Once again the fight, once again the fire. Once again you have to go out to the street, or maybe not, that everyone choose their strategy, bet where they can do more damage. Restart the search, sometimes research, sometimes whipped. As so many times in history, we have not received any statement, or need to do. We know the means we have and the mediations that weaken us. Representation? Impresentable For those who do not want to understand, there are no explanations: this book will not give them and this editor will not endeavor to seduce any clueless from the back cover text. Electoral programs, well doubled ballots, mahogany seats. Let them burn. An insurrectional process can be triggered at any point in the territory or the body, from any experience. It rises a windy day and suddenly, after years or centuries up there, the cornice collapses. It falls without cruelty, but falls to the ground. To the extent that these processes occur, a common plane of immanence is formed, subversion against the Empire. We can call that plane the Imaginary Party: a name that by itself exposes its artifice, its tactical function. A match that is both already here and always under construction. And whose program, of course, does not fit in this book. Building that party has nothing to do with issuing militant cards, so that differences are canceled even for the benefit of the struggle. Building that party means forming forms of life based on those differences, channels through which intensity can circulate. Spring arrives. I see processionary caterpillars in the pines: a long row of assembled lepidoptera, the head of each always attached to the end of the abdomen of the one preceding it, pure gregariousness in search of food. What would happen if we joined the head of the first to the abdomen of the last one, forming a closed circle? They would start spinning indefinitely until they died of hunger or boredom or sadness. Or until a child set them on fire.