to a hair
pek ti le
in a fulminating
I learned yesterday(I must be behind the times, or perhaps it's only a false rumor,one of those pieces of spiteful gossip that are
circulated betweensink and latrine at the hour when meals that have been ingurgitatedone more time are thrown in the slop buckets),I learned yesterdayone of the most sensational of those official practices of Americanpublic schoolswhich no doubt account for the fact that this country believes itselfto be in the vanguard of progress,It seems that, among the examinations or tests required of a childentering public school for the first time, there is the so-calledseminal fluid or sperm test,which consists of asking this newly entering child for a smallamount of his sperm so it can be placed in a jarand kept ready for any attempts at artificial insemination thatmight later take place.For Americans are finding more and more that they lack muscleand children,that is, not workersbut soldiers,and they want at all costs and by every possible means to makeand manufacture soldierswith a view to all the planetary wars which might later take place,and which would be intended to demonstrate by the overwhelmingvirtues of forcethe superiority of American products,and the fruits of American sweat in all fields of activity and of thesuperiority of the possible dynamism of force.Because one must produce,one must by all possible means of activity replace naturewherever it can be replaced,one must find a major field of action for human inertia,the worker must have something to keep him busy,new fields of activity must be created,in which we shall see at last the reign of all the fake manufacturedproducts,of all the vile synthetic substitutesin which beatiful real nature has no part,and must give way finally and shamefully before all the victorioussubstitute productsin which the sperm of all artificial insemination factorieswill make a miraclein order to produce armies and battleships.No more fruit, no more trees, no more vegetables, no more plantspharmaceutical or otherwise and consequently no more food,but synthetic products to satiety,amid the fumes,amid the special humors of the atmosphere, on the particular axesof atmospheres wrenched violently and synthetically from theresistances of a nature which has known nothing of war exceptfear.And war is wonderful, isn't it?For it's war, isn't it, that the Americans have been preparing forand are preparing for this way step by step.In order to defend this senseless manufacture from all competitionthat could not fail to arise on all sides,one must have soldiers, armies, airplanes, battleships,hence this spermwhich it seems the governments of America have had the effronteryto think of.For we have more than one enemylying in wait for us, my son,we, the born capitalists,and among these enemiesStalin's Russiawhich also doesn't lack armed men.
All this is very well,but I didn't know the Americans were such a warlike people.In order to fight one must get shot atand although I have seen many Americans at warthey always had huge armies of tanks, airplanes, battleshipsthat served as their shield.I have seen machines fighting a lotbut only infinitely farbehindthem have I seen the men who directed them.Rather than people who feed their horses, cattle, and mules thelast tons of real morphine they have left and replace it withsubstitutes made of smoke,I prefer the people who eat off the bare earth the delirium fromwhich they were bornI mean the Tarahumaraeating Peyote off the groundwhile they are born,and who kill the sun to establish the kingdom of black night,and who smash the cross so that the spaces of spaces can neveragain meet and cross.And so you are going to hear the dance of TUTUGURI.
The Rite of the Black Sun
And below, as if at the foot of the bitter slope,cruelly despairing at the heart,gapes the circle of the six crosses,very lowas if embedded in the mother earth,wrenched from the foul embrace of the motherwho drools.
The earth of black coalis the only damp placein this cleft rock.
The Rite is that the new sun passes through seven points beforeblazing on the orifice of the earth.
And there are six men,one for each sun,and a seventh manwho is the sunin the rawdressed in black and in red flesh.
But, this seventh manis a horse,a horse with a man leading him.
But it is the horsewho is the sunand not the man.
At the anguish of a drum and a long trumpet,strange,the six menwho were lying down,rolling level with the ground,leap up one by one like sunflowers,not like sunsbut turning earths,water lilies,and each leapcorresponds to the increasingly somberand restrainedgong of the drumuntil suddenly he comes galloping, at vertiginous speed,the last sun,the first man,the black horse with a
virginriding it.After they leap up, they advance in winding circlesand the horse of bleeding meat rearsand prances without a stopon the crest of his rockuntil the six menhave surroundedcompletelythe six crosses.
Now, the essence of the Rite is precisely
THE ABOLITION OF THE CROSS.
When they have stopped turningthey uprootthe crosses of earthand the naked manon the horseholds upan enormous horseshoewhich he has dipped in a gash of his blood.
The Pursuit of Fecality
There where it smells of shitit smells of being.Man could just as well not have shat,not have opened the anal pouch,but he chose to shitas he would have chosen to liveinstead of consenting to live dead.
Because in order not to make caca,he would have had to consentnot to be,but he could not make up his mind to losebeing,that is, to die alive.
There is in beingsomething particularly tempting for manand this something is none other thanCACA.(Roaring here.)
To exist one need only let oneself be,but to live,one must be someone,to be someone,one must have a BONE,not be afraid to show the bone,and to lose the meat in the process.
Man has always preferred meatto the earth of bones.Because there was only earth and wood of bone,and he had to earn his meat,there was only iron and fireand no shit,and man was afraid of losing shitor rather he desired shitand, for this, sacrificed blood.
In order to have shit,that is, meat,where there was only bloodand a junkyard of bonesand where there was no being to winbut where there was only life to lose.
o reche modoto ediredi zatau darido padera coco
At this point, man withdrew and fled.
Then the animals ate him.
It was not a rape,he lent himself to the obscene meal.
He relished it,he learned himselfto act like an animaland to eat ratdaintily.
And where does this foul debasement come from?The fact that the world is not yet formed,or that man has only a small idea of the worldand wants to hold on to it forever?
This comes from the fact that man,one fine day,stoppedthe idea of the world.
Two paths were open to him:that of the infinite without,that of the infinitesimal within.
And he chose the infinitesimal within.Where one need only squeezethe spleen,the tongue,the anusor the glans.
And god, god himself squeezed the movement.
Is God a being?If he is one, he is shit.If he is not onehe does not exist.
But he does not exist,except as the void that approaches with all its formswhose most perfect imageis the advance of an incalculable group of crab lice.
"You are mad Mr. Artaud, what about the mass?"
I deny baptism and the mass.There is no human act,on the internal erotic level,more pernicious than the descentof the so-called jesus-christonto the altars.
No one will believe meand I can see the public shrugging its shouldersbut the so-called christ is none other than hewho in the presence of the crab louse godconsented to live without a body,while an army of mendescended from a cross,to which god thought he had long since nailed them,has revolted,and, armed with steel,with blood,with fire, and with bones,advances, reviling the Invisibleto have done with GOD'S JUDGMENT.
The Question Arises ...
What makes it seriousis that we knowthat after the orderof this worldthere is another.
What is it like?
We do not know.
The number and order of possible suppositions inthis realmis preciselyinfinity!
And what is infinity?
That is precisely what we do not know!
It is a wordthat we useto indicatethe openingof our consciousnesstoward possibilitybeyond measure,tireless and beyond measure.
And precisely what is consciousness?
That is precisely what we do not know.
It is nothingness.
A nothingnessthat we useto indicatewhen we do not know somethingfrom what sidewe do not know itand sowe sayconsciousness,from the side of consciousness,but there are a hundred thousand other sides.
It seems that consciousnessin us islinkedto sexual desireand to hunger;
but it couldjust as wellnot be linkedto them.
One says,one can say,there are those who saythat consciousnessis an appetite,the appetite for living;
and immediatelyalongside the appetite for living,it is the appetite for foodthat comes immediately to mind;
as if there were not people who eatwithout any sort of appetite;and who are hungry.
For this tooexiststo be hungrywithout appetite;
Wellthe space of possibilitywas given to me one daylike a loud fartthat I will make;but neither of space,nor possibility,did I know precisely what it was,
and I did not feel the need to think about it,
they were wordsinvented to define thingsthat existedor did not existin the face ofthe pressing urgencyof a need:the need to abolish the idea,the idea and its myth,and to enthrone in its placethe thundering manifestationof this explosive necessity:to dilate the body of my internal night,
the internal nothingnessof my self
which is night,nothingness,thoughtlessness,
but which is explosive affirmationthat there issomethingto make room for:
And trulymust it be reduced to this stinking gas,my body?To say that I have a bodybecause I have a stinking gasthat formsinside me?
I do not knowbutI do know that
are nothing to me;
but there is a thingwhich is something,only one thingwhich is something,and which I feelbecause it wantsTO GET OUT:the presenceof my bodilysuffering,
the menacing,never tiringpresenceof mybody;
however hard people press me with questionsand however vigorously I deny all questions,there is a pointat which I find myself compelledto say no,
and this pointcomes when they press me,
when they pressure meand when they handle meuntil the exitfrom meof nourishment,of my nourishmentand its milk,
and what remains?
That I am suffocated;
and I do not know if it is an actionbut in pressing me with questions this wayuntil the absenceand nothingnessof the questionthey pressed meuntil the idea of bodyand the idea of being a bodywas suffocatedin me,
and it was then that I felt the obscene
and that I fartedfrom follyand from excessand from revoltat my suffocation.
Because they were pressing meto my bodyand to the very body
and it was thenthat I exploded everythingbecause my bodycan never be touched.
- Primarily to denounce certain social obscenities officially sanctioned and acknowledged:
this emission of infantile sperm donated by children for the artificial insemination of fetuses yet to be born and which will be born in a century or more.
To denounce, in this same American people who occupy the whole surface of the former Indian continent, a rebirth of that warlike imperialism of early America that caused the pre-Columbian Indian tribes to be degraded by the aforesaid people.
- You are saying some very bizarre things, Mr. Artaud.
- Yes, I am saying something bizarre, that contrary to everything we have been led to believe, the pre-Columbian Indians were a strangely civilized people and that in fact they knew a form of civilization based exclusively on the principle of cruelty.
- And do you know precisely what is meant by cruelty?
- Offhand, no, I don't.
- Cruelty means eradicating by means of blood and until blood flows, god, the bestial accident of unconscious human animality, wherever one can find it.
- Man, when he is not restrained, is an erotic animal,he has in him an inspired shudder,a kind of pulsationthat produces animals without number which are the form that the ancient tribes of the earth universally attributed to god.This created what is called a spirit.Well, this spirit originating with the American Indians is reappearing all over the world today under scientific poses which merely accentuate its morbid infectuous power, the marked condition of vice, but a vice that pullulates with diseases,because, laugh if you like,what has been called microbes
and do you know what the Americans and the Russians use to make their atoms?They make them with the microbes of god.
- I am not raving.I am not mad.I tell you that they have reinvented microbes in order to impose a new idea of god.
They have found a new way to bring out god and to capture him in his microbic noxiousness.
This is to nail him though the heart,in the place where men love him best,under the guise of unhealthy sexuality,in that sinister appearance of morbid cruelty that he adoptswhenever he is pleased to tetanize and madden humanity as heis doing now.
He utilizes the spirit of purity and of a consciousness that hasremained candid like mine to asphyxiate it with all the falseappearances that he spreads universally through space and thisis why Artaud le Mômo can be taken for a person sufferingfrom hallucinations.
- What do you mean, Mr. Artaud?
- I mean that I have found the way to put an end to this ape once and for alland that although nobody believes in god any more everybody believes more and more in man.
So it is man whom we must now make up our minds to emasculate.
- How's that?
No matter how one takes you you are mad, ready for the straitjacket.
- By placing him again, for the last time, on the autopsy table to remake his anatomy.I say, to remake his anatomy.Man is sick because he is badly constructed.We must make up our minds to strip him bare in order to scrape off that animalcule that itches him mortally,
For you can tie me up if you wish,but there is nothing more useless than an organ.
When you will have made him a body without organs,then you will have delivered him from all his automatic reactionsand restored him to his true freedom.
They you will teach him again to dance wrong side outas in the frenzy of dance hallsand this wrong side out will be his real place.
To Have Done with the Judgement of God (Pour en finir avec le jugement de dieu), a radio play by Antonin Artaud (1947). Excerpted from the collection: Antonin Artaud
» READ MORE