Trash is an art and culture collective based out of Toronto — the Ancestral Traditional Territories of the Ojibwe, the
Anishnaabe and the Mississauga’s of the New Credit. Trash will annually feature, in print form, Canadian and International visual art, photography, street art, poetry, prose and essays. We are interested in new work that is insurgent, experimental and intersectional. We will hijack theory and art from its page and force them into the service of direct action. Hence this magazine is not at all concerned with developing itself into a highly refined and commoditized literary organization; rather, our goal is to organize against mass repression, fascism, colonialism and the wide spread of exploitation and oppression of marginalized people.


Principle of recycling, refashioning, reusing: Trash as an individual unit of refuse to be consolidated into the bolt cutter’s blades—negate confinement; into the pen’s weeping nib—negate mystification; into the inmate’s shiv—negate fascism. Trash figured as the outcast children of capital coming to lop off its head during the dead of night. The landfill bleeding rot into the greedy arteries of gilded pigs. All it takes is one good heart attack—

Trash becomes a unity of bodies that is more than the sum of its parts. You can bury or dump as much of it into pits as you please; one can never run out of shit to throw away: the capitalist dream—

Trash is the injured desire for freedom; its body takes form as a mass of concepts, an entire multiplicity of people; it is the symbol of violent desire waiting for its activation beyond the Spectacle’s terminal moraine. Its degree of power is measured by nothing more than its desire to crystallize these discarded bodies, these outcast units of vibrant matter into euphoric devices for reform

Flux of landfill accumulation: wrappers, condoms, newspapers, tickets, compost—scum may relax very comfortable for hundreds of years, but all it takes is one nice spark to transform the whole cesspit into a flexible inferno; the fluid here is corrosive

Hence this manifesto has no end, just as it has no real beginning—internal or external. It depends on accumulation and arson, recycling and rot: not even the earth itself is stable, so why do we have to be. The nature of this collective, this pile of intensities, produces its beginning after every subsequent event or agitation, which marks at the same time another end. We are never concerned with where exactly we are, but where can we go: where can this shit spread, whose mansion needs to be swallowed up by the ground: how can we best valorize our ceaseless displacements and beautiful recombinations

Participate, accumulate, litter on us and in us: this manifesto changes according to its composition: any detrius you can’t find? incorporate your own; anything you hate, pull out and burn; anything you love, add more of—or better yet, just lift out and dump on other pristine sites; a golf club, a starbucks, whatever you wish