LEN BRACKEN'S fluent, even-handed critical biography - Guy Debord, Revolutionary - was published in a handsome 267-page softcover volume by Feral House earlier this year. Bracken is also editor of Extraphile- a journal of subproletarian revolution, utopian fantasy, pornography and conspiracy theory. His essays, fiction and translations have appeared in numerous marginal publications and websites. Cult status is still synthetically undetermined, but we here at SWORG have stepped into the arena as a patron judge.
Bracken has stated he will contribute many of his latest essays and papers to SWORG. We welcome his work without apology, and will remark critically on those occasions the spirit moves us, while other times we will simply let the work speak for itself. I have known Len Bracken mano a mano since December, 1994, introduced to him by the unflappable Tom Howell in the local chic attack called Dante's. Let's be honest. We don't ALWAYS see eye to eye. Hell, let's get gutwrenchingly honest about Len Bracken. We RARELY see eye to eye on HOW Situationist thought has been rendered since the 1950s or even whether the SI can intrinsically inspire a revolution to strategically force the globe into a less oppressive future. While Bracken introduced me to the specific body of literature, I admit I still have read very little of the original SI material. Despite these variables I can respect the work of someone caught in the middle of a job nobody can finish alone. Bracken has contributed to the ongoing struggle to dissolve the puzzle in which mankind embraces itself yet falls short in recognizing the powers incumbant to universal nature. Our friendship has certainly weathered a few ageless quarrels guided by a clumsy hack from one or the other's psychological war chest, but we have learned to prosper from these ruptures in protocol, fighting back the tyrannies of idea with the good common sense of gentle friendship, marked by a mutual respect and general decency neither of us can describe with a perfect word. Of course rabid paranoia and conflicting reports from the rumor mill lead us both ripe into temptation where we'll slay the other gravely, or sometimes if the mood slams a load just above the knees, he Bracken, he Gabriel, in all bombast is pronounced the enemy, the heretic, the asshole of the hour, and we have no other choice but to dig in for a few more choice rounds, and thus real character assassination is said to begin . . .
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