Man is not saved by knowledge; gnosis does not produce ecstasis, but vice versa. Vision produces the knowledge of the irrelevance of knowledge, a state of being beyond the vaporized ego, beyond the temporal order, an end in itself. – Kennith Rexroth
The argument against the rigidity of solids: The only solution to Zeno's paradoxes is to embrace them, thus, trimming Western Essentialist Logic down to its essential comedic base and rendering all rigorous thought a form of child's play. This is the also a proof of delight at new discoveries and the pataphysical equivalence of all absurdities.
Why, oh why, can't things be as they were before? Remember the good old days when we were young and the world was simple? Oh how I miss those days and mourn what we have become...
What begins skipping, ends limping.
What considers skipping childish, acquires a premature limp.
What considers the limp a sign of character and maturity,
loses childhood prematurely.
You did not finish the couplets:
What pretends to skip when really it limps....
What considers the affectation of skipping a sign of vigor...
It is true that skipping and limping in themselves should not be taken for an indicator of anything in particular. Anything that is not itself is wrong and yet this wrongness, the flux of categories and appropriateness, is the mechanism of life. My point was that it is interesting how the more conscious decision making is included within a process the more complex that process becomes, it no longer 'advances' but convolutes around the core of itself. This is not to say that such complexity/experience is a 'wrong' thing, as it is what happens, but that this complexity is the condition for producing the next generation of skipping simplicity... skipping is necessarily a transient stage as is limping.
Potentiality is a retrospectively recognised category which is applied to pure/innocent forms from a position scarred by experience. The extent to which 'potential' really exists in a young project is a hypothetical issue. I am happy to think 'old' thoughts appropriate to my experience, this is not to say I do not appreciate 'young' thoughts but only where they are authentic.
As a system experiences a gain in complexity (increased order and control), it's constituent parts and processes experience a loss (of potential divergence), what with increased redundancy or tautology and tighter inter-penetration. For the system, while fragility might increase (+ entropy), the number of stress points (options) may actually decline. Overall, options are lost. Adaptibility is negated. This is the conservative principle which tends toward unification. Too much organized complexity is known as overspecialisation. The dinosaurs are said to have died of this.
But this is not a one-to-one correspondant with organic growth. The child (of any species) is no less complex than the adult, only less ordered from the perspective outside of it (parent, adult society, environmental contingencies). That is to say, it is adaptable. It engages in its own ordering, blossoming, exploration or autonomy, but still within the parameters of its context. This is the principle of divergence. The plant is no less complex during the growing or vegetative state than the mature or reproductive.
In an earlier day, humans celebrated turning points with feasts. By reducing options (possible turning points) for the constituent, increased order actually simplifies matters (for the system and all within it): choices become unnecessary, if not impossible.
Of course, I don't like negentropic complexity. It sometimes takes a moral stand toward the young and "disordered". I do like this
I am happy to think 'old' thoughts appropriate to my experience, this is not to say I do not appreciate 'young' thoughts but only where they are authenticbut only where "authenticity" implies the spontaneous expression of possibilities. This may be why the young have such good bullshit detectors, detectors which seem to lose function with increased experience or education. But as you say,
it is what happens, ...is the condition for producing the next generation of skipping... skipping is necessarily a transient stage as is limping.What is unnecessary is the exclusive outside perspective of constraining forces. Children can and do feed their parents, from time to time: "Out of the mouths of babes..." There is another old expression which suggests "surroundings by children keep one young at heart". This is not necessarily inauthenticity in the old if it encourages a lighter, less rigid, less serious approach to life. It may have been Maslow who called this "wisdom", which we only occasionally see in the very old. Limping is more pronounced in solitude and nursing homes. In fact, it is expected, and like the ghost of Lewis Carroll found, the exploration of growing surroundings leads to charges, not of wisdom, but paedophilia. It may be nevertheless that even the aged can still mimic their surroundings, but only, hopefully, if there is something still growing there.
These days, I seem to see more rigid, adult-like expression in the young and very little potential (options), the very time when we need childishness the very mostest. It seems children no longer play. I too miss the olden days, simpler times. There was a time when one could exercise a certain avoidance of mimicking surroundings wherein nothing can grow.
As for the guillotine, it does not follow that I am promoting geronticide, in which case I'd have to take my place at the head of a very long line.
The class war begins in the desecration of our ancestors: millions of people going to their graves as failures, forever denied the experience of a full human existence, their being was simply canceled out. The violence of the bourgeoisie's appropriation of the world of work becomes the structure that dominates our existence. As our parents die, we can say truly that their lives were for nothing, that the black earth is thrown down onto them blacks out our sky.History is a variant of ancestor worship: the ancients are exposed (or excavated) to impose upon the future. History not only seeks out but often constructs ancient stories (historians and archaeologists call this "reconstruction", but that would imply an actual return), stories which not only justify the present, but posit the origins of a present trend toward the future which one seeking power has in mind. History is a tool of futurology, the futures industry, the management of yet-born babies. History seeks to carry on traditions we agree with into the future. We criticise "pagan" ancestor worship (even though it is so separated from us – we know nothing of it – the ancients would likely not agree to our reconstructions) because we bow to no one but that which is yet to come.– Monsieur Dupont
So we are messianic hero worshipers. Heroes are worshiped in the way a hammer is to a carpenter. Thor was the greatest of carpenters working in wood, metals and forging foundaries, architect of grand flashes and joyful noises. Because the burgeois revolution did away with flaming Viking burials and noble lines and transgressive ('romantic') love, history is the mechanism by which one can choose one's own ancestors. Not only indiscriminately, but with the intention of capturing future children. It is the hero-becoming. Predecessor supersedes ancestor as the new name for culture heroes. The supersession is no longer one of bodies excreted from bodies but of ideas following lines of ideas like the queue at the drug-store on the premier of a new palliative. The glue of this bandaid only adheres to ideas. Max Stirner called them "Spooks". Today, a Spook is a body engaged in preserving dead ideas in the misguided interest of "intelligence". Intelligence always leaves forgotten corpses in its wake.
When erudite historians find gods, they become unwitting gods for the benefit of the less witty but willful. They are the new owners of truth. It is always a matter of manipulating future children to conform to your own desired ends. More accurately, your means become their end. Most seeking personal agency toward the future fall into this category – historian. Romantics, on the other hand, have more escapist dispositions. It may be a bit more realistic, since the romances of the ancients still bring forth children of children, unimposed by the desecrating utilitarian ends of their biographers. Because they are dead, great grandparents are durable, untouchable and titanic. We blame them for our good luck but not for our misfortune. That is the task of eugenicists and ethnic cleansers. Great grandpa certainly didn't have me in mind while making love with grandma! I would hope he had her in mind, but who knows these things? The old prophecy, "Only time will tell", has yet to be fulfilled. Time still says nothing!
And if time itself is an illusion of logic and the psycho-biology of sensation, simultaneity and synchronicity must be as well. When we others contemplate the idea that time is itself a myth, we can come to witness myth-time. History is no substitute for the memory of having had been there. And if parts of us are still there, it can only mean parts of them are still here. Historians are said to reflect on the past, but like the vampires of empires (for whom they are only a spokesperson), they leave no image on the mirror – we still see only our own reflection.
What we contrary others are in favour of is a properly held seance with the there and then among the here and now. We are for trance communications, chance entrances, liberating prisoners of dream-time, negating the contradiction between possibility and reality, laughing at them both. Truth is not the goal of memory and possibility. Truth is an end to all exploration, the completion of every project, the birth of amnesia. Truth is the patron saint of time and anti-saint of movement. When a historian uncovers the past, we are only then able to forget it, secure that it is still alive and well, confined to a lead coffin and not likely to infect us. Unlike that scholar of time, we others are against amnesia.
I dislocated chosen sentence fragments from the tail ends of the dialogue-narrative sections, added two line breaks, and placed them above the poems, the effect being that they give the impression -- and stand in place -- of titles for the poems. There is a happy feeling that comes to me when I consider the idea of mindlessly chopping off the end of a sentence, considering it not part of the previous sentence, and being satisfied with it as a title in light of the appearance of it's complete lack of relation to the poem. I don't know why this makes me feel happy. Maybe I will figure it out some day. After playing around with this technique for a little play, I betrayed its mindlessness and put into action a somewhat cheesey scheme, which I now view as finality: the fragmented poem "titles", when read alone in succession, now create a calculated sentence that relates generally to the theme of the writing, which is also, in a sense, me speaking directly to Eddie. It's astonishingly serendipitous how this worked out actually, considering I had not planned to do it when originally writing the narrative chain links:I have a theory about this, why this synchronicity might bring on happiness. I might call it semantic-desire accompli except I earlier tried to obliterate desire from my vocabulary. Receptivity then. A sort of resonance in a brain, undulating holes in the head open to ... anything. It resonates with infant awe and teenage horniness, something we thought we'd forgotten once we learned to speak everyone else's "language" and appropriate sexual game rules for hormonal transactions and payoffs. Yuk. It is a desire for unknown potential, not for objects. If there is satisfaction for this "desire", it generally comes as an anticlimactic "duh". It is not a transaction. Just receptivity. It's up there with a well placed malapropism or a string of random words or selections (divination). Sometimes there is profound meaning there which others write off as "coincidence". Who cares. It makes me giggle. Maybe receptivity is the condition for creation. A hole which does not distinguish between square, triangular or round pegs. As to how this synchronicity comes about is magic.
"Eddie, it occurred to me the other day that, for instance, I shelter my part of this abandonment to future generations and daydream the aesthetic merits of dislocating language, and Eddie, I intend to put them to use."– anomynous
...there is no subject of the unconscious, and the unconscious doesn't speak, or discuss things. It works in its own way, it fools around, doodles. It doesn't give a shit! The unconscious is not "structured like a language." It's annoying, but it's true!
The unconscious doubly doesn't give a shit about structure or language (except for the "language of flowers" when it's a question of jokes about wasps! But whatever!).
No unconscious subjectivity!
No reference structure!– Guattari in the Anti-Oedipus papers.
One is a patriarch named Dick. Zero is his dream girl, the succubus named Lilith. On being notified by high court-advisors that dream-time is irrealis, the not un-bright Dick, in a fit of proper Aristotelian over-generalisation, proclaimed to all women the new official status: "Nothing". The hypocrisy displayed throughout the kingdom thereafter, was formalised by metaphysicians every-where: the death instinct! This caught on so well that a certain techno-rock band in the future modified their spaceship to perform the spectacular "sun-dive" so well illustrated by Douglas Adams, and during one particular rupture of the space-time continuum at a very large rock concert with a consequent incursion into the Meso-american interregnal hiatus, highly impressed exiled Aztec and Mayan over-lords back on Earth, who misinterpreted the whole black affair as an announcement of hunger and a demand for return for past warmings by the sun, created human sacrifice as a debt-reduction initiative.
I think it is interesting that it is precisely the supreme value an individual places on his or her imagination as a place of refuge, an unfettered landscape of fecundity within the mind which acts as one of the very unsung, yet primary re-enforcements of alienation in that the individual will often not only take solace within it (but revel within and defend its alienated activity fervently).
Especially when imagination has become the last line of defense and has no intent of superseding its state of privacy – it's a sort of reveling in the hope for communication, yet never caring to actually make the step and communicate, and being complacent with that hope, because one has become so accustomed to not only relying on their own last-ditch sort of imaginative power, but even worshiping it as the highest virtue to an extent, never seeing that its very refusal to burgeon outside of the mind is one of the wealthiest benefactors of alienation.
In a way, it's really one of the only things left to lose for people – and some do indeed lose it, I would imagine – so in this sense, maybe it's a sort of desperate grasp on imagination which makes people vicious about defending its alienated quality – lest they lose it – as they themselves witness in so many others around them
To say the least then, the point of imagination with intent to move beyond itself then seems to be precisely the meaning of "radical subjectivity" – when someone shows others that they have imagination too, and are willing to act on it, is imagination anything beyond alienated consciousness if it remains in private and doesn't eventually translate into moving human gestures?
Everywhere neon signs are flashing out the dictum of Plotinus: All beings are together though each remains separate. But we only need to hold out our hands and touch one another, to raise our eyes and meet one another, and everything comes into focus, as if by magic."
In a gloomy bar where everyone is bored to death, a drunken young man breaks his glass, then picks up a bottle and smashes it against the wall. Nobody gets excited; the disappointed young man lets himself be thrown out. Yet everyone there could have done exactly the same thing.
He alone made the thought concrete, crossing the first radioactive belt of isolation: interior isolation, the introverted separation between self and outside world. Nobody responded to a sign which he thought was explicit. He remained alone like the hooligan who burns down a church or kills a policeman, at one with himself but condemned to exile as long as other people remain exiled from their own existence. He has not escaped from the magnetic field of isolation; he is suspended in a zone of zero gravity.
All the same, the indifference which greets him allows him to hear the sound of his own cry; even if this revelation tortures him, he knows that he will have to start again in another register, more loudly; with more coherence. – Raoul Vaneigem
Because imagination itself travels freely within the mind, human ideas simply cannot be owned by the mind, nor do they ever pretend otherwise while floating about, transiently and unchecked within it – the inherent freedom based in the mind's internal ability to skirt reified judgment (as provided by conscious will or arbitrary desires to a means of achieving the emotion-addled serenity that is imagined subjective amnesty), allowing for the idealistically expansive potentiality of unmediated imagination, is its greatest ability. The strange beauty of the mind is its absolute freedom to feel absolved at will (or on parole) from the pseudo-need to own itself – freedom in the transient passage of the non-ownership of ideas and freedom to not confusedly feel ashamed about not owning the collective synthesis that is an idea, as the objectified realm of "reality" would otherwise attempt to make one feel in the name of the creation of contrived emotion, through its appropriation of impersonalized (pseudo) "intellectual" copyright laws (etc.).
I associate travel in this sense, in that an honest attempt at realizing imagination in physical reality must be true to imagination's already-nomadic freedom. The body desires to move in step with the mind.
I would imagine another reason for associating travel with imagination is tied in with the attempt to apply a higher quantity of a posteriori sensations feeding back into it – commodified imagination can flourish perfectly with a human being never moving a single geographical step in his/her life as its reciever – perfectly without the slightest error or complaint regarding its already-determined mode of deliverence. One could be hooked up to food-supplying tubes in a room and given various commodities to contemplate (toys, tv, internet, musical instruments, whatever) and the definition of imagination in its regular state would remain perfectly intact. I think one might need a vast culmination of constantly varying physical/geographical locations to act at the very least as a prelude to breaking the spell of commodity-imagination, which requires nothing but a priori intake of sense-data to remain dominant (literally experiencing new environments outside of what the commodity has already determined/allocated for our lives seems like the beginning of escaping the ingrained "wants" it provides us with, the need to somehow break the spell of its epistemological dominance). One can go on theoretical adventures here and there, but it always drags you back down to that land of banality.
You think you're old. Time to settle down. Leave childish ambitions behind. Time to settle in. But you're only half way along! The time to settle down is the time of retirement. Have you made plans? Will you be able to support yourself in a life of liesure? Will your family survive the ordeal? The answer is always "No". Settling in becomes the end of youthful idealism. The last precipitous ejaculation, The final premature destination. At this point, all new is experienced As by a spectator, An hostile witness. It's all just so grand! The past is history, the future, mystery – and all that jazz. A comfortable lie, A secure life does not concern itself with questionation. It is resignation. Nothing's left to imagination, Always just another imposition. But there is still such a long way to go! I wear my invisibility cap so I can fit it. No wave pounds these beaches. I am beached, waveless! There is a reason this rhymes with "beat". If I do my job, I can enjoy the little luxuries in peace, the little moments, a carrot, a truffle, a sardine sandwich with a slow-gin chaser, ever watching my children and grandchildren grow up to be like me.Don't you want it?
"What loftiness and awe have I seen expressed in the step of an actress, not yet deceased, when first she advanced, and came down towards the audience! I was ravished, and with difficulty kept my seat! Pass we to the mazes of the dance, the inimitable charms and picturesque beauty that may be given to the figure while still unmoved, and the ravishing grace that dwells in it during its endless changes and evolutions...And so with articulate speech and music:
Let us for a moment fix our thoughts steadily upon that little implement, the human voice. Of what unnumbered modulations is it susceptible! What terror may it inspire! How may it electrify the soul, and suspend all its functions! How infinite is its melody! How instantly it subdues the hearer to pity or to love! How does the listener hang upon every note praying that it may last for ever." – William Godwin
Such "burgeois sentiment"! But we are not in that compartment! Our topic is the drug culture! To lose hold of compartmentalised thinking is surely the road to incoherence! So on with the treatise:
Used medicinally, raw opium is neither toxic nor addictive. By medicinally, I imply an archaic sense: "without immolative intent" (that is to say, where "shit-faced" is not the intended goal). It's also a good relaxing buzz, unlike bio-accumulating aluminum fluoro-silicates or a razor-blade to the wrist. Does anyone here shave?? Opium's mercurial use is of course, both legal, commercially regulated and deadly in all its transubstantiated states, Mercury being the god of commerce and rhetoric and whose scepter is a staff with two intertwining snakes. Why do you suppose the American Medical Association holds up Mercury's staff like a magic wand? Until fairly recent progress in medical science, mercury was considered among the deadliest of homicidal bio-accumulants and inserted into every vaccine, like formaldehyde in canned beer – a "preservative". Of course, there is the theory that modern medicine was not so much the heir-apparent of the sanitation industry, but of the mad chemists who supplied assassins their chief commodity.
And on the topic of hashish, "stoners" are said to only wish to "escape" from existing conditions (What a profound critique!) with the added clause "rather than change them!". Isn't there a logical connection between escape and abstinence? And I ask you, how better does one go about re-oxygenating the atmosphere than the planting of vast fields of marijuana? How many of these critics religously imbibe in their legally sanctioned, mind-numbing pharmaceuticals like zyprexa and zoloft? Or Aluminum fluoro-silicates? Or vegan kelp saturated with mercury from microbiotic excrement and dessicated factory sludge? I think the argument is not about the self-administration of toxins at all (that would be an altruistic concern), but a stand of moral certitude against momentary pleasures oneself dares not entertain.
Either way, subcultural millieus, with or without beards and leghair, only reflect their surroundings. The church is just a social club with moral agency, together with persuasive reason (rhetoric) ripped off and pragmatically detourned from the supercultural historical matrix. Both commerce and modern medicine depend upon an advancing state of rhetoric. Decay is remedied not by hairdressers and drug-stores, but by mortuaries. For death, formaldehyde is the drug of choice to keep hungry bugs from thriving on your corpse, where even in death and reflective repose, we cannot stop the withholding of gifts.
How can a praxis exist in the sense of 'the usual'? The word praxis means the perpetual and constant reinvention of new theory that responds to the kinesthetic knowledge gained through practice and new practice that responds to the abstract knowledge gained through theory. If what is taking place is actually a 'praxis', (it) could then only be something that is experimental. – anomynous
Could it be that Herbert Spencer, in his Evolution By Means of 'The Unrelenting Progress from Simple to Complex Forms', provides the unwitting foundation for Libertarian Communism (aka "libcom", cf. libcom.org)? From the perspective of the Redneck American Party promoting stateless free markets, Libertarian Communism would certainly be an oxymoron, yet even Engels was Spencerian in his own evolutionism! It is said it is only a matter of coincidence that Spencer's gravesite faces that of Karl Marx, but I am beginning to see a Spencerian Marxism as the ultimate in dialectical synthesis, resulting not so much in a movement as in a haphazzard confusion in the guise of ecumenical coherence. Being himself a Brit, Spencer, no doubt, was the more influential thinker for speakers of english, closely following the heels of his immediate predecessor, not Hegel nor even Darwin, but George H. Lewes who, coining the term, "social organism", gave us a liturgy in praise of optimisation and support for the "naturalness" of empire in freeing up human accomplishment:
In the development of the great series of animal organisms, the Nervous System assumes more and more of an imperial character. The rank held by any animal is determined by this character, and not at all by its bulk, its strength, or even its utility. In like manner, in the development of the social organism, as the life of nations becomes more complex, Thought assumes a more imperial character; and Literature, in its widest sense, becomes a delicate index of social evolution. Barbarous societies show only the germs of literary life. But advancing civilisation, bringing with it increased conquest over material agencies, disengages the mind from the pressure of immediate wants, and the loosened energy finds in leisure both the demand and the means of a new activity: the demand, because long unoccupied hours have to be rescued from the weariness of inaction; the means, because this call upon the energies nourishes a greater ambition and furnishes a wider arena.
Literature is at once the cause and the effect of social progress. It deepens our natural sensibilities, and strengthens by exercise our intellectual capacities. It stores up the accumulated experience of the race, connecting Past and Present into a conscious unity; and with this store it feeds successive generations, to be fed in turn by them. As its importance emerges into more general recognition, it necessarily draws after it a larger crowd of servitors, filling noble minds with a noble ambition.
There is no need in our day to be dithyrambic on the glory of Literature. Books have become our dearest companions, yielding exquisite delights and inspiring lofty aims. They are our silent instructors, our solace in sorrow, our relief in weariness. With what enjoyment we linger over the pages of some well-loved author! With what gratitude we regard every honest book! Friendships, prefound and generous, are formed with men long dead, and with men whom we may never see. The lives of these men have a quite personal interest for us. Their homes become as consecrated shrines. Their little ways and familiar phrases become endeared to us, like the little ways and phrases of our wives and children.
It is natural that numbers who have once been thrilled with this delight should in turn aspire to the privilege of exciting it. Success in Literature has thus become not only the ambition of the highest minds, it has also become the ambition of minds intensely occupied with other means of influencing their fellow – with statesmen, warriors, and rulers. Prime ministers and emperors have striven for distinction as poets, scholars, critics, and historians. Unsatisfied with the powers and privileges of rank, wealth, and their conspicuous position in the eyes of men, they have longed also for the nobler privilege of exercising a generous sway over the minds and hearts of readers. To gain this they have stolen hours from the pressure of affairs, and disregarded the allurements of luxurious ease, labouring steadfastly, hoping eagerly. Nor have they mistaken the value of the reward. Success in Literature is, in truth, the blue ribbon of nobility. – Principles of Success in Literature
And then there is Lewes' biggest fan, Samuel Butler who provides an unapproachable sophistry for property here:
there can be no doubt that cunning is in the long run mightier than luck as regards the acquisition of property, and what applies to property applies to organism also. Property, as I have lately seen was said by Rosmini, is a kind of extension of the personality into the outside world. He might have said as truly that it is a kind of penetration of the outside world within the limits of the personality, or that it is at any rate a prophesying of, and essay after, the more living phase of matter in the direction of which it is tending. If approached from the dynamical or living side of the underlying substratum, it is the beginning of the comparatively stable equilibrium which we call brute matter; if from the statical side, that is to say, from that of brute matter, it is the beginning of that dynamical state which we associate with life; it is the last of ego and first of non ego, or vice versâ, as the case may be; it is the ground whereon the two meet and are neither wholly one nor wholly the other, but a whirling mass of contradictions such as attends all fusion.
What property is to a man’s mind or soul that his body is also, only more so. The body is property carried to the bitter end, or property is the body carried to the bitter end, whichever the reader chooses; the expression “organic wealth” is not figurative; none other is so apt and accurate; so universally, indeed, is this recognised that the fact has found expression in our liturgy, which bids us pray for all those who are any wise afflicted “in mind, body, or estate;” no inference, therefore, can be more simple and legitimate than the one in accordance with which the laws that govern the development of wealth generally are supposed also to govern the particular form of health and wealth which comes most closely home to us – I mean that of our bodily implements or organs. What is the stomach but a living sack, or purse of untanned leather, wherein we keep our means of subsistence? Food is money made easy; it is petty cash in its handiest and most reduced form; it is our way of assimilating our possessions and making them indeed our own. What is the purse but a kind of abridged extra corporeal stomach wherein we keep the money which we convert by purchase into food, as we presently convert the food by digestion into flesh and blood? And what living form is there which is without a purse or stomach, even though it have to job it by the meal as the amœba does, and exchange it for some other article as soon as it has done eating? How marvellously does the analogy hold between the purse and the stomach alike as regards form and function; and I may say in passing that, as usual, the organ which is the more remote from protoplasm is at once more special, more an object of our consciousness, and less an object of its own. – Luck or Cunning?
Spencer's message, "essentially an anti-political one about the efficacy of self-improvement rather than collective action in bringing about the promised future state of human perfection." is distorted through Marx: "the main political message was essentially about the efficacy of collective improvement than self-action in bringing about the promised future state of human perfection." The hostility between private and communal property results in the retreat to Plato's subject-object (self-other) opposition such that the most vociferous anti-state stand becomes one of full support, the state's proponent under a new name and fully in league with that devil, Hegel, a retreat to a condition to which we remain entrapped, a constant struggle between theft for personal gain (underlying private property) and sacrifice for collective good (underlying communal property). It is never considered that neither theft nor sacrifice are neither necessary nor sufficient conditions for social/communal life. We are speaking here of generic property itself which, in any form, must both derive from and progress to social war if there is any cunning (or consciousness) to remain in the species.
"If slavery is characterised (on that point we are at one) by compulsory labour for the benefit of others; in no society whatever, or at any time, whether in the feudal ages or in times of slavery has a greater amount of compulsory labour been extracted from the producing classes" (Paul Lafargue, 1884: A Few Words with Mr Herbert Spencer).
But the system of communal property does not eliminate slavery (as all marxists propose) but renders it only out of site and thereafter, out of mind – slaves without masters ("Left Hegelians") – albeit the extent of extraction does not come close to the capitalist alternative. Masters without slaves ("Right Hegelians") is precisely equivalent and equally impossible. The master, of course, is the sacrificial synergy called the socialist state or the anarchist federation, direct democracy or Aristotle's "Greater Good". It matters not that we no longer call this system "slavery" just because one's own sacrifice is self-managed. We might instead call this system "The Roman Catholic Church (sans the priestly class)", ever handing out plenary indulgence in exchange for collective sacrificial offerings.
Althusser has already shown, following Marx' own logic, that no religion can survive without its priestly class: the avant garde.
In our culture, in our capital, everything is rape, a violation and an extraction. Even dentistry can be said to follow this pattern. A little sweet persuasion to suck you in, an extraction and replacement with the false. To desire anything else becomes absurd. It all seems so natural. Consent seems superfluous.
Intimacy occurs, but only between the lines, secure from the toothpick and floss of capital's maximisation. Along the main-lines, even consensuality is a delusion of politics. Mutual intimacy, an inter-independence, or what I've called patamimesis, is a fluke occurrence. It may even be a fantasy. Who needs fantasy, especially of the romantic variety? A one-sided intimacy is objectification of the other and always autoerotica. Sex becomes merely a sport of mutual masturbation. People are so fucked. And I'm not even thinking morality. We are just smart enough to be this stupid. Yes, dogs are intelligent! I've never seen a dog raped except by humans. Did somebody say something about disalienation? Fuck!
You say, "It is not helpful to say everything is X"?
It can be helpful when it suggests, even figuratively, a common pattern. This is not a math problem. There is a fine line between non-consensual and consensual violence. Do you not consent to work? Is this not the volunteer army? Do we not speak of environmental rape, whether in mining or wheat farming? Prison rape is institutionalised discipline, carried out in the most part by guards and their stooges to enforce policy/subservience with the additional benefit that a myth spreads on the outside of pervasive rape in prison to deter potential criminals. Mere prison is itself not enough of a deterrent. Inside, everything is clear – no rape occurs without an obvious transaction. In political economy, the world articulated by accumulation and expenditure and consequent power, there is no need to distinguish between currency and product. Means and ends always seem to merge so readily.
Certainly even Marx implies that capital rapes corpses – commodities are accumulations of objectified dead labour. Reich definitely suggests a rapacious pattern in political economy, to the extent he called his therapy sex-economic.
If politics concerns accumulation and economics expenditure, then rape is an adequate metaphor when violence (more accurately, "violation") is added to the soup. Accumulation? What good is an accumulation of words if one tells no stories? There is no accumulation without discharge, if only in the form of puss. We inhale and then exhale. We don't even need to think about it. Expenditure? Nothing can be spent which is not first of all owned. The carbon dioxide I give to the plants was never mine own to keep. To withhold such a gift would be certain suicide. That is not, however, why I breath. I just do. Thank goodness for the reptilean brain, burried but not superseded by all that grey matter!
The point is that sexuality becomes an economic game and political strategy. Rape is not a sexual strategy. It is abuse and abuse only. According to the logic typically endorsed, if there is no outside of capital in this day and age, and capitalism is a form of rape (which cannot be denied on a metaphoric level, no matter the willingness of the rapees), then there is no outside of rape. (But you and I know better).
Insurrectionists say "It's all fucked! Destroy the totality!", while quite willing to use unscrupulous means against each other to obtain what is desired – if only political points at their comrade's expense. Solidarity is only another game, a temporary means to a permanent end.
Saying something like "everything is X" can be helpful if it breaks up compartmentalised thinking, the total blindness to common patterns and our reproduction of them. But to say consensual violence is rape? That's just crazy! We must maintain a distance between the literal and figurative.
You will know when you've been literally raped, and probably not use it as a badge of honor like young boys comparing scabs. What is depicted in the rape fantasy scenario (cf., Blue Velvet) is a fetish for violence and/or, perhaps punishment. This sort of thing, when portrayed as mutually consensual, demonstrates a co-dependency. To call it "natural" or demonstrating an "any-thing-goes" radicality is merely a justification for neurosis. There are neurotic dogs, but by and large, these are modeling or reacting to the human neuroses in their social environment. I've not seen a neurotic coyote as they are rarely civilised.
Biology is just a bit more complicated than the simplistic human displays of "It's-in-your-genes" ontology. Genes are only effective in producing proteins, and those are simultaneously messages, messaging and messengers – deliveries of possibilities in a vast weave of sequence chains, not ransom notes with lists of demands or proscriptions for behaviour. It is not genes which are actualised, but organisms. In fact, genes are quite easily countered by education and medical application. We are repeatedly told, there are no good genes:
Fourth law of civilization: The human gene whose discovery is announced in the New York Times – there's one every day, a gene du jour – is for some bad trait, like schizophrenia, kleptomania, or pneumonia. We have no good genes.– Marshal Sahlins
Humans establish an exclusive territory which our dogs protect, regardless of other animals present. The human proclaims the coyote "enemy". It is the female coyote that "lures" off the male dog, now an antagonistic species. But you could also say that the dog is merely following his nose when the estrus-female smells are saturating the air. It is an inviting aroma. It is also confusing and can over-shadow a boy's generally better sensibilities. If he has a history of interfering with coyote territorial movements, the others will kill him. We certainly cannot say she came into heat "in order" that the pack can kill a pesky dog.
It is true that very young dogs will chase most anything running, they become more discriminating with age unless this "self-actualisation" is inhibited. My dogs play with coyotes because I've not taught them that coyotes are the enemy. Even after a tiff, the dog does not come away with species hatred. A lot of other animals share this territory. There are many "coydogs" in these parts. For a dog, coyotes are like the Indians at Croatan. It's really pretty easy for a dog to lose it's domesticity in their presence. Without them, "wild dogs" around population centers go absolutely ape-shit neurotic.
Once I herded sheep with a young coyote who'd been learning moves at my older dog's side. We have been told domestic animals have become infantile. This is bullshit. We place them in conditions of dependency, and then justify that relationship by saying "they've become dependent creatures". The implication is that like ourselves, they must be taken care of like helpless children. Sure, we've bred many out of ever reaching maturity, as a "cosmetic" modification, but this does not generalise across the field of domesticity. Nothing very infantile in appearance with a mangy old junk-yard police dog going for your throat or with my adult male goats with a four foot horn-span, twisting outwards like a pair of scimitars. This may in fact contribute to the fact that the coyotes in these parts are so docile and child-like, if one can say a cautious respect around someone who could bury you in a minute is childish at all! So I wouldn't actually say I don't believe in genes, I just think they are way overrated, especially where behaviour is concerned.
Seasonal breeders do not commit rape, unless one considers it "rape" to use what are in more intimate contexts, the same body gestures in an aggressive, violent or punishing one. But this is not sexual behaviour. It is the aggressive exertion of dominance in antagonistic or punishing social relations using symbols (gestures) we more generally equate with another motivational context – intimacy, arousal or estrus.
Most males show a quite surprising respect for, or accommodation to female space ("bitchiness"). My theory explaining why the male lion developed so big and strong is for an insurance policy to fall back on for those times the female is not sharing food, even when there is plenty to go around. It can't be for hunting prowess, as the female is the huntress, and plenty capable at that. Remember, it is the female praying mantis or black widow, after all, who offs the old man after (and sometimes during) sex. Or is she only putting him out of his misery after he's spent himself to the utmost in a grand copulation? Motivation is always a difficult subject, particularly considering how often our own is not always clear.
Sex occurs only when the female is "ready". It is her readiness which gets the fella excited. And often the reverse is also true. When males are separated for a season, their mere presence on return can put a troop of females into simultaneous heat. The males don't display "horny" behaviour until at least one female has signaled her coming receptivity. I think homosexuality is mislabeled. Since Marx and Freud, the only motivations or fundamentals for any behaviour are considered economic or sexual. Many seem to see sex itself as merely another economic exchange. Can we really say an animal not alienated from social intimacy (or biology, for that matter) commits rape?
Because the hen's back and neck are raw and void of feathers does not mean the rooster is violently attacking her. It is a side-effect of trying to maintain a good grip when all he's got is a beak and sharp talons. A larger harem would seem to mitigate this effect. By the same token, I don't feel violated when my wife digs her nails into my back.
But it's just too easy to anthropomorphise these things. It is always a mistake to translate another animal's gestures or body language according to our own displays. Humping is sexual in sexual contexts. In baboons, it can be a polite greeting from an uncle to his nephew. Dairy cows hump each other when they are coming into heat. It is a display of dominance only in the context of dominance relations, just as mooning is not always a sign of submission or eagerness for sexual mounting. Sometimes it is taunting and aggressive mockery. For a hungry lion, it is an invitation to supper.
As in human speech, context is everything. All is relative only when there is a context of relations, and only from this view can we see that all is also patterned. Chaos is only the confusion of one pattern for another. That may require a closer look, but not hurt feelings and desperation. In this sense I remain an optimist.
Just a clarification. There is no psychosis without poetry. Psychosis is defined as a thought disorder. Disordered thinking is measured, evaluating comprehension and reproduction of logic games where there is an objective, one-to-one correspondent or at least a best fitting referent for any word and a similarly appropriate answer to any question – "concrete operations".
Abstract thinking is measured by learned repetition of democratic (clichéd) responses (platitudes) to quandaries such as 1) "why should you not throw stones in a glass house", and 2) "what does 'the early bird catches the worm' mean to you?". If your answer is a literal match, such as 'stones break windows' or 'worms come to the surface in the morning', or even 'you will avoid the later-ensuing competition', you are considered concrete and limited, but not psychotic -- perhaps engineering, perhaps even cop potential. If your response illustrates any creativity, the kind which seems 'strange' to the interviewer, especially if it leaves the semantic territory bounded by the question, it is evidence of either a thought disorder or arrested development.
Example 2) "The bus driver wouldn't wait five seconds for an old lady in a walker. Tonight I'm going to throw rocks at his house."
These are, in fact the correct answers to the two questions, but will land you in the clink every time with, not only red flags, but roman candles going off in every corridor.
Suffering is not sufficient to warrant a diagnosis of mental illness. Everyone suffers. If you complain, it shows you have a rational mind. If you don't complain, you cannot be diagnosed. Any one who doesn't suffer must be crazy in this crazy world we've made. Mental illness can only be diagnosed where suffering interferes with one's work. Others can complain for you in case you really are crazy and can't see the problem (that suffering and civilisation are a priori concomitant). Employment is the cure for those who suffer and do not work. Pushing carts at Walmart is thought to give one a hightened sense of self-importance and consequent relief from melancholy and other personal deficencies.
When I tried to explain the synopsis of the book, Catch 22 to the shrinks and added that living and working for a living was for me an impossible contradiction which could only lead to suicide (this being my fifth work-related suicide attempt in as many years), my diagnosis was changed from major depression to unspecified psychosis with depressive features.
This whole bag is more important than it appears. Psychosis often refers to a private joke, an unshared meaning which may or may not feel personally troublesome – that doesn't really matter. It doesn't even matter if there is an intent to share it, although unless shared, who would know? It possibly refers to an avant garde joke, where meaning is shared only by a select few (certainly "shady" characters), exclusive of the analyst. The clincher is when an internal dialogue, something we all experience, takes on auditory qualities. If we externalise their source, paranoia is added to the diagnosis.
The one state of exception occurs if there is pre-existing drug use, as criminality takes precedence over psychology. Criminals are sane by definition, and drug-induced psychosis is a criminal, not psychological diagnosis, "cured" by incarceration, abstinence and/or the payment of tribute. Either way, all psychotic rambling is poetry if it is sold, particularly when book sellers can buy a new cadilac every year off the proceeds of long dead poets, psychotic or not, straight-edge or not. If it is written, you can sell it. There are always specialty markets, and if even these should fail, there is the tax write-off. Publishing is a win-win scenario recapitulating the priority of form over content.
If the standardised dictionary is the source par excellént for technical exposition, and technical exposition is the model for language, if communication is reduced to objective cartography, if there is a deep structure of generative grammar, the like on which our computers are built, then poetry and psychosis are synonyms. Frankly, I don't buy the list of premises, but I still generally adhere to the conclusion. The relativity of meaning is the basis of the Jain epistemology of "perhaps". I understand the common reaction against the word "relativity" and its disasterous "anything-goes" connotations in some quarters. If you are so offended, please substitute the word, "contingency". But this is just another illustration contra to objective technical exposition and why authentific scientific treatises are resplendent with operational definitions, useful only for matters at hand.
'Men rape', so funny. No but do you get it? It's so funny. No, not funny, so true. Do you get it, what it really means I mean?
I see a young, man-on-the-street Diogenes holding up a mirror to any who might look. Really, too young to have such smarts, perhaps not practiced enough to see himself in the same mirror, but just facetious enough to say "If thy right eye offends thee, pluck it out!". Perhaps we know what men are and what rape is. The combination is sufficiently poetic. As an absolute truth in the cartographic sense, it is nonsensequiter – perhaps we know women who rape too or men who do not. In the poetic sense, it is true, false or indeterminant and any combination there-of according to the context within which it is distributed (that being the speech environment or its facsimiles or simulations). The literal, objective sense is by comparison false every time. That is the extracted, isolated sense, where even the sentence itself must be dissected and mutilated, in a word, raped and analized like the scientist in Swift's Gulliver's Travels attempting to extract sunlight from cucumbers pushed through a meat grinder.
It is well documented by historical biographers that Jonathin Swift suffered and in fact died from melancholic bouts of AAS (Antonin Artaud Syndrome). Sometimes even commodification of language offers no state of exception for a diagnosis of deficiency, especially when that language is critical of social tradition itself. And Artaud had the balls to suggest van Gogh was suicided by society! The only reason news media exists beyond mere literary publishing is to discredit possibly uncomfortable meanings with accusations of insanity, crime or paedophilia – the ad hominem attack. We used to call them gossip rags. They are not so much purveyors of lies as vendors of psychological defense mechanism, good for sweeping inconvenience under the rug.
There is no psychosis without poetry. Paranoid features merely illustrate the amnesia regarding the equality of absurdities. We forget the humour and are sucked into a vacuum cleaner attempting to map poetry onto the absolute truth of rigid forms. This is ultimately distressful, this taking the universe so seriously that our lives are endangered at every turn and laughter becomes maniacal or disapears into an abysmal black void.
Poetic Note: line & circle, sperm & egg, male & female, expenditure & consumption. menstrual leakage & star charts, pain & turmoil field potential, oscilation & gating back trouble & yogic chiropracty engagement & disengagement transmission & modulation \improvisational jazz
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is an indispensable companion to all those who are keen to make sense of life in an infinitely complex and confusing Universe, for though it cannot hope to be useful or informative on all matters, it does at least make the reassuring claim, that where it is inaccurate it is at least definitely inaccurate. In cases of major discrepancy it's always reality that's got it wrong.
This was the gist of the notice. It said "The Guide is definitive. Reality is frequently inaccurate."
This has led to some interesting consequences. For instance, when the Editors of the Guide were sued by the families of those who had died as a result of taking the entry on the planet Traal literally (it said "Ravenous Bugblatter beasts often make a very good meal for visiting tourists" instead of "Ravenous Bugblatter beasts often make a very good meal of visiting tourists") they claimed that the first version of the sentence was the more aesthetically pleasing, summoned a qualified poet to testify under oath that beauty was truth, truth beauty and hoped thereby to prove that the guilty party was Life itself for failing to be either beautiful or true. The judges concurred, and in a moving speech held that Life itself was in contempt of court, and duly confiscated it from all those there present before going off to enjoy a pleasant evening's ultragolf."
Q: I am not against images but emoticons are not images they are frozen packed communication units designed to facilitate the speed-up. I always feel abused on libcom when 'they' use them against me.
A: To facilitate what speed-up? What's a speed-up?
Speed creates invisibility . Amphetamines were mislabeled "speed" since it feels "more" can be done in "less" time when in actuality, time is taken out of the image/picture and one can finally move (or rest comfortably if a rocking chair is available ). Flashing past frozen images such as emoticons or subliminal video disconnections of the non-continuous, so well utilised in tv advertising and news broadcasts, generates an SEP  field around any phenomenon, rendering perfect invisibility. Some call this an Existential Meaning Discharge (EMD). Most lazily call it "Evidence". Hence, linguistic confusion produces the truth found in democratic consensus, since we all know the exchange relation between a picture and a thousand words. I've photos to prove it!
note : as in: "that chevy went by so fast, it was a blur!" or "It's not a word, I needn't read it!"
note : rocking chair: a technological device which functionally annuls all invisibility fields
note : SEP: "Somebody Else's Problem"
Anyway, back to the theological turn... i.e. a regression and revitalisation of that most redundant and superfluous mode of thinking:
What Battaille lacks in his thought is an abundance of antinomies. A thinker only really begins to think when he re-runs his arguments and finds some other alien thread in them, and after he has pulled that thread, he finds that all the bases he has exultantly explained now support entirely separate but equally adequate ideas/systems which he finds he cannot and must not deny (they are like vermin children which he has produced and which cling to him)... at this point a very real fear enters his thought via the sudden awareness of the audacious inadequacy of his early confident expositions – how could he have said such ignorant things? Now he is pressed, now he must stay up all night, now he must somehow reseal the circle, now he finds his own thoughts fleeing from him. He is compelled, like a gambler, he must double up his thoughts... he must allow them to run away from him. And there are so many thoughts in this infinite bifurcation of cells, that he really feels, and fears, for his own initial foolishness – what has he let himself in for? How has his logic led him down this path which is not one path but many? He now concludes that one only thinks when one arrives at that point where honesty requires the exposition of perhaps two, perhaps more than two, accounts for the same system, the same phenomena. He condemns himself to pursuing that which has just now left the room that he has entered; only when one thinks two thoughts in the same place at the same time does one become fearful of the universe – and this is the definition of thought, of form, fear of proliferation, fear of what more there is which is not, and cannot be, registered.– A. Wizard
Not only that, but all Battaille's base are belong to us.
Here's the thing, so to speak. How do you translate into linear-based language that from which we like to call "philosophical thought" which is not only a-linear, but a-circular (in-extensive) as well? You don't; at least not in a democratic or agreeable manner.
The universe is ultimately bent, or tolerant of its own curves. This is not a geometric condition. This means it can't take sides, mostly because there are none, not even for all the shiny bus tokens in china or chinese riding buses. The most basic dichotomy from which all others derive doesn't actually exist, at least not for very long. This is that difference between tolerance and intolerance which is the source of speed which Hegel confused for dialectics. The so-called intolerant, those living a delusional and very simplified existence which they like to call "orderly but over-complicated", travel very very fast to get nowhere. "Nowhere" is their word for death, but we already know, at least since Epicurus, that death is more precisely nowhere at all. Nowhere is the destination of the fast-moving intolerant (but in this, deluded) beings. Intolerance is the negation of itself travelling no direction very fast to stay put and therefore, cease to exist.
To circumvent this acknowledgement of one's own non-existence, and certainly one not of their own doing, the deluded decide to meddle with each other and everything around them, particularly with tolerant or maleable things, which only accelerates the whole process exponentially. This creates the illusion of mayhem, so the idea of leaving well enough alone occurs to no one. How could it?
Tolerance is not an aseptic assessment. It is receptivity prior to familiarity without masochistic necessity (aka, "duty"). Only tolerant beings can explore, and only exploration can bring pleasure. When it does not, we change direction, keeping in mind that it may also be our pleasure to stick a hat pin into our thigh to impress fellow travellers sitting at the bar in the pub. I know this because I find my own conditions to be intolerable, conditions which most tourists find serene but boring. It is the tourists who don't let me move when winter approaches and find a nice secluded ocean beach somewhere in the tropics. I find most tourists, therefore, intolerable. This seeming contradiction underlies the meaning in 'choice' and also 'agency'. But since exploratory praxis is not a teleological journey, speed also ceases to exist. We are left free to run or stand still as we see fit, especially when there is a logging truck coming at us doing about ninety with our name attached to its grill.
What is needed from revolutionaries and insurrectionists and other conscious (that is, disturbed) beings is to let the mayhem they initiate sort itself out. Mayhem hides an unconscious genius which might be interesting to witness self-actualise.
For example, when the new puppy escapes through the front door inadvertently left unlatched and runs down the road toward an on-coming logging truck, and you want to put an end to this sort of behaviour without resorting to a new regimen of mopping up piss every few hours for the rest of the puppy's duration with you, best not to re-confine it and nail your door shut. One way or another, any situation will sort itself out. Otherwise, what ever will you do with all those soggy rags?
All things which come together and fall apart and vice versa eventually come to some kind of balance, but even this is not a permanent condition. Toleration does not mean ignore or even expend (productively or otherwise). It means "explore". The only permanent condition, neither coming together nor falling apart, does not actually exist. Stasis is nothing without revolution, and just because something revolves, does not mean it ever returns to a point in its travels as the same beast. At this point I would say "there are no points", but this is madness.
Law is not exercised upon inert beings, but only upon those whose cooperation can be claimed. Obedience is always at least minimally active. This is why the recipient of a commandment is characterized as an agent, and why lawfulness attests to an implicit sovereignty. Docility in respect of the law is quite different from a surrender, in exactly the way that moralists are different from mystics. Surrender is a deeper evil than any possible action. The very principle of action is an acceptance of justice and responsibility, and any act is – as such – an amelioration of crime, expressing defiance within the syntax of redemption. In stark comparison with action, surrender gnaws away the conditions for salvation. Giving itself up to a wave of erasure, the agent dives into the cosmic reservoir of crime. Beyond the (agentic) pact with Satan lies an irreparable dissolution into forces of darkness, apart from which there is no ecstasy. Surrender is not a submission to an alien agency (devotion to God), but a surrender of agency in general, it is not any kind of consigning of oneself over to another (return to the father), but utter abandonment of self; a dereliction of duty which aggresses against one’s birth.– Nick Land
I t used to be said that Kafka’s stories use the religious form to relate to meaninglessness, the message is that there is no message... where explanation and resolution should be, there is a blank, and only the meaningless story remains...
In truth metaphorical comparisons rely on suppression of specific detail, therefore the Kafka stories seem to have meaning in our life (after all they are a product of this life) but the comparison or lessons work only if we suppress the actual details of our existence... the second thought in Kafka, the 'it is a rabbit and also a duck' quality, means we cannot really put our finger on what it is that is so like us.
The connection of poetry with distributivity is a stroke of genius. There was a time, according to Giambattista Vico, that all language was poetic. Historians of Greek literature concur. This means those old dead greeks tossing around the word, logos, were speaking of distribution, specifically within the presocratic flux – eros shouted. Do we not still say that matter, or that which matters, is well distributed through space and subjected to mutual influence? Logos matters. Eros is attractive, gravitational. Poe added the discordian effects of electricity, the friction Bateson renamed schizmogenesis.The 'we of a position' of accumulation is a starting point at the position of lack. When lack is inserted into the premise or mouth of a problem, it must remain in the anus or conclusion – we remain lacking, we are lackies. Accumulation from any other starting point is a prelude to a diaspora, a scattering, a consumption which could be a disease or a feast. From the position of use-value which posits consumption as a function of accumulation, an opposing force built into economy itself, we are only viewing a snapshot.
Fat is accumulated for later use in the winter. There may be a weight-bearing problem incurred with centralised heating and year-round climate control (fat is not so much a food source but a heat source), but consumption itself is the beginning of a distribution of nutrients throughout the body, a potlatch given for all the little creatures living there. "I" is merely confined to the oral cavity: "I eat, therefore I am, if I am eaten, I am not!" (Might have Descartes been himself just a bit facetious?) There is no accumulation for the sake of accumulation except temporally by containment systems of delayed explosion. "We" are bomb. "We" are potlatch. "They" are assholes, sweat glands and puss pockets – "gifts" in any other language, for any other mouth. As they say, "food for the worms".
 Q: Opium is not addictive?
A: Used medicinally? No, at least no more than we are addicted to vitamin c and toxified by its overdose. Sheep obtain their own Vit C from microbial excrement in the rumen. They and their little bug friends have evolved together symbiotically. There are receptors friendly to opioid and canibibinol transmitters in probably every member of our species. We already produce analogs of opium and thc (pot). We and those plants have also evolved together, probably the latter more than the former. Extraneous use only accentuates an effect which 'normally' goes unnoticed. Continuous use of external sources, particularly in large or refined doses, tricks the internal 'facility' to stop 'production' of endogenous chemicals. That is when addiction sets in.
Chemical addiction occurs when extraneous ingestables mimic or replace something internally produced and the system is fooled into ceasing production. Sort of like work stoppage for benefits resulting in plant closure. More like scabs taking over your job, permanently, and no unemployment compensation. You get hungry fast. Eventually you will learn to eat again without a job, but then again, maybe not. The process of tolerance is related to the adjustment to increasing levels of introduced biotoxins like snake venom, but here dependency is not acquired: biotoxins are alien substances. This does not mean nutrients cannot produce overdose. It is said something over 24 eggs in one sitting can be fatal. If not, you may never want to eat an egg again, but still, you must eat.
Opioids engage with the dopamine system. By analogy, nicotine works like serotonin. Caffeine cancels it and vice versa. This is why those two get on so well together and in fact either will accelerate our usage of the other. Withdrawal is the period where the body has yet to recognize or catch up to the cessation of external sources. Withdrawal symptoms vary considerably with different substances. Acute ativan and alcohol withdrawal can be more deadly, but heroin still gets all the press – sensationalist media is always fixated on cultural archetypes, poster boys who highly resemble Keith Richards but behave like Richard Nixon having a temper tantrum with his tape recorder and proceeding to rip off a convenience store.
Habituation is seen at both the biochemical and psychological level (repetitive patterning) so are very hard to differentiate. Subjectively, it is not necessary to make this distinction. Superficially, heroin withdrawal feels astonishingly horrid. By comparison, withdrawal from cigarettes may appear merely as a case of the jitters and edginess, it has contributed to more suicides than junky murders, most of which are over money. In the midst of withdrawal, a junky is probably too busy puking and convulsing and counting monkeys on the ceiling to be capable of killing anyone. In fact one never hears of mass school shootings by kiddies off their drug of choice as on their prescribed medications. Makes ya wonder.
But the whole focus on neurotransmitters and receptors ignores the resonances and rhythms and modulations and redundancies going on which produce varying "states of mind", all in an unfathomably complex distribution of internal and external interplay. We ignorantly try to capture one state which "feels good", and stay there. The point is to be able to shift in and out, back and forth, to balance with the changing conditions of the world external to us. The real problem is that we are compartmentalised in an external world in which hardly anything "feels good". The fetish is a defense mechanism in the strictest freudian sense but addiction is measured by the acceleration, not just the dose (quantity) or structure (quality) of the medication. It is the defense mechanism in a positive feedback loop (actually, a spiral), or, as we increasingly hear concerning anything in system runaway, "the defense mechanism on crack".