BULLETIN 1: HISTORY

Who is able? And who gates the keys to our city of social redemption? The way is barred to all renovators, or barked. As for me, I have no peace and no independence. Such sultry fears. Only yesterday the way was deliberately paved over, so that we might always, always remember: there is no release. But should I say all that I think? Haunted – no, constituted – by a legacy of purges and upheavals, wracked with dissent and doubt which all felt and none revoked, our little party strove to inaugurate a climate of – of what? Of bloodless humanism? Of public intimacy? Of regulate, filial, agreeable love? Yet who might legislate our disparate happiness? Even disinterested, we can all clamour: ‘Our present system is, and we are not’. But who remembers the dissolutions and withdrawals and all our private, secret battles? You, who have the alibi and use it to your own vigorous ends, use it maybe also to hide all shame.