Count the present days until today arrives (THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES)

I showed up at the next day's meeting feeling bitter and vengeful, unsure whether I was in Paris or Denmark, and retaining in the substance of my public visibility the memory of all those insults, which were snatched from me out of nowhere only to condemn me in the spotlight. I devised all sorts of plans, thinking that, despite the satisfaction of revenge, the unwary often miss their left-wing predictions, to the detriment of all light:

"Cest ma trace"

Always retreating where much looked at, and often fixing with chimerical greed my reflective gaze on the soft, transparent center of consciences. Tired of hearing them, their peremptory, almost always inaccurate things.

"My souvenir, my present, this is all that passes"

And that surprising political privilege of totalizing the world with the ideas in my head.

I said to them:

Within me now vibrates only the beloved American forms. No future alternative that changes me by modifying my threats. We must evolve into a less vulgar geopolitical product. Will we not insist on the failed seed of the game—bluff? Of course not: my thinking is cautious, and it cools the confidence we have in our own fear, to rise again,” and I hung up the phone.

I DON’T KNOW QUITE WHAT IT WAS THAT SET ME OFF. I MADE A SORT OF TRUCE BACK AND FORTH. I EVEN TRIED TO APOLOGIZE. BUT I SHOULD HAVE SEEN MYSELF PLAGIARIZING THAT FROM THE GUYS FROM LEGIO VITRIX LATER. A HALF-CLOSE EVIL EYE AND MY NECK AND SHOULDERS HALF-STIFYING FROM THE TENSION OF THE MOMENT:

The imposition of a single socioeconomic model on a planetary scale, based on unbridled consumerism and the logic of profit, increasingly tending toward the total homogenization of all peoples toward unified lifestyles, leads to the inevitable destruction of everything that makes a person proud to belong to a People, a Homeland, a Land, with its origins, its history, its cultural and religious Tradition. The creation of a vast, shapeless mass without identity, enslaved to profit and the worst animalistic values: this is the ultimate goal of Globalization from an economic-financial perspective, of Mundialism, as the subtle and perverse root of the former. The means by which this objective is pursued, in turn, are well known. These are the reasons for the fight against this global cancer: the defense of Man, of his sacred and inviolable personality, the protection of the Tradition of his Family, of his Lineage..........Far from the false battles of Seattle, from the "pacifist" environmentalism of left-wing antagonism, false oppositions, pre-constituted by the system itself, so that the process of massification is even faster: these fringes of pseudo-opposition do not fight for the defense of traditional living. We no longer live in a world of free men, characterized by their specificities, differences and origins, but in a shapeless mass of indifferentiable atoms; difficult, because the centers of power that manage this operation, thanks to widespread corruption and the division of the media, culture and the scientific and artistic world, create the conditions for the minds of the masses to remain at a level of social understanding and cultural knowledge no higher than the standards of Big Brother or a South American soap opera.  These are the irreducible terms of the quaestio, these are the foundations of our vision, which is frank, sincere, and at times irreverent, which does not accept the catechism of the "venerables" on duty, which knows with certainty that it is the legionary spirit that forges the actions and soul of a valiant fighter for Tradition, not compromise, not empty intellectualism, not proximity to a chthonic, lunar spirituality, with everything that naive amateurs might mistake for a magical world, but which is merely the manifestation of an inferior and imaginary psyche. At this point, we consider that a more than rigorous and traditional clarification is in order. Our militancy, precisely because it is forged by a correct vision of the world — we repeat — solar, heroic, primordial, knows how to be a counter-example and educational in relation to a neo-spiritualism that, over the years, changes its forms, but not its decadent quality, which unfortunately induces many young people — let us say — many comrades to believe in pseudo-spiritual shortcuts, in archaeological reinterpretations that sound ridiculous and carnivalesque. In the late 1970s, the urgency to wipe the slate clean and facilitate a collective wardrobe change became an indispensable business. At a certain point, bell-bottoms, ethnic trinkets, scruffy beards, and psychedelic colors suddenly became obsolete. An entire generational mythology was about to be swept away, confined, at best, to fleeting reserves of extreme coherence: the "freaks." At that time, the old was clearly perceived: the virtuosity of progressive music and folk-singing had become tedious self-celebrations, hippie communitarianism had become a playful utopia for dazed "stoners"—the drugs on the market had changed—hairstyles, gestures, habits, and ears had changed. Instead of rural lysergic dreams, people began to prefer a sharp black-and-white resentment, a lot of metropolitan neon, a lot of individualism, a Berlin trend, a Pankow neighborhood. The new punk aesthetic, indebted as much to Dadaist collage as to rebellious postures—like James Dean on acid or David Bowie, elegantly cocaine-addled, in We Are Children from the Bahnhof Zoo—represented, from every perspective, a radical shift, destined to endure and encompass much more than the stereotype of spiky, multicolored hair and tattered clothes. Marx was thrown out; Stirner's radical anarchism and Debord's situationism were once again useful. With the advent of the new musical culture—and with everything that, in our region, would be generically defined as the sound of the 1980s, from the industrial Einstürzende Neubauten to the commercial Duran Duran—aesthetic references initially minimal, robotic, austere, and essential were imposed, but later, along with the growing frivolity stemming from economic optimism, increasingly redundant, bizarre, baroque, and exotic. From a musical point of view, it now becomes interesting to do semiotics by searching through vinyl records, trying to understand, through the album covers, what happened behind the veil of glamour, behind the reactionary remnants that characterized the "alternative" New Wave scene, at the exact moment when a niche subculture ended up irreparably transforming into fashion. From the abolition of the electric guitar solo in favor of synthetic electronics and, later, samples, to what led to the birth of visceral, blues-influenced rock, through a tortuous path that passes through the Velvet Underground's New York, touches on Kraftwerk's Düsseldorf venue, and naturally flows into the metropolitan degradation of Manchester, its artificial antithesis. The silhouette of a floppy disk and a dry leaf floating in the void, emblems of modernity and immanence printed on the album covers of New Order—that is, the "pop band with a dark past," as defined by music critic Paul Morley. The perfect aesthetic antithesis for discussing Peter Saville and his philosophy of subtraction. Portrayed, albeit marginally, in the recent films Control and 24 Hour Party People, which explore the epic of the quintessential (post-)industrial English city, as a distracted and bohemian aesthete, the designer is known by many for curating the graphics of famous international fashion brands, as well as for having deconstructed, with a certain sadism, the poor Lacoste crocodile and redesigned, with more cautious patriotism, the immaculate official uniform of the England national football team. Among Saville's professional successes, however, it matters little here, since his fame remains strictly tied to the post-punk iconography of his early career, to that surreal adventure that endowed the historic Mancunian label Factory Records with a distinctive situationist aesthetic code, where a release number didn't always correspond to a tangible object available for purchase. Postmodern long before the codification of postmodernism, Saville embarked on a fascinating and coherent path, at the crossroads between cult references and popular sensibility, between underground and mainstream, between denial and apology, amiably prevaricating around the object and its public representation. A path born from below, from the English post-industrial periphery, governed by the dictates of "do it yourself," but decidedly more refined in its references than the raw, suburban code preferred by contemporary punks. 

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