Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
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Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
Zoom Info
Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
Zoom Info

Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451

Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. 

These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. 



Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  

Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day.

Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  

Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”

→ Turn Down for What?

"As a mostly 20th century academic reader, #Accelerate includes some of the worst examples of self-indulgent left academic frivolity. We can track the evolution of ­Anglo-French accelerationism through the “Ferment” section, which reads in part like a game of Marxist telephone on acid. Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s daring fusion of Marx and Freud yields Lyotard endorsing the joy of being fucked by capital yields Gilles Lipovetsky’s foolhardy “acceleration of critique.” Class struggle falls out of these accounts, as the authors arrogantly pronounce that capital’s blender has abolished such distinctions.

Although these pieces of writing are useful in constructing a genealogy, I wonder what purpose they serve acceleration itself. If we are for technosocial acceleration, then surely one of the things we can leave behind is leftist professors from the 1970s who thought “what is important is to be able to laugh and dance.” They laughed and danced into tenure and home loans, and now here we are.”

"Bolshevist is the epithet that present-day reactionaries delight to fling around loosely against those who insist on thinking of themselves and on agitating for their rights.  We do not know exactly what the reactionaries desire to convey by the term - we do not think that they know themselves.  Howeer, if as appears by its frequent use against those who are agitating in the people’s interests and for justice for the oppressed, the term in intended to cover those ‘bad agitators,’ who are not content that the people shall forever be enslaved in the clucthed of the cut-throat, child-exploiting, capitalist-imperialist crew, then assuredly we are Bolshevists.  This epithet nor any other holds any terrors for us.  If to fight for one’s rights is to be Bolshevists, then we are Bolshevists and let them make the most of it!

And for the further information of the asses who use the term so loosely we will make the statement that we would not for a moment hesitate to ally ourselves with any group, if by such an alliance we could campass the liberation of our race and the redemption of our Fatherland.  A man pressed to earth by another murderous intent is not under any obligation to choose his weapons.  He would be a fool if he did not use any or whatever weapon was within his reach.  Self-preservation is the first law of human nature.



For the benefit of the serviles and lick-spittles who are shocked because we refuse to profess perfect contentment under oppression or slavishly to designate a Living Hell as a ‘free, grand and glorious country,’ the editor of The Crusader desires to state that, while he is, theoretically, an ‘American citizen’ - with all the surplus of duties and lack of rights which characterize a Negro ‘American citizen’ - he is still and always had been a NEGRO BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE and will continue so to be until Negro ‘American citizens’ are not only American citizens in theory, but in practice as well.

This choice is not voluntary.  It is forced upon us and upon every other Negro of spirit - and, we might add, of intelligence - by the open denial to our people of the most ordinary rights of American citizenship - rights hat are so ordinary as to be enjoyed even by the unnaturalized white foreigner in the land, but which, most ordinary as they are, and open to the enjoyment of the white alien, are yet denied to us in every section of the country.”

- Cyril Briggs, “Bolshevist — Negro First!” Crusader, October 1919.

Quoted by Winston James, Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Caribbean Radicalism in Early Twentieth-Century America. London: Verso, 1999. pp. 167-168.

"Prison life is peculiarly attuned to the state of mind that does not permit forgetfulness.  Intimate relationships that may have dimmed with the years; the passing of loved ones; the constancy of friendships; the helplessness of dependents; the blindness of justice; the inequality of laws’ determinations - all these and more loom large in the eyes and the mind of the man behind the walls.  Leisure to him may become the very curse of his existence.  It may give him the time to brood.  It has been suggested that this leisure should be spent in remorse  - the remorse that leads to repentance.  But periods of remorse must not be unduly extended.  The sincere repentant finds himself during the early years his prison life; thereafter the burden of imprisonment is his cross and it rests heavily on his shoulders."- Warden Lewis E. Lawes, Twenty Thousand Years in Sing Sing.  New York: A. L. Burt Company, 1932, pp. 407.

"Prison life is peculiarly attuned to the state of mind that does not permit forgetfulness.  Intimate relationships that may have dimmed with the years; the passing of loved ones; the constancy of friendships; the helplessness of dependents; the blindness of justice; the inequality of laws’ determinations - all these and more loom large in the eyes and the mind of the man behind the walls.  Leisure to him may become the very curse of his existence.  It may give him the time to brood.  It has been suggested that this leisure should be spent in remorse  - the remorse that leads to repentance.  But periods of remorse must not be unduly extended.  The sincere repentant finds himself during the early years his prison life; thereafter the burden of imprisonment is his cross and it rests heavily on his shoulders."

- Warden Lewis E. Lawes, Twenty Thousand Years in Sing Sing.  New York: A. L. Burt Company, 1932, pp. 407.

"…who lays claim to leadership should make a study of Bolshevism and explain its meaning to the colored masses.  It is the greatest and most scientific idea afloat in the world today that can be easily put into practice  by the proletariat to better its material and spiritual life.  Bolshevism…has made Russia safe for the Jew.  It has liberated the Slav peasant from priest and bueaucrat who can no longer egg him on to murder Jews to bolster up their rotten institutions.  It might make these United States safe for the Negro.  When the cracker slave frees his mind of the nightmare of race equality, when he finds out that his parasite politicians have been fooling him for years, when he takes back the soil from his Bourbon exploiters and is willing to till it alongside of the Negro and tries to forget that he is a ‘nigger’, while the latter ceases to think of him in terms of poor trash, when the Vardamns and Cole Bleases find themselves jobless, then the artifical hate that breeds lynchings and race riots might suddenly die.

If the Russian idea should take hold of the white masses of the western world, and they should rise in united strength and overthrow their imperial capitalist government, then the black toilers would automatically be free! Will their leaders educate the now to make good use of their advantages eventually?”

- Claude McKay in Negro World, September 20, 1919.

Quoted in Winston James, Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Caribbean Radicalism in Early Twentieth-Century America. London: Verso, 1999. pp. 164-165.