Everything that is conniving with aesthetics is irreducibly hostile to us. We don’t say enemy, let’s say: hostile. There is no “aesthetic” issue for us. When any radical chic publishes a novel with which he promises himself to “make communism fashionable again”, we clearly perceive the operation that it attempts against us. And, without remorse, we throw his book to the flames. The idiocy, in this case, would consist in wanting to understand, when there is only to destroy. Aesthetics is, in all its intertwining, metropolitan existence, and, at its root, the new “imperial” society. Aesthetics is the form that takes the apparent fusion between capital and life in the metropolis. The empire is here the product on the one hand of police terror, on the other of aesthetic synthesis. Everywhere the continuation and deepening of the Western disaster take the form of its subversion. Everywhere THEY pretend to repair and then damage. Everywhere THEY are irreversibly destroyed with the pretext of reconstruction.