The body, sexuality, the desire to sleep in the morning, the liberation from labour, the possibility to be overwhelmed,
to make oneself unproductive and open to tactile, uncodified communication: all this has for centuries been hidden, submerged, denied, unstated. Vade Retro, Satanas.
The blackmail of poverty, the discipline of labor, hierarchical order, sacrifice, fatherland, family, general interests, socialist blackmail, participation: all that stifled the voice of the body. All our time, forever and always, devoted to labor. Eight hours of work, two hours of travel, and, afterward, rest, television. and dinner with the family.
Everything which is not confined within the limits of that order is obscene. Outside it smells like shit. All the ''unstated" is emerging: from the Chants de Maldoror to the struggles for reducing the work-day.
It speaks in the Paris Commune and in Artaud's poetry, it speaks in Surrealism and in the French May, in the Italian Autumn and in immediate liberation; it speaks across the separate orders of the language of rebellion. Desire is given a voice, and for them, it is obscene.