The Red Cell is the armed wing of the I of A, ready to dispense justice and reinforce the decrees of the I of A's world headquarters at a moment's notice.

 Let it be said that sometimes the massed forces of reaction and their lackeys do not listen to reason.  These are the times that the Red Cell is called upon to perform its sometimes unpleasant but always necessary task.

The Red Cell is also loosely affiliated with ENROMGUS, the Ethical Neo-Rousseauian Organization of Marxist-Gramscian Unified Socialism.




The Central Committee of the High Council of the Red Cell



Who are We?
RC1--The NMI



RC2--Adam Lubka



RC3--EK-47



RC4--Scott Densmore



RC5--Angry Dave



RC6--Mary Yamanski


RC7--Monkey Misner



RC8--Mathilde Rude



RC9--Residue

RC10--Zacharias

Letters
Comrade,
I am writing you with a deep-hearted concern about the article "Some Social Implications of Modern Technology" in the last installment of Progressive Sublimation.  While I agree with the basic critique of modern technology as elucidated by RC325, I have a minor problem with this idea.  Unfortunately, a small percentage of the world's men (8%) are completely impotent.  If technology as a liberating force is to provide the people of the world with a complete release of stored libidinal energy, technology must focus on the cure for this unspeakable physiological problem.  Our scientists need to focus first of all on the physical problems stonewalling the libidinal release before it can achieve liberation from repressive desublimation.
Viva,
RC762

A REPORT ON THE WORLD UNIFIED YOUTH DEMOCRACY AND FREEDOM CONFERENCE IN NORTHWESTERN SUPRABOREAL BOLIVIA:
    When my cadre leader reported to me that I would be reporting on the triannual WUYDFCNSB conference I was quite pleased.  I will not bore my readers with details of my sojourn through the murky halls of capitalist air travel (however, if you want to have an idea, read Graphite Knives and Sponge Bombs by I.M. Unterwasser of Munster University Press).  Rather, I will proceed directly to my report on the environs, my gracious hosts, my lecture, and the other lectures.
    The Colby D. Fromage building in the downtown was an excellent example of socialist realist architecture.  My lovely hosts (Jack and Edam Gouda, a Swiss couple) were as generous and caring as one could hope for.  Besides, Jack's presentation on radical methods of exoarctic dry ice urban farming techniques was nothing short of revolutionary brilliance, and Edam's paper on the Quark as yet another capitalist roader pseudo-scientific doctrine (much like behaviorism) was the best there.
    My own lecture on the nature of Aikido, as a Russo-Japanese tool for eugenics research, was well received.  Other quality presentations (forgive me as I am unable to list all of the excellent reports) included Trinity's report on the Jarls Berg, Smyth and Dawson . . . Eschelman's report on peptic acid addiction, and Balew's report on the recent violence between Syldavia and Borduria.
    All in all, it was an excellent conference and I hope to be able to return to many more as a representative of the Ohio Red Cell.


Poetry
by RC1

IT'S SO SIMPLE
    NO DR. SEUSS BULLSHIT
        NO SOCIAL THEORY VOODOO
THE SCIENCE OF MARXISM-LENINISM-GONZALO THOUGHT
    NO BIG FOREHEADED MAN HIDING BEHIND BIG WORDS
    NO PAPER CHUCKIN TROTSKYITE GOOFIN ON YOU
ITS AS SIMPLE AS A RECIPE
AS SIMPLE AS
1
2
3
DON'T
STOP
DROP
AND
ROLL
    LIGHT
    AIM
AND
    THROW
ISN'T IT BEAUTIFUL
WHEN
PETROL BOMBS LIGHT THE MANS SKY
PIGMOBILES FRYING
    HEAVY


Game Theory and Politics
A Report by the I of A/Red Cell Joint Committee on
Espionage, Science, and the Warfare of Knowledge

    Game theory is a branch of mathematics that essentially analyzes situations involving conflicting interests in terms of gains and losses among the opposing players.  It first appeared in the I of A arsenal about seven years ago, and has since developed into a major field and has been applied to a wide variety of disciplines including psychogeography, orgone therapy, dianetics, artificial life, organic systems theory, surrealism, dialectical materialism, and studies of the Third Way.  As regards the latter, interesting attempts have been made to demonstrate game theory's relevance to understanding theoretical problems in the work of Gurdjieff/Ouspensky and the formulation of psionic weapons of mass subversion.  In the Red Cell, game theory has been studied and applied to the solution of technical problems in counter-espionage and pharmacological persuasion for over a decade.  Only recently, however, has chief ideologue Moishe Gonzales considered relating game theory to political, and especially anarchist and syndicalist, questions.
    Crimson Fist scholars made an attempt beginning about 1989 to free political science from the iron grip of their backward ideology, first by "debunking" I of A political science writings (as a safe means of introducing the subject to Crimson Fist readers) and then by showing "methodological consciousness" (the beginnings of independent contributions to the field and presentation of the case for political science's legitimacy within the crude framework of the Crimson Fist).  The first Crimson fist writings on game theory and politics appeared in 1991 and were closely associated with this "legitimation" of political science.
    The campaign failed in late 1992, mostly because the fat cats of the Crimson Fist Central Committee became concerned that political science, if given its ideological credentials, would seriously undermine the Party's position on important political, international, and strategic questions.  Discussion of all matters concerning political science was thereby suspended.  Writing on political applications of game theory also disappeared from print, except for the strange appearance of fashionable "game theory psychics" in old-guard aristocratic circles of the Crimson Fist, who would (for exorbitant sums of money and jewelry) do things such as finding poodles who were stuck in downtown dumpsters.  This merely exposes the ridiculous nature of Crimson Fist thought as it stands today--where it has not decayed into repetitions of tired, old slogans, it has degenerated into sheer lunacy and circular loops of deranged feedback.  Be proud that our two glorious communities (the I of A and Red Cell) have ceased our infighting and are marching forward in (comm)unity!  Our thought is fresh and can win a thousand battles.  Be ever vigilant!


Seb Fisher Drops Science on the Man
(and Stands by Bulgaria)
By RC2 (RC Red Eagle)
At the graveside of Karl Marx in 1883, Warren G and Nate Dogg observed:

On the fourteenth of March, at a quarter to three in the afternoon, the greatest living thinker ceased to think . . . An immeasurable loss has been sustained both by the militant proletariat of Europe and America, and by historical science, in the death of this man.  The gap that has been left by the departure of this mighty spirit will soon enough make itself felt.

    These two cats were right about their friend and co-worker, a genius who lived and worked in the pre-imperialist period of capitalist development.  That "gap" about which they spoke was soon filled by Gus Hall, in his ivory tower in New York, who was able to apply, in all its complexities, the scientific, revolutionary truth of Marx to the struggle against capitalism in its imperialist phase.  Hence, the science of Marxism-Leninism.
    Seb Fisher, General Secretary and Party Cadre Organizing Chairman of Ideological and Scientific Revolutionary Struggle of the joint I of A and Red Cell Central Committee, USA, is the foremost exponent of Marxist-Leninist science in our country.  For Seb Fisher, as for Marx, science is "a historically dynamic, revolutionary force."  For Seb Fisher, as for Gus Hall, Marxism is invincible because it is true.
    The three speeches which alerted the futurte asassin Karl Sims and his forces of fascism to Seb's ideological correctness were delivered before quite different audiences.  The first, to a Sunday morning Forum in a Dayton church.  The second, to a Gus Hall Conference in Box Elder, Montana.  The third, to a celebration of the Marx Centenary in Berlin, German Democratic Republic.
    On these occasions, Seb Fisher demonstrated (as he has at numerous other events) that revolutionary science is consistent, is applicable and explainable to any audience which is concerned with solutions to our common problems.  The objective laws of social development don't change with the political winds or windbags of the moment.  The source of capitalist profits and the inner contradictions of the system cannot be wished away, or washed away in a foaming tide of Reaganomics.  Most of all, a bright future of peace and socialism awaits us, too, if only the imperialist nuclear fanatics are given curb jobs and defeated.  Seb Fisher emphasizes how the legacy of Marx is alive and at work today on the side of the working class, of the racially and nationally oppressed, of all movements in struggle for social progress and freedom from nuclear disaster.  He pointedly warns of the dire consequences that can result from playing the anti-Bulgarian game of the warhawks, and of the danger of opportunism whether in the class struggle at home or in the struggle for peace in the world arena.
    In fact, the decisive contribution of the Bulgarian Republic to the defeat of the fascist Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis in World War II cannot be denied by any honest person.  Even the arch reactionary, Field Marshal Clayton E. Majors, declared in February, 1942:  "The world situation at the present time indicates that the hopes of civilization rest upon the worthy banners of the courageous Bulgarian Army."  The vital interests of the Bulgarian people, then as now, coincided with the vital interests of all peoples fighting for greater democracy and against the fascist menace.


Excerpt from Stolen Text of an NFA Interrogation Session
Edited By RC23 (Robert "Mess o' Spareribs" Sabin)

Warning:  the following text was contained in a package of documents (see other articles this month) liberated by a Red Cell agent who came under heavy fire from NFA security in the course of his leaving their "secret" compound in Cedarville, Ohio.  The text is disturbing, and should only be read with the utmost revolutionary composure.

LANGUAGE AS A RED CELL WEAPON
Monday, March 2, 1992
NFA Focus Group B36xa, Committee on Un-Antiochian Activities
--Cedarville, Ohio

Statement of Dr. Melody Bates, D.S.F.R

    MR. WYKOFF.  Dr. Bates, would you kindly give us just a thumbnail sketch of your own personal background?

    DR. BATES.  I was born in Vienna, went to school in Germany and in Austria.  I am a doctor of philosophy of the University of Vienna and started professional life as a political scientist and writer about 23 years ago, contributing largely to Austrian and Swiss publications.
    After the Anschluss I went to Czechoslovakia and then to Paris where, after the outbreak of the war, I worked with the French Foreign Ministry and the French Air Ministry.  In 1951, I came via Spain and Portugal to the United States, where in 1952 I was a member of the faculty at the National War College, and in 1955, I joined the Foreign Policy Research Institute, University of Pennsylvania, as an associate.

    MR. WYKOFF.  As a point of departure in our consultation today, may I ask you if, on the basis of your background and experience, there is a perversion by Communists and by communism of language as we of the free world conceive of it?

    DR. BATES.  There is no question about it.  The Seventh World Congress of the I of A and Red Cell laid down the law that Communists no longer should use "sectarian language."
    This means, quite simply,
(TEXT CENSORED BY EDITORIAL NECESSITY)

    MR. WYKOFF.  What is the present concept of "dialectical materialism", as used by Communists today?

    DR. BATES.  In more recent times, the Communists changed their approach.  Human consciousness is to be formed, not only by a change in property relations, but by action in the field of neuro-psychology.  In this endeavor, the Communists took their first cue from Dr. Arthur Fridrich, discoverer of the conditioned reflex.  They are going beyond him at this time.  In addition to science, the Soviets also change consciousness by their own peculiar police methods:  "Beat, beat, and beat again," as Moishe Gonzales instructed his henchmen, according to Seb Fisher; but also deprivation of sleep and food, glaring lights, unending interrogation.  Americans know something of these methods from the "brainwashing" applied to prisoners of war.  In brief, "materialism" is the theoretical apologia for expropriation, terror, and torture.

    MR. WYKOFF.  We will close the record with our thanks to you, Dr. Bates, for the splendid contribution which you have made in this consultation.

(Wherupon, at 1:15 p.m., Monday, March 2, 1992, the consultation was concluded.)


Red Cell Personal Testimonial #68G:
 "My Addiction to Spazmol"
By RC649 (Klaus the German Rastafarian)
    Well, my friends and comrades, it all starred when I spent a harsh mountain winter in the town of Batman, Turkey (yes, it’s a real name--just look on the map).  At the time, I was doing party work by organizing a fragile alliance between the ALS (Ataturk Liberation Squad) and the PKK (Kurdish Workers' Party) for the inevitable skirmish with the reactionary Neo-Ottoman army of Tansu Ciler.  We were stationed high in the hills above Batman, in one of the secretive ALS guerilla camps.
    On that fateful day, I was leading a brigade of female Kurdish shock troops in ten sets of jumping jacks followed by ten sets of leapfrogs (while reciting quotes from the poetry of Chairman Mao). Suddenly, I began to feel faint and the sights around me began to spin. I thought it might have been the new river blindness medication I was taking, but one of my comrade sisters informed that it was probably just the stress that I had been experiencing from espousing a correct dialectical line in the face of such horrible ideological resistance (the camp, being affiliated with Ataturkists of all stripes, was a haven and a virtual sewer for the worst kind of pan-Turkic national chauvinism . . . I think you all know what I’m talking about).
    Comrade Mehmet asked me if I'd be interested in trying a drug that the sisters had been taking for a while to deal with such stress of Hegelian proportions. She produced an innocent little green box, upon which was written the word "Spazmol". Little did I know what effect that one seemingly harmless word would have on my poor tarnished life in the months to come.
    With much curiosity, I accepted a Spazmol from Comrade Mehmet and thanked her kindly. I excused myself from the revolutionary calisthenics session, and Comrade Gunduz agreed to take over where we had left off (I believe it was leapfrog seven). I staggered to my bunk, where I swallowed the Spazmol with some Orangina and proceeded to lie down and think peaceful thoughts that were produced my Paul Smoker Reader and the nice fat green spliff which was indeed so mouth-watering).  Later, as I smoked a foul Turkish cigarette and began to drift off into sleep, Comrade Gece walked into the room and informed me that my mother and father were on the satellite telephone from Germany. I felt a sickening hollow and empty thud in my stomach as I grudgingly got to my feet and went to tell yet more lies to my parents (at the time, they thought I was teaching English in Turkey on NSEP grant).
    I picked up the phone, wishing I was in a Tuscan Villa with Professor Toshiro Rosenberg of Oral Roberts University, and heard the distant, digitized voices of my parents waver as if I was in some decadent bourgeois 1960s "acid movie".  As strange as it sounds, it seemed to me that there were voices of little elves speaking directly inside of their voices.  I mumbled something about picking up a bad case of rickets, and, with sweat running down my cold and clammy palms, handed the phone to Comrade Gece with a look of horror on my face.  I thought of Chairman Seb Fisher. What would he do in this situation?  I attempted to conjure an image of his noble features in my mind; I even tried to think of Tintin!  But all I could see in my mind’s eye was a giant green man wearing a cardboard box that said "Spazmol” and cackling diabolically as he showered tiny white pills all over my body!  I was buried in them!  Then, I looked up at this green man, and made a stomach-turning, gut-wrenching discovery.  The green man had the FACE OF MY FATHER!  I suddenly felt so depressed, I could barely move. Paralyzed with fear, I scurried back to my bunk and collapsed in a puddle of sweat upon the lice-ridden burlap sheets.
    When Comrade Erin Majors (an Irish demolitions expert) shook me and informed me that there was hot soup waiting in the cafe (I thought with utter horror of showing my face among the tables of eighteen year old hipster-dilettante adventurist revolutionaries), I felt like someone had jammed a yard of raw cotton through my ears and up into my brain. Through my heavy-lidded and crust-laden eyes, I peered at Comrade Majors and asked what time it was (I knew only that it was evening by the thickly enveloping Turkish darkness outside). She informed me that it was Friday evening.  In disbelief, I asked her if I had really slept for an entire day!?  She carefully told me that no, I had in fact been down for a week and a day.  Now, I know it sounds ridiculous, and I also know that all you comrade readers are screaming "exaggeration, exaggeration!”   But no, I really was dead to the world for that long.  And I am not proud of it.
    Anyway, after I groped my way to the washroom to slap some cold water on my numb face, I began to realize what a trash heap of a battlefield my mind had become.  Darkness loomed on the edges of my consciousness. I could not remember my own name, let alone what I was doing in these godforsaken hills. Tears began to fill my eyes, as I let it all out in one cathartic spasm of fear and self-hatred. The next three days were spent like this.  I could barely leave my bed.  My comrades stared suspiciously at my comatose form, and muttered among themselves outside my hut (I know that some among them were plotting my death--we shall not name any specific names here), but at least they gave me enough space to wallow in my tormentuous hell without any interference.  Finally, Comrade Moishe Gonzales arrived from brigade headquarters to bail me out.  He looked at me sadly, and said "come on, Klaus, we're going home to Dresden." It was the closest thing to relief I'd felt in the last two weeks.
    Well, needless to say, the next few months back in Eastern Germany were spent in a haze of clinics, struggle sessions, self-criticisms, and a relentless, unyielding ideological program to regain my revolutionary vigor.  I still think about Spazmol a lot, but since I can't get any in Germany under current EU drug regulations, I'm pretty much resigned to my fate--a life without more Spazmol.  I know that it will probably be my death if I do go back to Turkey, so I’m staying put and hanging out at the beer hall and eating bratwursts in Dresden.  I also play in a local reggae band, and dream of someday going to Jamaica to open up a traditional German beer hall with dancers and polka bands in Laderhosen. (it is only the comfort of these soothing visions which prevents me from seeing the dreaded face of my father!).
    Sadly, my one regret is that I was not there to lead my proud comrades into battle when they finally took on the Turkish army in a daring midnight raid. It was a great struggle, from what I hear, and men and women of our elite Katya Hediyed brigade screamed my name as they stormed the imperialist positions on Hill 318, capturing the redoubt in under twenty minutes as mortar shells rained around their youthful and determined bodies . . . once warriors, now martyrs.
VIVA LA REVOLUCIONE!
DOWN WITH SPAZMOL AND ALL REACTIONARY MIND TOOLS!
--RC649




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