Revista Regresión N° 5 – Mexico



Editorial Revista Regresión N° 5
Traducción al inglés de la quinta editorial de la nueva Revista Regresión.
Traducción a cargo de Chahta-Ima.
What is life? It is the flash of the firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in winter. It is the shadow that runs on the grass and is lost on the last day.
Crowfoot, before dying, April 1890
Wild Nature calls, that special call is heard only by a few. It calls to defend a place, to resist artificiality, modernity, progress, and the anthropocentric. The call is desperate and agonizing. It creaks slowly.
For the hyper-civilized, it is inaudible and insignificant. But for us, the eco-extremists in particular, it is of vital importance that we heed that call.
I am an eco-extremist, and I recognize the value that this has today in this modern era, in this idiotic society drunk on technology. You’re branded a lunatic here when you put the Natural above the artificial, when you choose to start conversations in person rather than send a message on Facebook, when you choose to take natural medicines rather than drug your body with pharmaceuticals, when you praise the life of hunter-gatherer nomads over the detestable practices of transhumanists, etc.
In industrial society, if you oppose humanist and progressivist morals, you are labeled a reactionary or a bigot. The masses point you out with their disgusting fingers shouting in unison: Terrorist!
I am an eco-extremist, and I recognize the value that this has in the here and now. And I am prepared to be pigeonholed in the worst way possible, all to admit that I am an individualist at war with the technological system and its civilization.

I am an eco-extremist and I am at war. I have made shrapnel bombs that I have sent to researchers who work to alter Wild Nature. The positive and negative wires have found each other, the electricity from the battery heated the bulb inside the galvanized nipple filled with dynamite, it made a spark, it exploded, I wounded them, the shrapnel penetrated their bodies, and the smoke from the exploded dynamite reached their lungs, burning them at the same time. Their spilled blood has served to remind them that they are not gods, even though they like to pretend that they are. I don’t regret that I wounded and scared them or any of the consequences. What happened was just one response from Wild Nature speaking through me.
I have been in hiding in various cities preparing attacks, conspiring with accomplices, and broadening my range of experience with criminal endeavors.
I’ve lit cars on fire indiscriminately, luxury and cheap ones, big ones and small ones, since all of those disgusting machines create the layer of smog that forms over my head. I’ve watched them burn in thick forests. I am familiar with the reactions of their owners, but I don’t care. Nature has given me the ability to get away with it.
I’ve fired guns at big infrastructure projects and against those who work there, covered in the darkness of night with my band of fierce warriors. The force of the weapon in my hand resonated like thunder, the casings leaping from me like frogs; my feet firmly planted in the Earth like a tree trunk as I see my enemies cower and hide, as if fire were falling from the sky, as if they were in the eye of a fierce hurricane. We came out victorious again, Nature protected us.
I have bombed government institutions, public and private universities, companies, etc. An activated homemade bomb weighs in my backpack, blasting powder encased in its receptacle and firmly sealed, butane gas to create the blast, gasoline to make sure things catch fire, napalm to make it last longer, etc. Night and day, I stalk my target. With great calm I place it discretely, and I withdraw. I hear my light steps on the disgusting and suffocating concrete, listening to my breath and my heart beating like a drum in a war dance. Minutes afterward, I hear the explosion. It worked, the damage is done. If a passerby was hurt, it doesn’t matter to me. My target was hit. If some curious bystander was taken out as well I don’t care. What’s done is done.
I reject the scholarship imposed by educational institutions that are complicit with the system. I prefer to study things that interest me and not the things they want to teach me. Many of those things that they aim to teach are useless for the life that I am living now anyway. The classroom is just another cage in the Great Cage known as Civilization. And that’s why I am unwilling to enter that jail on my own volition. The learning that I seek isn’t present in universities. It’s found in the mountains, forests, deserts, and jungle, next to the coyote, the deer, under the sun and the moon, with the roots and the rain, on the paths not taken, on the riverbanks and the lakes, with my associates or alone, accompanied by the spirits of my ancestors.
I reject all paid work that reduces you to a modern slave in the cities and the countryside. Even if acquiring money is necessary for life in the cities that smell of trash and perfume, I try to acquire it by other means, though always illegally.
My nine millimeter pistol comes with me when I need to get some money to acquire the means to carry out my projects. I’ve held up businesses, banks, etc. I am not an honest hard-working man, quite the opposite. I am a criminal and a terrorist, a hustler and an opportunist. I am not ashamed to say it because that’s what I am. I am the opposite of what this system is, fully conscious of what I do, aware that what I carry out it “evil” in the eyes of society. When I do it, though, I enjoy it, it give gives me pleasure, and I don’t have any pangs of conscience because I know what I’m doing. I know the consequences and even so I lie waiting in the shadows, without worries or regrets.
I envision myself, I stalk my target very well, I study the layout and escape routes. I prepare for the worst. Before embarking, I offer a serene but nervous prayer to the Ineffable, asking it to keep my steps and, that in spite of all odds, that I come out victorious. I speak to Nature, saying to her that she knows full well why I do what I do, that my intentions are real and sincere, that those who dared to hurt her now must pay. I end with a verse robbed from a fragment of apocalyptic scripture, uttered with pagan intention:
“And the nations were angry, and thy wrath is come, and the time to destroy them which destroy the earth.”
I take my pistol, I fill it with ammo, I put the safety on, and I leave toward my prey: a small banking establishment that I’ve scoped out. My accomplices know full well that I am ready to shoot any person who gets in the way and tries to thwart the robbery (police, a civilian trying to play the hero, etc.) I am well aware that they would do the same in trying to stop me.
They take up their planned positions. I go towards the bank with my gun in my pocket, my finger on the trigger and my thumb on the safety, ready for anything. I get into line at the bank acting like I am just any other client. My accomplice watches my back from a few yards back.
While the sheep make their ways to the tellers in an orderly fashion, I observe the Most Wanted poster of bank robbers which says, “If you see them, turn them in.” A mocking grin appears on my face. Time passes slowly and anxiety fills my whole body without being evident to anyone else. No one is suspicious. Finally I’m first in line and my turn comes up. The teller says amicably, “Next.” I take some steps and I’m in front of her. I smile at her cynically and I tell her, “I’d like to make a withdrawl.” I put my elbows on the counter, and in one of my hands is my gun pointed at her chest. With the other hand I motion to her to hand the money over. The teller is in shock and I slowly take turn the safety off the gun and without any more drama she hands over some stacks of bills. The operation is quiet and without any mishaps. I firmly look into the eyes of the teller, warning her not to do anything that she will come to regret.
Outside traffic is flowing normally. People walk in front of the bank or are entering or departing. A woman is at a bus stop with her children she just picked up from school. A man on the sidewalk is arguing on his cellphone. An old woman attends her mobile candy stand on the corner. Everything is business as usual. No one knows that a bank robbery is taking place.
My gang fully alert watches, their pistols and machine guns ready for a shoot-out with the police should they arrive. They see me come out of the bank and behind me is my accomplice watching my back discretely. We leave, and while we sneak through one of our escape routes, we see a truck full of police driving full speed toward the bank. They see us as they speed by but they drive on. We escape into the urban landscape.
This time around the robbery went off without a hitch, without casualties or shots fired. But on other occasions the job hasn’t been so clean. One time I was in a situation where the teller was left in a state of shock when I pointed the gun at him, and he refused to give me the money. At that point I fired without hesitation, and then the buzzing in my ears, the casing hitting the floor and bouncing, the plexiglass unable to contain the shot which lodged the bullet into the man’s chest. My thought at that point was, “Fucking teller, if you are prepared to protect the money of those faggot bankers with your life, then you should have no problem dying for them!” I knew at that this attempt was botched, but it could have been worse Quickly I headed toward the exit, but in a look askance I saw that the manager was on the phone trying to call the police, at which point I aimed and fired again, wounding that bastard as well. I fled the bank almost running, without money, having left two severely wounded men in my wake. That day the blood of the hyper-civilized was an offering to Wild Nature. The piercing alarm had sounded after the first shot. I ran to blend into the crowds. In the distance I heard sirens. They were looking for me. My mouth was dry, my arm was hot, my hand smelled like gunpowder. My gait was nervous, but I grinned since I was able to shoot those two idiots who risked their lives to defend their shitty jobs. I claim proudly the role of extremist individualist, without regrets always learning from my mistakes. There will be another chance to commit robbery soon, there’s no hurry.
All of the above isn’t boasting. These things really happened and to tell the truth, they’re only one important aspect of the attitude of an eco-extremist such as myself. You have to have the mentality of a warrior when you make a bomb, select your target, and detonate it; when you wound people, when you rob a place or when you kill someone. The other part of eco-extremism has to do with one’s personal or collective development in Nature, what you learn from her, the knowledge that you gain working in natural settings. All of these special situations nurture one’s paganism and a bond to the Natural and Ineffable.
I am an eco-extremist, and I realize the value that this has in the here and now. I love Wild Nature, I respect and cherish it. From her I have learned many things.
I remember the great hills that I loved to visit when I was a child. There were many types of trees, there were moles, rabbits, many insects, many types of birds, etc. My father took me to play there because it was the only natural place left in the town consumed by urban sprawl. We ran freely to reach the river which we observed for hours. The wind on our face, the smiles, the grass pricking our feet… The calm washed over our being, and we really savored it.
Years pass and the large construction corporations came and paved over that place to make a many-laned highway. Thus they flattened the Earth, they covered over the holes of the moles and rabbits who suffocated to death. Some tried to flee but died in the process. The bird’ nests were knocked down when the trees they were in were pulled out of the Earth by their roots. The beautiful river was turned into a large canal full of sewage in which flowed garbage and toxic waste. They buried the Earth under concrete, they made my beautiful and beloved place into a dump. One more project to protect the interests of accursed civilization, so that we can all be better connected. All for fucking human progress!
Coming to that place which I had loved so much from my youth, seeing it turned into a sad highway, broke my heart, and I wept from the pain of seeing such devastation. My hands trembled, I sweated, but then I got angry and decided to get revenge for what they had destroyed. Over the coming weeks, many of the machines were damaged by the fires that I lit. I tried to get them to stop harming that place, but I couldn’t stop anything. I was young, and I still maintained the hope that one day “the revolution” would triumph against this dirty system. But soon I realized that I was being an idealist. I then renounced the dream of revolution, and I decided to not have any hope, nor keep any faith in a future “collapse”. I would confront the decadent and pessimistic present in which I presently live, accepting that you can’t stop progress, at least not here.
This is one of the many reasons why I hate civilization, its progress and the technological system. It’s the reason why I want to see everything burn. It is one of the reasons why I am on the side of Nature; not simply because civilization does that to the environment but also because it seeks to modify it according to its will; not only because it exterminates species, but also domesticates them; not only because it wants complete control, but also because it wants to bury our instincts like the moles’ burrows. It wants me to forget that I come from Nature. It wants me to be another man drunk on new technological innovations just like everyone else. I will not let that happen.
An eco-extremist needs to maintain the warrior part of himself, but also he needs to keep equally the symbiotic bond with Nature, respecting and venerating it.
I have walked barefoot on unknown roads following the river to the place where it’s born, learning that many times the road is difficult but when you get you get to the end the payoff is enormous. I have heard the howl of coyotes that surrounded me in the mountains at night. At the same time I looked up from next to my fire and saw the starry sky, eagerly seeking this vision from Nature. I have lost myself in the mountains, and through serendipity found great boulders that looked like human faces. I had an intimate spiritual encounter with them. I have slept in caves that seemed like they would come down on me, with a white owl watching over my sleep and the aroma of wild plants bestowing great calm on me. I have eaten salvia and watercress shoots, mesquite and wild tomatoes. I have cured a wound with Sangre de Grado and aloe. I’ve made shelters from palms and pine branches. I have started a friction fire using a base of sotol and a gordolobo drill. I have eaten snake meat and tanned rodent hides. I have felt like I was being watched by something in the forests at night, but I had no fear. I have felt like I was part of something larger. I have tried to enter narrow caves where I could not even see my hand in from of my face. I was startled by the bats who looked like they were flying right at me. At the end of the cave, I found many vulture feathers, which I considered Nature’s gift to me for having dared to enter that cave. I have felt the rain coming down on my back on the hills, I have run and felt like I was flying with the birds. I have dipped my feet in springs, with fish swimming between my feet. I have seen in the distance a deer on a hill looking at me intently, but projecting safety and tranquility. I have looked at civilization from the mountains, preferring to go deeper into them rather than step once again on the concrete. I have felt relief from having finished building a shelter, and resting my tired feet in the evening calm. I have been surrounded by fireflies without doubting for a second that I too am an animal on this Earth. I have walked on the paths where my Teochichimeca ancestors trod. There I have found obsidian arrowheads, one that perhaps entered the body of an invader, wounding or possibly killing him. But without a doubt, it was shot by my ancestors, and by mere coincidence it has come down to me. This made me feel “chosen” to honor their memory and continue that warrior instinct. This is what I have done.
These and more are my personal experiences which have made me an eco-extremist. Every individualist who wants to claim that identity for himself will have his own experiences and reasons, but these are mine.
This editorial is more personal than anything. Intelligent readers will understand it, but those who don’t will not.
If YOU, the reader of Regresión Magazine, feel that call, no matter what you consider yourself, an eco-extremist or something else, follow it…
“The hills are more beautiful than stone buildings. To live in a city is to live an artificial existence. Many peoples don’t feel the Earth under their feet. They only see plants growing in pots, they never got out far enough to see, beyond the city lights, the enchantment of the starry sky. When people live so far from the creations of the Great Spirit, they forget so easily his laws.”
Tatanga Mani
For the affinity to criminal activities that satisfy individualist instincts!
Let us listen to the call of the Wild and remember where we came from!
Fire, bullets, and bombs for the technological system and against civilization!
We too are Wild Nature, each one of us, let us defend ourselves from the Artificial!
¡Axkan kema, tehuatl nehuatl! (Until your death or mine!)
April 2016

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