before the media gives it another face as they usually do.

We are going to continue murdering, all those who think that our silence is a sign of withdrawal, are wrong, we are just waiting for the perfect moment.

What is the best response to the shits expressed by the modern anarchists, than to continue with what is ours?

Let’s be dangerous:

Individualists Tending towards the Wild-Querétaro
-Savage Serial Murderers

I Am My Blood

From the innermost bowels I emerge,

having become one with my surroundings.

Ina Ahisa Suharruru

Ornaments of my odium await under the dark skies,

until I dig up the rage in the opportune disintegration of time.

Abanaskuppatu Hadu Karmu

I abandon the existence of moral reality,

with egolatric diadem into my gardens of death.

Rimanis Pulhu

Adored fire consume rapidly to satisfy my hunger,

like an extension of my hand that breaks in the sanctuary of the human.

Ogrof Ningramfgmenth Ogof


The Return of Artaud, The Momo*


The anchored spirit,
screwed into me
by the psycho-
lubricious thrust
of the sky
is the one who thinks
every temptation,
every desire,
every inhibition.

o dedi
o dada orzoura
o dou zoura
a dada skizi

o kaya
o kaya pontoura
o ponoura
a pena

It’s the penetral spider veil,
the female onor fur
of either or the sail,
the anal plate of anayor.

(You lift nothing from it, god,
because it’s me.
You never lifted anything of this order from me.
I’m writing it here for the first time,
I’m finding it for the first time.)

Not the membrane of the chasm,
nor the member omitted from this jism,
issued from a depredation,

but an old bag,
outside membrane,
outside of there where it’s hard or soft.

B’now passed through the hard and soft,
spread out this old bag in palm,
pulled, stretched like a palm
of hand
bloodless from keeping rigid,
black, violet
from stretching to soft.

But what then in the end, you, the madman?


This tongue between four gums,

this meat between two knees,

this piece of hole
for madmen.

Yet precisely not for madmen.
For respectable men,
whom a delirium to belch everywhere planes,

and who from this belch
made the leaf,

listen closely:
made the leaf
of the beginning of generations
in the palmate old bag of my holes,

Which holes, holes of what?

Of soul, of spirit, of me and of being;
but in the place where no one gives a shit,
father, mother, Atraud, artoo.

In the humus of the plot with wheels,
in the breathing humus of the plot
of this void,
between hard and soft.

Black, violet,
and that’s all

Which means that there is a bone,
sat down on the poet,
in order to sack the ingestion
of his lines,
like the head farts
that he wheedles out of him through his cunt,

that he would wheedle out of him from the bottom of the ages,
down to the bottom of his cunt hole,

and it’s not a cunt prank
that he plays on him in this way,
it’s the prank of the whole earth
against whoever has balls
in his cunt.

And if you don’t get the image
-and that’s what I hear you saying
in a circle,
that you don’t get the image
which is at the bottom
of my cunt hole,-

it’s because you don’t know the bottom,
not of things,
but of my cunt,
although since the bottom of the ages
you’ve all been lapping there in a circle
as if badmouthing an alienage,
plotting an incarnation to death.

ge re ghi
e reghena
a gegha

Between the ass and the shirt,
between the gism and the under-bet,
between the member and the let down,
between the membrane and the blade,
betweeen the slat and the ceiling,
between the sperm and the explosion,
‘tween the fishbone and ‘tween the slime,
between the ass and everyone’s
of the high-pressure trap
of an ejaculation death rattle
is neither a point
nor a stone

burst dead at the foot of a bound

nor the severed member of a soul
(the soul is no more than an old saw)
but the terrifying suspension
of a breath of alienation

raped, clipped, completely sucked off
by all the insolent riff-raff
of all the turd-buggered
who had no other grub
in order to live
than to gobble
there, where one can fuck sooner
than me
and the other get hard higher
than me
in myself
if he has taken care to put his head
on the curvature of that bone
located between anus and sex,

of that hoed bone that I say

in the filth
of a paradise
whose first dupe on earth
was not father nor mother
who diddled you in this den
screwed into my madness.

And what seized hold of me
that I too rolled my life there?
NOTHING, nothing.
Because I,
I am there,
I’m there
and it is life
that rolls its obscene palm there.

And afterward?

Afterward? Afterward?
The old Artaud
is buried

in the chimney hole
he owes to his cold gum
to the day when he was killed!

And afterward?
He is this unframed hole
that life wanted to frame.
Because he is not a hole
but a nose
that always knew all too well to sniff
the wind of the apocalyptic
which they suck on his clenched ass,
and that Artaud’s ass is good
for pimps in Miserere.

And you too you have your gum,
your right gum buried,

you too your gum is cold
for an infinity of years
since you sent me your innate ass
to see if I was going to be born
at last
since the time you were waiting for me
while scraping my absentee belly.

menendi anenbi
tarch inemptle
o marchti rombi
tarch paiolt
a tinemptle
orch pendui
o patendi
a merchit
orch torrpch
ta urchpt orchpt
ta tro taurch
ko ti aunch
a ti aunch

Antonin Artaud

*The Momo, in the Port City of Marseille, is the name given to the oft ridiculed city bum.
Momos are schizo in their own way, Momos epitomize The Pharmakos**.


**The word in question is pharmakos (wizard, magician, poisoner), a synonym of pharmakeus (which Plato uses), but with the unique feature of having been overdetermined, overlaid by Greek culture with another function. Another role and a formidable one.The character of the pharmakos has been compared to a scapegoat. The evil and the outside, the expulsion of the evil, its exclusion out of the body and out of the city.