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Title: Obsession Author: Albert Libertad Date: 1898 Language: en Topics: sexuality Source: Retrieved on April 6th, 2009 from http://www.geocities.com/kk_abacus/LIBERTAD.htm Notes: From Le Libertaire 26/08/1898
Durand, leaving his hotel, a smile of contentment on his lips, took a
small step back, to read a tiny poster:
While we perish in the street,
the bourgeois has palaces to live in
Death to the bourgeois!
Long Live Anarchy!
Then, he sneered, and yelled to the concierge “You will take these
idiocies off of the door”
And his calm smile came back when he noticed, glorious in their
incapacity, two officers on the beat. But he stopped at the same time as
them, red flyers stuck out on the stark white of the wall:
Cops are the bulldogs of the bourgeois
Death to cops!
Long Live Anarchy!
The cops used their nails to scratch off the posters and Durant left
anxious. While at the corner of the avenue, he heard the sound of bugles
and drums and from afar two battalions appeared. He felt protected and
breathed a sigh of relief.
As a troupe passed in front of him, he discovered; at that moment, like
a flight of butterflies, a multitude of squares of paper floating in the
air; indifferently, he read:
The army is the school of crime
Long Live Anarchy!
Some of the papers fell on the soldiers, others covered them; his
obsession resumed, he felt crushed by the light butterflies.
When he sat down in his usual place to have a beer or the usual
aperitif, on the table laid another flyer:
Go on, gorge yourself, the day will come when hate will turn us into
cannibals.
Long Live Anarchy!
He sneered, but this time he didn’t fill up saucer after saucer.
Getting up, he headed quickly toward the corner of X street, where the
exploiters asked for workers and mechanically searched for the
propaganda poster, he discovered it and read:
The exploiter Thing or Machine asks for your sons to degrade them,
Your daughters to rape them, you and your wives
to exploit you
Watch out Parisians.
Long Live Anarchy!
He shook his head and headed towards his office. He read on a plaque:
Durand and Cie, Society in a capitol of two million, but, below, the
exasperating critique said its piece:
Capital is the product of work
stolen and accumulated by the idle.
Long Live Anarchy!
He tore himself away quickly. He took care of some business, and to
distract himself, thought of seeing his mistress. On his way, he bought
a bouquet of flowers to offer her.
She smiled, seeing amidst the flowers what appeared to be a love letter:
“Some verses, now, says she?”
Prostitution is the outlet of too many bourgeois.
One turns the son of the poor man into a slave and his daughter into a
courtesan.
Long Live Anarchy!
She threw the bouquet in his face and sent him away.
Ashamed and tired, he returned home, the door had once again taken on
its usual appearance.
Now, upon entering the living room, his wife said to him: “Look at this
vase that I just bought, what an occasion.” He took it, turned it
around, and turned it around again; a piece of paper fell out:
The luxury of the bourgeois is paid for by the blood of the poor man.
Long Live Anarchy!
This “Long Live Anarchy!” and its harsh claims, all this hovered around
him, and that very evening, he didn’t see go to see his wife, in fear of
finding, in a discreet and camouflaged place, a flyer where he would
have read:
Marriage is legal prostitution.
Long Live Anarchy!