Darko Mathers has passed away (UK)
I will wander the world alone carrying my hatred and scorn everywhere.
Alone in struggle.
Alone in victory and in defeat.
Darko was the one of the few; intelligent, articulate, original and brave. His thinking had ranged from anarchist-syndicalism to insurrectional nihilist-anarchy. He also liked Class War (the newspaper), because it was close to many ordinary peoples thinking, as he saw it.
The last time we spoke to each other was in December of 2013. Darko had really developed his ideas, and our exchanges were on a new level. He spoke very eloquently about his interest in chaos, the art and writing of Austin Osman Spare and the anti-civilisation critique, but he seemed to be a little bit lost, and struggling against the pull of a much greater self-destruction. I tried to warn him but to no avail, and to my regret. We were due to meet again soon, but now I will conserve my words for the limitless sky.
I remember one time we were sitting around the first year I met him, 2011, trying to figure out who each other was, and he related to me that reading Max Stirner whilst taking Psilocybin at an early age of 14 had propelled him towards what he was. I didn’t doubt it. He was a reckless genius.
Darko was in his early twenties. He died too soon, like many of the best.
Into the void, my friend, we’ll meet again in the stars.
Souls who are grieving for this world, this is why I call you to gather together.
The flag is already waving.
It is black; it stands for mourning. Forward then, wild Promethei. The cry of vengeance is music sweet and dear.
Today it is necessary to kill, to destroy … tomorrow we will be daisies …
Forward, Federation of Sorrow!
The last time I saw Darko Mathers, we spent a wonderful three days together, sharing writing, thoughts, conspiracies and finally putting together the pamphlet critiquing Civil Anarchism which was a term that he had coined. As usual, I found myself astounded by the coherence, breadth and eloquence of Darko’s political analysis. He was a wild, thoughtful, enquiring, compassionate, and brilliant man, slightly lost amongst a generation in whom he could find few equals. I am proud to have known him and I will miss his company, his sensitivity and affection. I hope he knew how greatly I admired him.
Nothing delicate can survive here.
Only the brutal.
Seagulls brash as boys.
The rest sit thin-skinned as frogs,
trying to throw themselves like the sun into the formidable sea.
So, farewell for now, my friend, until the next round of magic and mayhem against civilisation.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 29th, 2014 at 10:17 pm and is filed under Uncategorized.