The Barron Field Experience is the Voice of an ineXistent generation, the siren song of the iron wall come tumbling down, the clampdown on the dead end of every God & it’s monstrous, genocidal state shadows. The Barron Field Experience has ever had it in the ear before. Vini, Vidi, Vox populi, and nothing more.

Socrates: No, you must keep up your spirits and say that it is only my body that you are burying, and you can bury it as you please, in whatever way you think is most proper…

I should only make myself ridiculous in my own eyes if I clung to life and hugged it when it has no more to offer. Come, do as I say and don't make difficulties…

Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius. See to it, and don't forget.

Victoriously the grand suicide fled
Foaming blood, brand of glory, gold, tempest!

O laughter if only to royally invest
My absent tomb purple, down there, is spread.

What! Not even a fragment of all that brightness
Remains: it’s midnight, in the shade that fetes us,
Except from the head there’s a treasure, presumptuous,
That pours without light its spoiled languidness,

Yours, always such a delight! Yours, yes,
Retaining alone of the vanished sky, this
Bit of childish triumph as you spread each tress,

Gleaming as you show it against the pillows,
Like the helmet of war of a child-empress
From which, to denote you, would pour down roses.

S. Mallarme.

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From the ISA to the RSA there is but one concern: some ideologies inner others are bigger than other ideologies other others. Stand down (Luna), open a crate of ale and get your hegemon on as the BFE break it down into its imaginary parts, symbolic (w)holes and real time fascist spillage. One more effort tech-hoes if you would accelerate the genome; it’s game day for the drone-scum at guillotines are us. In every epoch the ideology of the Barron Field will have been the ruling ideology, the ruling material force, the ruling intellectual force. The active ideological struggle of the BFE abolishes the present state of das ding.

The Barrons say:

‘A girl needs a gun these days
Hey, on account of all the Renegades!’

(With apologies to LC)

Trying desperately not to think of the red colour of Jacobi’s tail, the Barron Field Men Without Qualities return with Alice The Last Man standing to gnaw again at the entrails of world-historical nihilism. Where does the concept come from? Does thought assault life? Are you a cosplaying donkey? Are we there yet at the braying Ass whole end of the earth? These questions and many others are definitively resolved by our brave squad of demonic principalities, traversing the dire and livid brimstone of our squalid non-world to give you - yes, you! – and Milton’s daughters, a few more generous dollops of liquid fire. Who could want for more?!

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The Barron’s return from a shameful hiatus better, faster, stronger, rebuilt. Listen keenly as six million dollar Alice (wo)mans the mics, takes over the dials and runs the sound-show out of into the ground. The Men Without Qualities tackle the old man of the mountain’s days of the jackal: Will they return? Are they done like the proverbial capitalist running dog’s dinner? Ever under the sign of the nomadic proletariat, against the One of the prophets and profiteers, the BFE jabs the leaden holed crusader chkirken, maître d’ead for the godforsake of merican property, fuel for the insipid colonoscopy of the Todesfuge. Dig. The MWQ instill the good terror straight to the Schwarze Milch heart of the occupiers nullius. From Gesù to the wailing wall & from hair (of the dog) to e-t-e-r-n-i-t-y: Combat liberalism! Sometimes, we Barrons, we are immortal. Let us ask you: Are you Barron Field Experienced?

‘What we have here is a kind of secular religion in which the cult is more important than the belief…’ did somebody say. The Barrons can’t yet let go of the humanisms which in truth they seek, as if a traitorous Pimpernel, to have done with. And in a mood of everything but a sublime futility they turn their reason to the absurd: that mathematically rational end of the parliamentary form of the human estate agency that passes as the desire of the west. Join the apagoge; relish the Beckettian dim; throw the cops in your head out a Milanese window and let them land under the cobblestones on the beach on every recalcitrant, backstroking, Camusian mummiesboy; fuck your motherland; kill your fatherland. The unashamedly oedipal Barrons of the world, eyes in the back of their head, have no cuntery for humanism. Everything remains to be invented from the river to the sea.

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Everyone has had a crack at it: denying, obfuscating, elevating, accelerating, fulgurating, prognosticating, masturbating. Now listen in as the Barron Field Experience desecrates every single one of them. In every epoch humanism reappears in guise and zeit; as essence, rights, interventions, resource or pure unadulterated horror vacui; at every moment the scourge and scourer of the Idea. The men without qualities, in-human to the core, earnest, dispense and savour what as such must not be: the rear end of humanism mon amour.

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The Barrons are back to mourn and melanchole the taboo against taboo that is the contemporary state of this situation. As the IOF fly over the festival of the boot lickers and running dogs, the Barrons explore, but do not explain, the gloop, gloop, gloop, gloop suck and cut of the American manufacturing decline and fall, the still secret all too secret genius of Foucault, the vacuous immateriality of sex and the empiricism of identity: aka anxiety and depression. The Barrons salute Roy & HG as organic intellectuals, Freudian analysts of the da sein geist, calculate how long is a lunar month at the end of - lusty, left wing melancholia - times and masticate, ruminate but don’t swallow the chemical wing of capital, that great dis-organiser of the body without fluids to be finally, as in the beginning, for the sake of us all, saved by the Idea - the impossible possession to which you cannot not consent. The Barrons know only this: walking slowly in the privilege of free men. Shout out to Bondi Millie and the Lebanese bakers. Free Palestine.

The BFE goes en-camp-us to see what the student section of the yoof are telling us about the state of the educational situation: money, bombs and waterfront property; the whole gamut of what we know as knowledge as it destroys a people, a culture, life itself. What can be done, from the camp to the street, the dock to the Red Sea, the Swiss banks to the west bank to bring the historical truth of the youth to bear and hold the uprising rock steady. The Barrons look to see how the ivory towers are shaken off and will have come tumbling down.