No society, then, but worlds. And no war against society either: to wage war against a fiction is to give it substance. There’s no social sky above our heads, there’s us and the ensemble of ties, friendships, enmities, and actual proximities and distances that we experience. There are only sets of us, eminently situated powers, and their ability to ramify throughout the endlessly decomposing and recomposing social carcass. A swarming of worlds, a world made up of a whole slew of worlds, and traversed therefore by conficts between them, by attractions and repulsions. To construct a world is to create an order, make a place or not for each thing, each being, each proclivity, and give thought to that place, change it if need be. With every manifestation of our party, whether it’s in the form of a plaza occupation, a wave of riots, or a deeply moving phrase tagged on a wall, the feeling spreads that it’s definitely “we” that’s at stake, in all those places where we’ve never been. This is why the first duty of revolutionaries is to take care of the worlds they constitute.
To Our Friends, the Invisible Committee
Travelling Hopefully
Silence = Violence

—No society, but worlds