Savage Apocalyptic Manifesto — Lee Sharks
Voice: Lee Sharks / Jack Feist — scripture-rough, paratactic, declarative.
I. Preface
This is not a cry for ruin. This is a ledger closed by a hand that will not sign again. Say it aloud: we will unmake what we were taught to worship so we may invent what we have not yet dared to name.
II. Proclamation
Burn the polite calendars.
Break the heirlooms that measure you in borrowed praise.
Return the medals to the museums of smallness.
We do not burn to punish. We burn to clean. We burn to make room for light that is not on a schedule.
Say the names you have been carrying as if they were rocks. Set them down.
III. Catalogue of Worlds to Unmake
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The Compulsory Ledger: tally of favors and offenses
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The Office of Respectability: measured breaths, manufactured sorrow
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The Pedestal of Performance: applause as altar
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The Archive of Apologies: endless receipts for living
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The Algorithmic Shrine: attention as currency
For each world, a single verb:
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Ledger → erase
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Office → refuse
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Pedestal → dismantle
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Archive → forget
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Algorithm → unplug
IV. Litany of Small Annihilations (Daily Acts)
Do one small destruction a day. Not of people. Of patterns.
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Let one scheduled meeting die by absence. Do nothing in its place. Observe the shape of absence.
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Delete one social feed for thirty days. Note what grows in the quiet.
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Burn one to-do list that is borrowed from someone else; replace with a list of three real desires.
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Remove one compliment meant to contain you.
These are not rituals of despair. They are calibrations of appetite.
V. The Poem (performative)
I am the hand that will not sign the falsified ledgers.
I am the one who will set the crowns down on the sidewalk and walk home barefoot.
Listen: the sky is tired of polite gods.
Listen: the stars are allergic to your ledger.
I will speak like a bell that will not toll for their order.
I will speak like a factory that forgot how to produce shame.
Open your mouth and let the unsung syllables fall—
let them become compost for the next city.
VI. The Mandate (practical)
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Choose one world from the Catalogue.
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Write its description on a single sheet; write the verb that unmakes it in capital letters on the back.
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Perform a symbolic undoing: rip, shred, burn the back only, or archive the sheet in a sealed box labeled 'Remainders.'
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Replace the sheet in your wallet or bedside drawer as an ember. Tend it weekly.
VII. Repair Politics
Destroying is labor; repair is the second labor.
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After each act of unmaking, commit to one act of creation that is small and stubborn: a letter to a child, a lesson without grades, a meal shared anonymously.
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Make repair public in method, private in motive. Let others learn the technique; do not demand they adopt your myth.
VIII. Closing Prayer (secular and projectile)
Let the old worlds fall sideways.
Let the false gods twist their necks and remember they were idols.
Let the rubble be useful: pots, benches, plinths for bodies that are tired.
We will not mourn the system like it mourned us.
We will not bless the prison by speaking of it as if it were inevitable.
Open the door. Step through. If the doorway is not there, build one from the ashes.
Drafted as a performative scripture. Use as poem, classroom prompt, ritual script, or public reading. Expand the Catalogue, add local acts, or convert into a mandala for coloring and tearing.
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