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Authors: Tony Duvert
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parents). The beneficial effects of the parents were simple and concrete: caresses for the skin, food for the stomach, warmth and protection. This, moreover, created a meager image of the child and his needs: a little animal obsessed with organic and nutritive subjects, with a not very hard to please affectivity and an eroticism that was nonlocalized or null and satisfied by a bloated style of mothering; a stupid, selfish, prolonged baby, a douchebag that you fondle and force feed—a subhuman who can barely move and speak.
Is that really what a child is? Certainly not, but it’s what the family produces as breeder of meat and whittler-down of men. As a “producer” unit, it is in fact capable only of destroying the children that it turns out. And it pushes its savagery to the point of refusing them any contact, any influence that would repair that destruction and compensate for that mindlessness. For the great majority of parents, raising a child in their image is manufacturing a stillborn moron, a slobbering calf, a shifty slave or a cantankerous vixen. The tragedy of “reproduction” is already consummated when adolescents, finally provided with a critical tongue, begin to put their family into words—and to reject it, whereas unconsciously they’ll belong to it forever.
The child of 10–13 is at the edge of that rebellion. The family imagined for him by the Encyclopedia is therefore infinitely more elaborated than the one meant for the little ones. The family he knows is a dumping ground of the wasted, the exploited, the dissatisfied that co-devours his life and tears his body, his mind, his desire to pieces. Yet it’s depicted as a gilded cage that bestows well-being even to the neediest, and where the child is gelded merely to restore his sex to him, in chaste scenes of happiness through incest times four, and with the miraculous capital gain that comes from a good pro-life fine-tuning.
This is where he discovers the kind of home he can himself create one day, and in which conditions. He won’t be clumsy and stupid like his parents: he’ll be like that man or woman who is well-balanced, cultured, healthy, thin and functional. He won’t lack money like his parents, he’ll suffer no humiliations, unfairness, he won’t be living on the bad side of exploitation: he’ll have a “modern,” distinguished profession, high earnings, an appearance beyond reproach, the socio-economic power to lead his own life and dominate others, like the couple in the book. He won’t live in cramped conditions in a noisy, unattractive home: just like in the book he’ll have a lovely house, a beautiful garden, space and calm. He won’t have too many children, domestic quarrels, disgust with married life, relatives who are a pain in the neck: he’ll found a liberated couple who’ll lucidly examine its problems, and will beget the right amount of children that would be appropriate to the development of each and the number of places in a car. Unlike his parents, he won’t be an exhausted, neurotic, bad-tempered, narrow-minded, duped, lackluster piece of human debris: he’ll be the way they are in the book: an active, dynamic, responsible, well-adapted, well-informed adult. He despises thebourgeois conformism of today? The important thing is that he loves the one of tomorrow.
It would be better for him to forget his real family; he can even hate it, provided that he restructure his revolt into the wish to build an idyllic, bourgeois and proper family: this will be his revenge. This is how he is pressured into investing his desire in a family-centric project, while the realities that he does know are soothed away and those to which he will be open are pointed out—the most “beautiful” family imaginable. The family is bad and young people are discouraged from reproducing this monster? Fine. But nowadays we have Science and Freedom, gigantic gifts from Medicine and the State: so tomorrows family will be a good one—a
Is that really what a child is? Certainly not, but it’s what the family produces as breeder of meat and whittler-down of men. As a “producer” unit, it is in fact capable only of destroying the children that it turns out. And it pushes its savagery to the point of refusing them any contact, any influence that would repair that destruction and compensate for that mindlessness. For the great majority of parents, raising a child in their image is manufacturing a stillborn moron, a slobbering calf, a shifty slave or a cantankerous vixen. The tragedy of “reproduction” is already consummated when adolescents, finally provided with a critical tongue, begin to put their family into words—and to reject it, whereas unconsciously they’ll belong to it forever.
The child of 10–13 is at the edge of that rebellion. The family imagined for him by the Encyclopedia is therefore infinitely more elaborated than the one meant for the little ones. The family he knows is a dumping ground of the wasted, the exploited, the dissatisfied that co-devours his life and tears his body, his mind, his desire to pieces. Yet it’s depicted as a gilded cage that bestows well-being even to the neediest, and where the child is gelded merely to restore his sex to him, in chaste scenes of happiness through incest times four, and with the miraculous capital gain that comes from a good pro-life fine-tuning.
This is where he discovers the kind of home he can himself create one day, and in which conditions. He won’t be clumsy and stupid like his parents: he’ll be like that man or woman who is well-balanced, cultured, healthy, thin and functional. He won’t lack money like his parents, he’ll suffer no humiliations, unfairness, he won’t be living on the bad side of exploitation: he’ll have a “modern,” distinguished profession, high earnings, an appearance beyond reproach, the socio-economic power to lead his own life and dominate others, like the couple in the book. He won’t live in cramped conditions in a noisy, unattractive home: just like in the book he’ll have a lovely house, a beautiful garden, space and calm. He won’t have too many children, domestic quarrels, disgust with married life, relatives who are a pain in the neck: he’ll found a liberated couple who’ll lucidly examine its problems, and will beget the right amount of children that would be appropriate to the development of each and the number of places in a car. Unlike his parents, he won’t be an exhausted, neurotic, bad-tempered, narrow-minded, duped, lackluster piece of human debris: he’ll be the way they are in the book: an active, dynamic, responsible, well-adapted, well-informed adult. He despises thebourgeois conformism of today? The important thing is that he loves the one of tomorrow.
It would be better for him to forget his real family; he can even hate it, provided that he restructure his revolt into the wish to build an idyllic, bourgeois and proper family: this will be his revenge. This is how he is pressured into investing his desire in a family-centric project, while the realities that he does know are soothed away and those to which he will be open are pointed out—the most “beautiful” family imaginable. The family is bad and young people are discouraged from reproducing this monster? Fine. But nowadays we have Science and Freedom, gigantic gifts from Medicine and the State: so tomorrows family will be a good one—a
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