master of the sword in the extended battlefield

fuck man. fuck, my friend morgan got hit. and tears run through my face. man. i'm listening to something he likes, and i'm reading something he likes. and fuck man (or woman). i'm even eating something i think he would like. Dark Throne bleeds though my stereo. fucking Dark Throne man, Transilvanian Hunger. and i'm reading the third issue of the bikepLAgue zine. and plexe's intro was great. and the zine has that detached fashion of too white ghostly pages and black fucking precise letters crawling like fragile -too fragile- ants on the fucking white wall of destiny. and i loved all the contributions: camryn's lovecraftian bike crash recount, ms.spindles advice column, matt's politics and Liz's from C.I.C.L.E "How the Po-Po Set Us Car Free". and you see, the day i heard about morgan's crash i couldn't ride my bike for a few hours. it was like a bucket of lead attached to my feet. and this sadness/insecurity. and, what am i doing? and is this sense of despair... and i had to confront myself, for where there is sadness there is beauty. for beauty is a fucking cruel monster. and then i knew i had to write this shit:



this is our sword manifesto

as published originally in BikepLAgue #3


this is our sword.
this is our tool for disarming the wars being fought across the planet. the magnitude of the weapons used grinds everything to pieces. bloody messes, and meat from all species torn across the land and the streets and the sky. this is no time to stand disarmed. the bicycle is the ideal weapon for the transnational citizen. a simple non-destructive means for liberation, a tool for internal and external battles, a companion and critic. a Way. our form of iron. our form of irony.

when in the streets, alone on the battle field, the warrior tempers her spirit confronting weapons of mass destruction with the simplicity of his self powered weapon. a candle that dares to shine like ten thousand suns. such is our stupidity and our glory. and such is the humor the world has given to us: an autonomous form of transportation that is at the same time a weapon of Mass creation.

non-violent battles with non-violent weapons in ultra-violent contexts for daily metaphor bending are being fought. and we fall to pieces. and we paint the soil-asphalt with our blood and bone and we dare others not to paint it with the blood and bone of the oppressed, of those for whom the simplest way out of war is death.
the transnational-citizen/warrior rides knowing that his life and the life of others are at stake with every decision. that's what we call riding at sustainable speeds. and within the limits of her weapon the transnational-citizen/warrior pursues elegance in motion. and this is how freedom occurs in the interstices of slavery, like riding in the gaps of a traffic jam.
many of our swords come from places where metaphorical wars are confounded with real ones. where bikes are meant for competition and pride seeking. we gave our bikes nakedness and taught them the humble ways of the streets. our bikes are swords to deconstruct the war metaphor. and like swords of the past they have names and mythical stories to be told, and some of them have been the companions of warriors who lost their lives in the battle field.
bicycles are our vehicle in the mythic grid

our vector in and out of the integrated circuit
our passport as transnational citizens
our cybernetic implant for recrafting bodies
our strategic advantage
our mighty pen
our sword

To our friend Morgan, master of the sword in the extended battlefield.

federico