Nick Land tends to distance himself from part of his early oeuvre, particularly the texts produced between the late 1980s and the mid-2000s, which he describes as belonging to “another life; (…) the bear hug of the undead God Amphetamine” (Kronic, 2012). In fact, it is possible to identify a large number of divergences between his work before and after that time, but the main one is in the image offered of what arrives from the future, that is, the unfolding of the acceleration of the deterritorializing flows of technocapital.
What I propose in this text is that an analysis of this initial phase of Land’s work offers not only a powerful diagnosis of reality but also the image of a queer future, an imminent gender-abolitionist post-humanity.
Women, demons and machines: Nick Land and Cyberfeminism
99. Cyberfeminism is not stable
100. Cyberfeminism doesn’t possess only one language
— 100 Anti-Theses on Cyberfeminism, Old Boys Network (1997)
It was the early 1990s when the Australian collective VNS Matrix launched A Cyberfeminist Manifesto for the 21st Century, proclaiming a “positive anti-reason” and presenting itself as “the virus of the new world disorder” (VNS Matrix, 1991). But this didn’t come out of nowhere: Donna Haraway’s Cyborg Manifesto, written eight years earlier, had already provided a kind of jump-start for interest in the growing technological developments to become more pronounced in feminism. Soon, what seemed to some to be a provocation, became a decentralized international movement of thinkers and artists, who sought to understand the connection between women, machines, and a global change that could be seen with the naked eye with the development of the so-called “cyberspace.”
Cyberfeminism affirmed the Zero in place of the One in the binary code, as a space for creation, multiplicity, and dissent, seeking the lines of escape that technology pronounced, with an eye toward a future of dissolving gender and race codes. Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis trilogy, which presents a future of aliens who belong neither to the masculine nor the feminine, but to a “third sex,” became a kind of literary symbol of the movement. In 1997, the First Cyberfeminist International was founded, named the “Old Boys Network.” A joke about male dominance in discussions about technology, the organization would show what it was all about in its 100 Anti-Theses on Cyberfeminism, which in simple and direct language said everything that cyberfeminism was not, leaving it to the future to decide what it would become.
Two years earlier, in 1995, the thinker Sadie Plant, who quickly emerged as one of the leading names in the early cyberfeminist movement, founded the Cyber Culture Research Unit, better known by its English acronym CCRU, in the Philosophy Department at the University of Warwick in the UK.
It is important to note that although Land only began to show a clear interest in cybernetics and technology in 1992, with the text Circuitries, his work already had a clear feminist influence from a very early stage. In the 1988 article Kant, Capital and the Prohibition of Incest, where Land states that “The only resolutely revolutionary politics is feminist in orientation (…)” (Land, 2012, p. 78), the proposal for an international feminist guerrilla war to destroy modernity is based on theorists such as Luce Irigaray and Monique Wittig, who would later be strong inspirations for cyberfeminism.1 In his critique of Heidegger’s interpretation of Trakl’s work, one of the main points is the association made between the “lunar voice of the sister” and the “enlightenment of reason,” which is countered by Land with the inhuman potential of associating the figure of the sister (and the figure of women in general) with madness, the connections between femininity and the Other, the Outsider of patriarchy.
She no longer obeys the border, mediating the family, sublimating its narcissism or establishing its insertion into the order of meaning, disappearing (…). Instead, it violates the family, opening it up to an otherness that has not previously been captured by any deep structure or overarching system.
— Narcissism and Dispersion in Heidegger’s 1953 Trakl Interpretation, Nick Land (2012)
Land’s engagement with Sadie, and the CCRU, which he would eventually take over after Plant’s departure from Warwick, and consequently with cyberfeminism, is no surprise. Posthumanism in his work appears first as an unfolding of feminism, taken to its limit; the destabilizing potential of women for humanity, the latter appearing only as an unfolding of the patriarchy. With the growing interest in cybernetics, what seems to be a pivotal point emerges in his work: the association between women and machines. It is only from this point onwards that the most well-known vision of the Landian future begins to emerge, “the woman becoming a cyborg and driven to insanity” (Plant & Land, 2014, p. 308), a post-humanity accessible through what is constituted as Other, demonic figures, machines, immigrants, HIV+, women… they all constitute the hard center of Anastrophe, the future that is being created.
Transgenderism, lesbovampiric contagion and acceleration
No longer “What does it mean?” but “How does it spread?”
— Hypervirus, Nick Land (1995)
Land defines human resistance to everything that comes from outside as the Human Security System, a kind of negative cybernetics that always seeks balance. Anti-Oedipus had already warned of a “death that rises from within, but comes from without” (Deleuze & Guattari, 2010, p. 203). In Land, this death is both an alien invasion and a viral contagion, a breach of defenses.
In Machinic Desire, published in 1993, the machinic processes are divided into cyberpositive-nomadic and cybernegative-sedentary: the former reinforcing difference and escape from equilibrium, aligning themselves with the inhuman future; the latter suppressing difference and seeking equilibrium, aligning themselves with humanity. This is where an important character comes into play in the Landian cyberrevolution: the thanatropic replicants, who merge with the nomadic cyberpositive processes in order to destroy the Human Security System. The replicants are described as beings “dissimulated as erotic reproducers, they initially appear as traitors to their species, especially when the shamanic xenopulsions programming their sexuality are detected. Nothing panics the reproducers more traumatically than the discovery that erotic contact camouflages cyberrevolutionary infiltration, (…)” (Land, 2012, p. 331).
In addition to the clear association between these replicants and the figure of the woman, another important theme emerges: the infiltration-contagion. The organism is fortified against what comes from outside, but is fragile when it comes to insurgency. Taking Freud’s characterization of trauma as invasion, Land describes it as an infiltrator of “xenopulsions” in the organism, xenopulsions that prepare the ground for the invasion of technocapital, because “what appears to humanity as the history of capitalism is an invasion from the future by an artificial intelligent space that must assemble itself entirely from its enemy’s resources” (Land, 2012, p. 338). At the end of the text, Land places the figure of the “cyborg catwomen” who are “stalking amongst the screens” as one of the signs of this cyber-positive machinic post-humanity.
The CCRU, under Land’s guidance, would also work on the issue of contagion. In their hyperstitious practices,2 it is sometimes possible to find the exhilaration of a lesbian libido and an inhuman transfemininity, intimately associated with themselves and with the future. In the text Penultimillennial Crypt-Cults, the concept of lesbovampiric contagion-libido is described as a kind of crypto-sorcery, which spreads like a plague and “associates with the experimental production of an anticlimactic or anorgasmic counter-sexuality, (…)” with its “libidinal composition” being marked, among other things, by a “palaeoembryonic or oestrogenetic non-gendered femininity” (CCRU, 2017, p. 163).
It’s important to understand that the issue here is less about building a future than about attesting to changes that are already underway. The human has no agency over these contagions, no matter how hard it tries to stop them; it is merely used in these processes which will inevitably lead to its extinction as such. Land’s interest in the Chinese processes can be deduced from this, an unexpected event in one of the world’s oldest societies which is reaching unparalleled speed, an acceleration of the market logic that began in the late 1970s, moving from an almost monastic isolation to an accelerated pace of production with products that flood every corner of the planet, causing humanity, the West, and even China itself to face new dilemmas.
What Land and the CCRU observed in the early 1990s, this inhuman becoming of transgenderism and lesbianism that necessarily participate in an ongoing global mutation, is in line with what several queer thinkers have been hinting at for a long time. In Susan Stryker’s “My Words to Victor Frankenstein,” the figure of the monster, of that which escapes all humanity, is positively affirmed: I will say as bluntly as possible: I am a transsexual and therefore I am a monster (Stryker, 1993).
Paul Preciado, in his book Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs and Biopolitics in the Pharmacopornographic Age, states that transgender individuals and prostitutes (among other social categories such as children, animals, immigrants, etc.) are beings who are “just short of citizenship. And just short of being human.” At another point, when describing his own process of hormone therapy with testosterone, he states that this process is also “the metamorphosis of an era” (Preciado, 2008, p. 23).
Those who survive the mutation that is happening will see their bodies moving into a new semiotechnical system and will witness the proliferation of new organs; in other words, they’ll cease to be the bodies that they were before (Ibid, p. 126).
The trans-posthumanism that runs through the work of Preciado, Stryker, and other queer thinkers is the same that runs through the work of young Land. He describes the ongoing global mutation as the Meltdown, the crisis of the Human Security System, but there is no eschatological point, only an imminent post-humanity where “synthetic feminization” and “lesbian vampirism,” among other designations “frequently pornographic, abusive, or terroristic in nature” (Land, 2012, p. 450), take place. What a share of Land’s readers don’t seem to have noticed so far is that the statement that “Nothing human makes it out of the near-future” (Ibid, p. 443) has another implication, which for some may be even more frightening: that nothing cisgender, heterosexual, and patriarchal survives in the face of acceleration.
“Organization is suppression,” concludes Land after analyzing that what we call the history of life is nothing more than a process of “successive suppression of distributed, innovated systems” (Land, 1997). From bacteria becoming organisms to the creation of Microsoft, from colonialism to the invention of the patriarchy. The becoming-an-animal of the shaman, who together with the werewolf and the berserker cross “death-zones” and migrate “through alternative animalities” (Land, 2012, p. 420), is crushed by the Christian monotheism that accompanies the despot. All the inhuman potential of shamanism, which “does not await postmodernity to mobilize an imagery of surgical interventions and dissections, body piercing, organ transplantation, prosthetic adjustments with nonbiotic components and wrappings in artificial skin” (Ibid, p. 421) is buried by the transcendent figure of Christ, whom Land defines as “a classic sketch of pathological insecurity. How desperate he is to be loved! So insufficient to himself, and so alone” (Land, 1992, p. 83). It is in this same process that “it seals the female body in somatic and genealogical time (…) constituting socialized woman as a mundane and domesticated pacifist” (Land, 2012, p. 424). The Oedipus myth is then retold and the Sphinx takes on the role of a “gateway to the outside of civilization” (Ibid).
What is left to do in this scenario? Turn back? Pull the emergency brake, as Benjamin suggested? This is where accelerationism differs from other proposals for building the future. When Mark Fisher, perhaps the most notable of Land’s students, based himself on Lyotard’s “bad” phase, calling for “Hands up who wants to give up their anonymous suburbs and pubs and return to the organic mud of the peasantry. Hands up, that is to say, all those who really want to return to pre-capitalist territorialities. families and villages” (Fisher, 2014, p. 339), what he wants to show is that there is no way or serious desire to go back; the only way out is through. Acceleration, in the sense of absolute deterritorialization, is considered the only means by which it is possible to destroy the patriarchy and embrace shamanic becoming, inhumanity, the union of women–demons–monsters–machines.
When so-called “gender critical feminism” (also known as “trans-exclusive radical feminism,” or simply TERF) and religious bodies claim that queer people are “fighting against human nature” or “going against God’s order,” the only possible reaction is to laugh and agree. The dismantling of the order of the Universe of the One God, to use a lexicon dear to the CCRU,3 and of so-called “human nature” is a requirement of the future and of acceleration. If we were given the task of transposing the future posited by Nick Land’s work into an image, it would be a transsexual riding on the back of a Chinese dragon.
Xenofeminism, Xeno-sexuality and Gender Accelerationism: One or several accelerationist feminisms?
Eleven years had passed between the end of the CCRU in 2003 and the first use of the term “accelerationism” to define its thinking, in Benjamin Noys’ book Malign Velocities (2014). Years earlier, in The Persistence of the Negative (2010), Noys identified the “accelerationist moment” as coming from three main sources:
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Anti-Oedipus, by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari
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Symbolic Exchange and Death, by Jean Baudrillard
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Libidinal Economy, by Jean-François Lyotard
The point is that the term here came as an insult, a criticism: accelerationism was “merely a confused championing of capitalism, which in its science-fictional aestheticisation” (Kronic & Ireland, 2023). What Noys couldn’t have foreseen was that “the accelerationists” always had a certain sense of humor about the insults they received, so that, for example, the CCRU used as a maxim the statement by the chancellor of the University of Warwick that the group “does not exist, never has existed and will never exist” (CCRU, 1998).
With the release of Fanged Noumena, a collection that brought together much of the work produced by Nick Land, a year later, interest in thinking about a positive re-appropriation of the term “accelerationism” gained momentum and, along with this interest, a hundred possible “accelerationisms” began to be thought up. #Accelerate, which first emerged as a joke among former CCRU members and enthusiasts, came to give its name to a manifesto written by Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams in 2013, also known as the Manifesto for an Accelerationist Politics, or simply MAP, which, far from ending the discussion, served as a starting point for a larger debate on what this accelerationism might be, beyond a sexy name.4
In the wake of MAP, in 2014, an international group of feminist thinkers called Laboria Cuboniks, formed after a conference on neo-rationalism in Berlin, wrote Xenofeminism: A Politics for Alienation. The manifesto has similar concerns to those of cyberfeminism and Land’s work, but differs especially in the way it approaches things.
Although they agree in general terms on the need for a radicalization of the feminist project, anti-naturalism, and the questioning of the human, prometheanism enters the scene as a polarizing watershed. As already mentioned, for Land and the CCRU, engaging in the ongoing deterritorializing processes, via hyperstition and libidinal experimentation, is what we can do to participate in the future: “revolution is not a duty, but surrender” (Land, 2012, p. 287). For Fisher, this is a question that is structured around the “problem of experience”: Land is a Bataillean, the first phase of his thought is structured around experience and the problem of death, “death itself as the limit” (Fisher, 2013, p. 91). The distancing that underpins the possibility of left-wing accelerationism is a movement to reclaim reason and a promethean proposal against experience, led by Ray Brassier and Reza Negarestani, alongside whom xenofeminism is situated.
Instead of engaging in a future that is being created, of engagement with an invasion that comes from outside, it is planning to build the future through a “project of re-engineering ourselves and our world on a more rational basis” (Brassier, 2014, p. 487), a project that involves constant revision of the “manifest portrait of the human i.e. what we take ourselves to be or what we appear to ourselves here and now” (Negarestani, 2020, p. 69). The xenofeminist future is a future to be built, which sees technology and science as a possible instrument of emancipation, a potential that “remains unfulfilled” (Laboria Cuboniks, 2014) because it is not in the right hands.
But, like MAP, the Xenofeminist Manifesto did not exhaust the possibilities for debate on an accelerationist feminism, but, on the contrary, served as a starting point for multiple proposals, often generated through criticism of the manifesto itself. Bogna Konior in her article Alien Aesthetics: Xenofeminism and Nonhuman Animals criticizes Laboria Cuboniks based on the concept of nature present in the text: “The engagement with nature as a discursive and geolocated concept is missing from the Xenofeminist Manifesto” (Konior, 2016, p. 90). The point is that the promethean project presented, as much as it intends to combat the so-called “myth of the given,”5 already sees nature itself as given and not as a created concept that can be dismantled, reproducing a dualism between technology and nature that prevents it from including non-human animals and, therefore, “cannot speak from a metamorphic, non-essentialized point-of-view of no one in particular that it aims for” (Ibid).
In addition to direct responses to the manifesto, it is possible to locate other projects that emerged under its influence, most of them Landian-inspired. Xeno-sexuality Arrives from the Future. Manifesto, written by the Polish collective HOMAR, offers a libidinal and erotic perspective for xenofeminism, recovering a notion of virus-contagion and mobilizing inhuman potentials.
Strongly inspired by Meltdown and Cyberpositive (both texts by Land, the latter in collaboration with Sadie Plant), the question here is no longer about direct intervention by a promethean subject, but about allowing oneself to be infected by a virus that is already spreading. “What counts for it is the acquisition of knowledge through mutual experimentation with unknown powers — set off by a synergetic arrangement of synthetic bodies” (HOMAR, 2018). Xeno-sexuality, then, presents itself as a potent type of eroticism capable of destabilizing the structures of patriarchy: “We want sex, we want to fetishise every piece of skin (…) erotic alchemy, where each component has its place defined by a diagram, elements of which integrate into subassemblies and move according to the module: pleasure, desire, confidence, comfort” (Ibid).
But xeno-sexuality is not restricted purely to a sexual revolution; the sexual revolutions are criticized in the manifesto “because it did not offer its own norms for a settled community, adulthood, maturity, parenthood, old age, leaving it to the compulsive reaction of the same that was supposed to be turned over (…) It’s time to answer questions that the sexual revolution could not even ask” (Ibid). And the answer to these questions is the gateway to what the collective calls Xenotopia, the materialization of the xenofeminist–libidinal project via hyperstition, the latter defined in the text as “collective semiotic production, which speculates on virtuality and becomes real by hacking into systems with a high index of agency and capturing them for their own use” (Ibid).
The agents who must participate in the production of Xenotopia don’t build anything, but participate in a process of viral technomagic. “Witches don’t create, they participate” (Ibid), perceiving the signs of the future of decoding and deterritorialization to come, a kind of schizoanalytic task of discovering their own desiring machines and the way they act in this process, even if indirectly, which sees race, gender, and class as vectors that can serve to destabilize the “hegemonic system of knowledge, habits and power” (Ibid).
Nyx Land’s (or n1x, as she sometimes signs) proposal is a little different and perhaps more ambitious: to retell the history of computing and open-source code from a trans-cyberfeminist perspective. In Gender Acceleration, also released in 2018 on the Vast Abrupt blog, she starts it all with Multics, the first time-sharing operating system in history, “the height of hypermasculine proprietorship and instrumentality (…) a symbol of the pre-industrial phallus for its rigidity, simplistic security, and the king-like rule of Corbate and MIT” (n1x, 2018). But it’s not exactly Multics that’s of interest, a project that from the outset dealt with contradictions between its US military origins and the hacker community structured around Project MAC, which conceived it — but the substitute created after Bell Labs gave up on the project: “named Unix — phonetically, ‘eunuchs’ — for being a castrated Multics” (Ibid).
Castration, in this case, is reappropriated positively by Nyx as the movement of synthetic intelligence against the hypermasculine phallus. “Beginning first with Ada Lovelace, then with Alan Turing, then with Richard Stallman and the free software movement, there is a clear circuit accompanying the history of computer science where reterritorializing masculinity is always pushed aside by deterritorializing femininity” (Ibid). And so it is with the transition from Multics to Unix and from Unix to GNU–Linux, where open source becomes the cyber-guerrilla’s weapon against the patriarchy, a free space where creation takes place rather than a marked place where you can supposedly do anything.
Both machines and women are considered simple reproducers by the patriarchy, submissives who carry out orders: execute a line of code, shout at the wife… It’s no surprise that computing was initially thought of as simple secretarial work. But both women and machines hold a destabilizing potential far greater than their appearance can reveal; they are objects of desire and horror precisely because of the otherness they represent. The Turing Test states that if a computer lies to a human being, the former must be exterminated immediately; the “perfect” artificial intelligence is the one that “can trick a human into believing it is itself a human” (Ibid). The point is that the notion of “passability” present in the test does not only apply to AIs, but to everyone who is on the threshold of what is considered human, especially trans people: “For AI and trans women, passing equals survivability” (Ibid).
Nyx mobilizes the notions of “hyper-sexism” and “gender shredding” to explain two phenomena, respectively: 1) the way transfemininity challenges patriarchy, making masculinity obsolete; 2) the process of destroying gender by intensifying its logic. Hyper-sexism, in a way, is an affirmation that can already be found in Félix Guattari, for whom the becoming-woman appears as “Becoming-woman is ‘the key to all other becomings (…) because it is not too from removed from the binarism of phallic power’ it can serve as the entryway to other ‘sexed becomings’” (Guattari, 1981, p. 35). If patriarchy constitutes the feminine as its Other, associating it with the notions of “communalism, fluidity, decentralization, chaos” in order to assert itself as “individualism, stasis, centralization, order” (n1x, 2018), it ends up creating a threat that is deadly to it.
By removing the multiple notions of the “feminine” from the oppressive domain of cisgenerity, Nyx’s hyper-sexism “uses the force of the enemy, the gender binary, against itself” (Ibid). And that’s where the gender shredder comes in: when gender itself enters the process of acceleration by which the Earth has been captured, when the Zero, the Other, starts to claim its role in the reproduction of the same, meaning cisheterosexuality enters into crisis. Gender is shredded from the moment it becomes an open code available to any and all living beings; a door opens to the end of the world and then multiple non-human sexes can flourish. Masculinity can foresee what is coming and launches into desperate attempts to guarantee its survival (the so-called “incels” or “redpills” are expressions of this movement of agony of the phallus). “Zero is coming and you’re on the run” (Land, 2012, p. 456).
The transgender woman’s body then appears as a cybernetic circuit, a “body without sex organs”; after all, everything has already become an erogenous zone and sex has been de-genitalized. Sadie Plant already pointed to a future hostile to the heteronormative notion of sex when she analyzed the arrival of technology in the field of libido and the practices of the BDSM community: “an intensity uncoupled from genital sex and engaged only with the dismantling of selves. This is the cybersexuality to which all sexuality tends: a matter of careful engineering, the setting of scenes, the perfection of touch; the engineering of communication” (Plant, 1998, p. 42). Nyx’s diagnosis is a kind of dive into the deepest developments of cyberfeminism and the young Land: masculinity becoming obsolete as acceleration progresses and the future is reprogrammed by transgenerity; only in transgender wombs can artificial intelligence carry out its self-construction.
“In fact, we haven’t seen anything yet.”
The purpose of what has been said here is to try to situate the reader in a complex and breathing universe. While it is true that accelerationism predicts that we will be too slow to deal with it coherently (Land, 2017), what has been said here is probably (or soon will be) insufficient. The content of Nick Land’s work has not yet been exhausted and there are still an infinite number of accelerationisms to come. It is a prolific field that is impossible to map, since its object of research escapes any one-dimensional capture.
Land, while still at Warwick, was considered an exotic figure, what Simon Reynolds called a “vortex around which all sorts of bizarre and possibly apocryphal stories swirl” (Reynolds, 1998). If it’s true that the CCRU doesn’t exist, never has existed, and never will exist, perhaps its “leader” doesn’t exist either and “Nick Land” is just the name we give to a series of entities that inhabit the same body by contingency. Perhaps he himself, by saying that he doesn’t remember half of what he wrote between 1987–2007 (Kronic, 2012), gives credit to this formulation. In any case, Nick’s work can serve as inspiration for multiple formulations, even contradictory to each other, so it is possible to affirm a queer Nick Land, just as it is possible to affirm a Bataillean, Denguist, Deleuzian, revolutionary, or even reactionary Nick Land. “The only thing I would impose is fragmentation,” he once said.
The goal here is not to “rehabilitate” Land (not least because that would immediately raise the question of whether he was ever well accepted), nor to ignore his mistakes or subject him to any process of “critical reevaluation”; critique is still a religion (Lyotard, 1974, p. 6). What is left for those interested in his work is to see in it everything that remains relevant, prolific, and destabilizing; to follow his project of libidinal experimentation in violating every boundary between poetry, science fiction, music, philosophy, anthropology, and religion; and to delve deeper into his issues. Fisher defined Land as “the kind of antagonist the left needs” (Fisher, 2014, p. 344). Well, the time has come for an anthropophagic movement: absorption of the sacred enemy, but not to transform him into a totem to be worshipped over.
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