"They had Swords", Mayday Mayhem in SF

An officer radios to his dispatcher, "I don't know what just happened, but they had swords".

Last night may have come as a surprise to some, fireworks going off at every corner, smoke hanging ominously in the humid night air, a mob marauding through 6 city blocks, projectiles flying from every hand and in every direction along the most opulent thoroughfares in the city, but a certain amount of intention and decisiveness accompanied us that night. We were elephants rampaging through the Alps, only with sledgehammers.

Distant sirens swiftly approached and the crowd scattered through downtown alleys, incurring no arrests while wreaking as much havoc as possible.

De Beers, Prada, Coach, Tumi, Wells Fargo, Longchamp, Macy's, Armani, Crate and Barrel, Montblanc, Urban Outfitters and Guess were all targeted for all kinds of boring ass political shit, but primarily because fuck them. Exploitation is the norm of economic activity, not the exception. We see no need to reveal our laundry list of grievances and solidarity. The mission was made clear: an attack on wealth that would leave its mark.
The urge to destroy is also a destructive urge.

The face of an old tired-ass police officer appears on the nightly news, "blah blah anarchy blah blah eleventy billion to infinity dollars in damage".

The confusion of the police and the fear of the news anchors was enough justification.

"Who cares about the victim if the gesture is beautiful"

The weight of the economy bears down on us in every aspect of our lives, as such, disruption is always appropriate. The dogma of exchange is never truly escaped, in the unemployment office, at work, even in our most sincere embraces. We have no intentions of confining confrontation to the fringes of sanctioned demonstrations, or justifying it with vulgar political diatribes.

Actions always occur within a social context. The most brilliant physicists on earth have never made a true vacuum. We are part of a limitless conflict between people and wealth, between living activity and dead objects. A bank, whether at an anti-war demonstration or on your way to a friend's apartment, is still a bank.

We see each other in passing, exchanging inconspicuous nods and nervous glances, hoping for someone to do something, anything to break the monotony of daily activity. It's nice that we're finally acquainted. This is a model for what determined crews, with a little planning and intention, can do without sacrificing inclusion. Clandestinity has its place, but to generalize a participatory violence againt capital there must be more than hushed conversations.

We intend to confront economic relations in our daily lives, disrupting the exchange of commodities as often as possible. We hope you'll do the same.

And somewhere, perhaps a million miles from here, a young boy floats across a sea, waiting for the next oil tanker.

-RBH Crew