The Anarchist Cookbook

Last year for Christmas, my brother PJ gave me a collection of inspiring and revolutionary books. One of the books is called "The Anarchist Cookbook: Recipes for Disaster", though it is not to be confused with the older and far more cheesy book entitled, as well, "The Anarchist Cookbook".

While the older book by the same name told 1970s hippies how to smoke banana peels (which, it turns out, do absolutely nothing for the smoker), this book details actual anarchist techniques for wreaking havoc and displaying true displeasure with the "system". The book is published by Crimethinc. Agents Provacateurs, and can be purchased at the Crimethinc. website for only ten dollars.

Okay, so some of it is a bit ridiculous, and much of it is hard to justify morally. Nonetheless, there are chapters and sections that are, with no irony, truly inspiring. It is nice to read of people who are unhappy with the current state of things (aren't most people?) in the world and who really attempt to do something about it.

Here are a few juicy entries in the index:

Arrest
evading 212-218
health issues relating to 263-264
ETC.

automobiles
as blockade 162, 175, 428

The list goes on, obviously, and treats the reader to instructions on creating and displaying banners, means of graffiti-ing, creating musical instruments, and having sex. Best of all is this quote on the back of the book, which is in fact what inspirired me to write about the book in the first place:

"You must always have a secret plan. Everything depends on this: it is the only question. So as not to be conquered by the conquered territory in which you lead your life, so as not to feel the horrible weight of inertia wrecking your will and bending you to the ground, so as not to spend a single night more wondering what there is to do or how to connect with your neighbors and countrymen, you must make secret plans without respite. Plan for adventure, plan for pleasure, plan for pandemonium, as you wish; but plan, lay plans constantly.

And when you come to, on the steps of the presidential palace, in the green grass beside the highway, in your cell's gloomy solitude, your secret plan finished or foiled, ask your comrades, ask your cellmates, ask the wind, the waves, the stars, the sea, ask everything that ponders, everything that wanders, everything that sings, everything that stings -- ask them what time it is; and your comrades, your cellmates, the wind, the waves, the stars, the sea all will answer: "It is time for a new secret plan. So as not to be the martyred slave of routine, plan adventure, plan pleasure, plan pandemonium, as you wish; but plan, plan secretly and without respite."

'Nuff said.