Hendrick’s Dream
3rd prolegomenon to Manituana, Summer 2006
‘Hendrick Peters felt he belonged to a past season of the world. He had been a boy at a time that the English called the “last century”, he remembered the days of great power of the Longhouse. That phase of his life had become an image known on both shores of the Ocean. He had been ambassador to London under Queen Anne, painters had captured his likeness, fixing in time the moment and the man who ferried the Mohawks from one age to another. On his face, the marks of time left a trace that ran through the last sixty years of history.’
The Nameless
Article by Jacopo Guerriero in GQ (Italian edition), n.91, April 2007
‘This revolution is faceless! No photographs, no authors. The author is a commonplace of consumerist perversion invented to make you read happily, but with your pockets empty and your brain fogged by romantic inventions. Step back: western Europe in the early 1990s, was the time of the appearance of the web, of the ‘no-copyright’ movements, the start of a new transformation of the culture industry. You found a mysterious signature that appeared everywhere, in station toilets, in graffiti on the walls, on the tables of a pub…’
When the Indians invented punk two centuries ago
Article by Marco Philopat published in the journal XL, no. 20, April 2007
‘As soon as I’d finished reading Manituana I wanted to cut my hair into a Mohican, like in the old days. Set before the revolution that brought America into being, Manituana is a story from the wrong side of history: the Indians. Published these days, the latest collective work by the literary clan, writing workshop, cultural and political project of Wu Ming, the ‘no names’ of Mandarin Chinese, had the same effect on me as the first punks in Portobello in the late 1970s.’


2000-2010, the old website
Books… We write them. It's what we do for a living.
Manituana – The novel's website
Our channel on YouTube
Podcast
Vintage writings on copyright and intellectual property
Wu_Ming_Foundt on Twitter
Punk was dazed by many capital signs. It had eaten it’s own children in search of terror-profit. Largely non-functional in a glocal mindset it still is resisting its own brain-fever.
Let’s move on to a more corrupt form of expression.
One that values the open rooftop of noise above the cellar of ass-kicking.