Anonymous - At Play in Hell
Title: At Play in Hell
Subtitle: For a Halloween Uprising
Date: October 30th, 2026
Notes: Translated by Ill Will
Source: https://illwill.com/at-play-in-hell
The following text circulated anonymously on message boards in Italy on October 29, 2026. Drawing inspiration from the riotous legacy of “Black Halloween” in the United States, and echoing the emphasis on joyful conspiracy from the Invisible Committee’s recent interview and video-tract, the authors enunciate an offensive position within the ongoing youth insurgency spreading across Europe and beyond.
We do not judge our times. Our times judge us. The times are so revolutionary, and yet so far from our liking. We have only ourselves to blame. —Guy Debord, “Second Report on the Construction of Situations”
C’est les ténèbres[1]Out of the dark, I cut the cord Tore down the wall, changed my name —Visino Bianco
1.1 Since October 17, we’ve once again been confusing names, masks, and roles. Journalists and government officials — in cahoots, as usual, with the Instagram autonomists — feel duped. They wanted a movement, an organization, students, second-generation activists, and prominent figures. In short, they desperately wanted a subject. Having woven the web of their desires (“pro-Palestine” and “second-generation,” of course, and above all intellectual), they even managed to lure a poor soul into it — whose most radical act, aside from organizing a few rallies, was writing for Il Fatto Quotidiano.
1.2 Not even Halloween managed to spark the imagination of our enemies. Instead, they’re trying to pull the same old trick on us, yet again: to pin us down to ourselves. To force us, yet again, to speak up: “Who are you? What do you want? What are you against?” Only those who are scared to death ask questions like that. To exorcise their fear, they conjure up the specter of the “Maranza,” of young people, of social centers, even the long arm of Russia. Any name will do, just so they don’t have to listen to the cosmic silence; any mask will do, so long as it covers over the only face that truly terrifies: the one that isn’t there.
Subjects for sale2.1 Thrown into disarray, the government, the cops, and the media demand a subject, a purpose, a reason. Imbeciles of every kind leap to their rescue: “Autonomists against data centers!”, “Communists against the government!”, “Students against the war!”, “Citizens against the high cost of living!” When society needs reassurances, activists are there to provide it. They craft slogans for journalists seeking stories, demands for politicians seeking votes, marches for cops seeking blood, anxieties for psychotherapists in search of money, and above all, subjectivities, subjectivities, subjectivities! — to soothe the nightmares of our enemies.
2.2 When 10,000 people are paraded around in a march for four hours, sapping everyone’s strength and cheerfulness and giving the cops time to plant traps at every intersection and square in the city, only to then triumphantly lead the surviving demonstrators straight into the wolf’s jaws, to be massacred between Piazza Baldissera and Piazza Crispi, one should have the good sense to lock oneself away and reflect for a few years, perhaps outside of Turin. But there doesn’t seem to be a defeat harsh enough, nor a humiliation deep enough, to dissuade the militants from thrusting their stupidity upon us. Fortunately, experiences like the one on Saturday, October 24, are revealing. Now we know that the only interesting marches are the wild ones; that real demands aren’t shouted through a megaphone; that an insurrection isn’t launched on Instagram; and that only those who know how to laugh together can build collective power.
2.3 The activist is the piece of chewing gum that any official, breathing a sigh of relief, sticks haphazardly into the cracks of the social dam.
Trusting our yawnsMemorizing politics of ancient history Flung down by corpse evangelists… Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now —Bob Dylan
3.1 Anyone who has attended a general assembly has experienced firsthand the full range and nuances of boredom. The wretchedness of the speeches — which compete to miss the point — is surpassed only by that of the proposals, which seem designed to discourage anyone from carrying them out. But it would be too easy to blame things upon this or that Marxist-Leninist, feminist, autonomous, or environmentalist group. If assembly statements are so deadly boring, it’s ultimately because what they desperately communicate is always the same thing: “Here I am!” Nothing is sadder than witnessing the compensatory rituals of those who, lacking all vitality, must constantly reassure themselves that they exist.
3.2 Moreover: nothing is more humiliating than playing the role of an audience in the spectacle of assemblies. Sacrificing one’s enthusiasm, one’s need for friendship, one’s hatred for this shitty world on the altar of activism. Accepting the assembly-form means resigning oneself to communicating from a place of absence: absent from the situations in which one finds oneself, absence of joy, absence from others and from oneself. Thanks for not coming!
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