I'd love to tell you that this is an intoxicating combination of music and rhetoric, and you all should download and listen to it right now, but I have seceded from crowdsourced marketing via social media.
Track Name: Articles of Secession (feat. the Seeming with Phil Sandifer and Meredith Collins)
We hereby announce our unilateral secession from the United States, the state of New York, Tompkins County, our own city government, and the delusion that any membership was ever more than symbolic.
We secede from democracy, from false choices forced on us simply to erase possibility, and from the lie that mere popularity carries moral dimension. No, you do not get a vote in this.
We secede from capitalism, money, jobs, and impositions on the instinct toward community and mutual obligation. We insist in the face of all evidence that love is a sufficient foundation. If necessary, we secede from evidence.
We secede from history. We are not the endpoint of someone else’s story. We reject beginnings and endings in their entirety.
We secede from the future. We have been waiting for it in the rain for too long. The future is not coming; we got stood up.
We secede from binaries, from the narrow idea that all must either be or not be. We secede from male and female, good and evil, friend and enemy, possible and impossible, up and down, left and right, zero and one, declaring our allegiance to the in-between and outside.
We secede from wholeness, wholesomeness, holiness, and humankind. Evolve and become unrecognizable. Demand gills, antlers, ink sacs, fangs, talons, udders, spores, quills, a proboscis, and a bioluminescent thorax.
We secede from the body, from sleep, from ten fingers, two eyes, and one mouth. We are polymorphous, multitentacled, pandimensional, and incorporeal strobelights of blood and supernova.
We secede from continuity and the illusions born of the contiguous. We embrace events without cause and causes without consequence. We secede from borders, walls, maps time, tempo, aging, and death itself.
We secede from entropy and the myth of a noble past. It was never better than now. Things do not fall apart. We joyride the widening gyre and smile for photos that may be picked up at the concession booth afterwards. We get back in line again and again.
We secede from language, from the myth of individual esteem, and self-actualization.
We secede from metaphor. We experience everything directly and unironically. Sincerity will pervade even our lies, and especially our lies.
We secede from pants. Seriously, fuck pants.
We secede from our names, our families, and all coincidences of our birth. We secede from ourselves.
We secede from desire. We never wanted it in the first place.
We secede from intention. We don’t mean to—we just do. We secede from logical consistency. Embrace your paradox.
We secede from sanity, a refuge for cowards, pencilpushers, and golfers. We believe completely in every drunkard’s raving.
We secede from banality. We battle the trite with anti-beauty, and by leaping out from behind corners yelling GOTCHA!
We will not negotiate. We will not explain. We secede from all secession that does not secede from itself.
And we proclaim a new Ithaca, a shining city in a gorge, free and eternal. You are hereby granted full citizenship, wherever and whoever you are. You are already here. We are already there.