There are at least four elemental forces within the universe: God-Satan-Humanity-Anarchy; or, the forces of control, counter-control, the controlled, and the uncontrollables. I say at least four because the last component [comprising most of the rest of the universe] does not possess any unitary coherence.
the unparticled matter?
V. "The matters of which man is cognizant escape the senses in gradation. We have, for example, a metal, a piece of wood, a drop of water, the atmosphere, a gas, caloric, electricity, the luminiferous ether. Now, we call all these things matter, and embrace all matter in one general definition; but in spite of this, there can be no two ideas more essentially distinct than that which we attach to a metal, and that which we attach to the luminiferous ether. When we reach the latter, we feel an almost irresistible inclination to class it with spirit, or with nihility. The only consideration which restrains us is our conception of its atomic constitution; and here, even, we have to seek aid from our notion of an atom, as something possessing in infinite minuteness, solidity, palpability, weight. Destroy the idea of the atomic constitution and we should no longer be able to regard the ether as an entity, or, at least, as matter. For want of a better word we might term it spirit. Take, now, a step beyond the luminiferous ether; conceive a matter as much more rare than the ether, as this ether is more rare than the metal, and we arrive at once (in spite of all the school dogmas) at a unique mass – an unparticled matter. For although we may admit infinite littleness in the atoms themselves, the infinitude of littleness in the spaces between them is an absurdity. There will be a point – there will be a degree of rarity at which, if the atoms are sufficiently numerous, the interspaces must vanish, and the mass absolutely coalesce. But the consideration of the atomic constitution being now taken away, the nature of the mass inevitably glides into what we conceive of spirit. It is clear, however, that it is as fully matter as before. The truth is, it is impossible to imagine what is not. When we flatter ourselves that we have formed its conception, we have merely deceived our understanding by the consideration of infinitely rarefied matter."
P. "There seems to me an insurmountable objection to the idea of absolute coalescence; – and that is the very slight resistance experienced by the heavenly bodies in their revolutions through space – a resistance now ascertained, it is true, to exist in some degree, but which is, nevertheless, so slight as to have been quite overlooked by the sagacity even of Newton. We know that the resistance of bodies is, chiefly, in proportion to their density. Absolute coalescence is absolute density. Where there are no interspaces, there can be no yielding. An ether, absolutely dense, would put an infinitely more effectual stop to the progress of a star than would an ether of adamant or of iron."
V. "Your objection is answered with an ease which is nearly in the ratio of its apparent unaswerability. – As regards the progress of the star, it can make no difference whether the star passes through the ether or the ether through it. There is no astronomical error more unaccountable than of their passage through an ether; for, however rare this ether be supposed, it would put a stop to all sidereal revolution in a very far briefer period than has been admitted by those astronomers who have endeavored to slur over a point which they found it impossible to comprehend. The retardation actually experienced is, on the other hand, about that which might be expected from the friction of the ether in the instantaneous passage through the orb. In the one case, the retarding force is momentary and complete within itself – in the other it is endlessly accumulative."
– see The Wobbling Sun
– The Ether (Aether) of Space
by Lord Rayleigh and Sir Oliver Lodge, 1908
Time and Space... It is not nature which imposes them upon us, it is we who impose them upon nature because we find them convenient.
Does the harmony the human intelligence thinks it discovers in nature exist outside of this intelligence? No, beyond doubt, a reality completely independent of the mind which conceives it, sees or feels it, is an impossibility.
It is because simplicity and vastness are both beautiful that we seek by preference simple facts and vast facts; that we take delight, now in following the giant courses of the stars, now in scrutinizing the microscope that prodigious smallness which is also a vastness, and now in seeking in geological ages the traces of a past that attracts us because of its remoteness.
– Henri Poincaré
The Poetic Principle, The Poetical Effect
And in regard to Truth, if, to be sure, through the attainment of a truth we are led to perceive a harmony where none was apparent before, we experience at once the true poetical effect; but this effect is referable to the harmony alone, and not in the least degree to the truth which merely served to render the harmony manifest.
We shall reach, however, more immediately a distinct conception of what the true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple elements which induce in the Poet himself the true poetical effect.
He recognises the ambrosia which nourishes his soul in the bright orbs that shine in Heaven – in the volutes of the flower – in the clustering of low shrubberies – in the waving of the grain-fields – in the slanting of tall eastern trees – in the blue distance of mountains – in the grouping of clouds – in the twinkling of half-hidden brooks – in the gleaming of silver rivers – in the repose of sequestered lakes – in the star-mirroring depths of lonely wells. He perceives it in the songs of birds – in the harp of Aeolus – in the sighing of the night-wind – in the repining voice of the forest – in the surf that complains to the shore – in the fresh breath of the woods – in the scent of the violet – in the voluptuous perfume of the hyacinth – in the suggestive odour that comes to him at eventide from far-distant undiscovered islands, over dim oceans, illimitable and unexplored.
While the epic mania, while the idea that to merit in poetry prolixity is indispensable, has for some years past been gradually dying out of the public mind, by mere dint of its own absurdity, we find it succeeded by a heresy too palpably false to be long tolerated, but one which, in the brief period it has already endured, may be said to have accomplished more in the corruption of our Poetical Literature than all its other enemies combined. I allude to the heresies of The Didactic. It has been assumed, tacitly and avowedly, directly and indirectly, that the ultimate object of all Poetry is Truth. Every poem, it is said, should inculcate a moral, and by this moral is the poetical merit of the work to be adjudged. We Americans especially have patronized this happy idea, and we Bostonians very especially have developed it in full. We have taken it into our heads that to write a poem simply for the poem's sake, and to acknowledge such to have been our design, would be to confess ourselves radically wanting in the true poetic dignity and force: – but the simple fact is that would we but permit ourselves to look into our own souls we should immediately there discover that under the sun there neither exists nor can exist any work more thoroughly dignified, more supremely noble, than this very poem, this poem per se, this poem which is a poem and nothing more, this poem written solely for the poem's sake.
With as deep a reverence for the True as ever inspired the bosom of man, I would nevertheless limit, in some measure, its modes of inculcation. I would limit to enforce them. I would not enfeeble them by dissipation. The demands of Truth are severe. She has no sympathy with the myrtles. All that which is so indispensable in Song is precisely all that with which she has nothing whatever to do. It is but making her a flaunting paradox to wreathe her in gems and flowers. In enforcing a truth we need severity rather than efflorescence of language. We must be simple, precise, terse. We must be cool, calm, unimpassioned. In a word, we must be in that mood which, as nearly as possible, is the exact converse of the poetical. He must be blind indeed who does not perceive the radical and chasmal difference between the truthful and the poetical modes of inculcation. He must be theory-mad beyond redemption who, in spite of these differences, shall still persist in attempting to reconcile the obstinate oils and waters of Poetry and Truth.
"At bottom Kropotkin conceived nature as a kind of Providence, thanks to which there had to be harmony in all things, including human societies. And this has led many anarchists to repeat that “Anarchy is Natural Order”, a phrase with an exquisite kropotkinean flavour. If it is true that the law of Nature is Harmony, I suggest one would be entitled to ask why Nature has waited for anarchists to be born, and goes on waiting for them to triumph, in order to destroy the terrible and destructive conflicts from which mankind has already suffered. Would one not be closer to the truth in saying that anarchy is the struggle, in human society, against the disharmonies of Nature?"
– Errico Malatesta
(is built of dead metaphors.)
in discarding the ruts of expectation we often encounter an uncertain fragility beyond its walls – a mute incomprehensibility without referents, a gaggle of corpses in our mouths, confused nomadic pantomime... sensitive to the sounds on the other side,
Metaphors in Science: How does science and scientific prose deal with this most obvious of facts? By stratagem and evasion. The scientific style aims at clarity, objectivity and impersonality – attempting to persuade us that the reality depicted is independent of experimenter and reporting. The key evidence is that laid out in the scientific paper, which, though purporting to be a plain account of what was done and observed, is in fact a carefully tailored document making a bid for personal recognition. The abstract allows the significance of the work to be modestly hinted at. The passive voice makes appear inevitable and impersonal what was often achieved only after great effort and skill by the experimenter. Stylistic devices like metaphor, irony, analogy and hyperbole that might call attention to the staged nature of the reporting are muted or banned. Where descriptive, the language employs figures drawn from physics: inert and mechanical. Sentence structure is simple, not to say barbaric: commonplace verbs linking heavy noun clusters. References pay homage to previous workers in the field, and imply familiarity with procedures and therefore professional competence.
"In science it is necessary to give priority to the evidence over traditional theory or a priori assumptions. If the evidence shows that any two people, or the same person at different times, are partly alike and partly different communicatively, and that any two groups are likewise partly alike and partly different, then we should have a theory that mirrors these observations, rather than one that reflects a uniformity that does not exist."
– Yngve, Victor H. 1986. Linguistics as a science.
Frank Sidgwick, 'Pataphysician
To rearrange the wording (though not the sentiment) of Frank Sidgwick, "What is most nearly improbable is all the more splendidly possible." We are most enthused when we are blindsided by a gift. It is seen as fortune ("beyond our wildest dreams") whether it comes by chance or by an other's intention. Compare this affective purturbation (Sidgwick compared it with contagious "Panick") with the ho-hum of mechanical transaction at any exchange rate, balance or no. Actually, he compared it with the communal sharing which reaches analogous emotional heights such that the synergy ("conglomerate") generates it's own poetry ("Ballad"). Mimicry, repetition and movement can spread it around the world. Ballads express the themes of societies, your own as well as those of others. The singular author is not only unimportant, it is non-existant. The ballad is news you dance to. Remember that panic may refer to qualities of the hand as well as what's outside it (pantos, "the totality", "everything else"), a loaf of french bread or container to cook it in, the trickster Pan, or chaotic pandemonium, the dwelling-place of chance itself. Notice also that if "I" is used at all in traditional ballading (the dance with wording), it is in the most generic sense. It is everyone or anyone.
– "The Ballad"
, by Frank Sidgwick
and speaking of pataphoric extension:
"the typically bloodless, anti-imagistic language of the Academy is a weaker form of the decadent, dehumanizing language the Nazis used to camouflage their almost unimaginable barbarities".
Movement, Encouragement or Free Energy?
Only concerning the rooted plants,
or those unable to break into dance –
unless it is about possibilities,
either "desire" expressed,
or "volition" implied
or "growth" becoming,
power's about nothing.
What arrogance (or is it timidity?)
to always demand impossiblility
It is this which gives
the cow-herder the courage of a cur
whose encouraging lick is ever a cure
for Paterfamilia and Claustrophilia,
not to mention your salty villa.
Like the salvo of savy and savoir faire
of a gorilla and 'er familiars
to distribute themselves and all their affairs
into and out of nooks and lairs,
unscathed by marauding tax-collectors
who pusillanimously (but not unloudly) shout:
"Stand still, you cowards, you lollards you louts!"
The sense of an etymology,
comes when you peel your morality.
To Swarm, or Not to Swarm
An in-out dance called "participation", going with the swarm need be neither a "direct-democratic" action nor imply subsumption by or relegation to a group – ie., following "leaders" – when it is a matter of following your own taste after what looks encouraging. This aesthetic approach not ironically allows a sponteneous dispersal exactly when conditions seem to call for it: the finale of enthusiasm doesn't always coincide with a threat or fatigue.
Of course, it helps to know the layout of the land. This is not a problem where there is a pre-established sense of adventure, even if on the coat-tails of a trusty adventurer. Attempts to pre-plan & hyper-organise such ordered spontaneity can approach a mimmical situation, but likely produce confusion in the process not unlike the results we often see with test anxiety, something unheard of in free panto-mime or extemporized jazz. These are more likely to emit rhapsody than panic.
Psychogeography is not a matter of memorizing maps, lines, licks and turning points, but of trusting your feet and legs to remember for you, especially during times of stress. The dérive is whole-body choreographic practice. When you let your body do the walking (or running), your "head" can stay cool, your senses alert. (It is even more proficient at random action than old Mr. Gray Matter could dream!) Your own possible uncertainty is negated by those at your side when it is recalled that courage more often comes from the outside than in (and has a powerful ally in chance), all without the humiliation from a choreographer brandishing a whip of authority or a blue-print written in inverted pig-latin.
In other words, if one sets out on a path and others follow, it is not an issue of authority. The semantic confusion between a sequential leader and authority has on more than one occassion subverted direct action by anti-authoritarians. Co-ordination is an issue of communication: if not a dance, it is only a monologue of orders. Equally, a wandering minstrel with news from afar should not be accused of pretension. Paul Revere may or may not have been a tense fed, but when you hear, "The Red Coats are coming", it might not be imprudant to flush your stash and check the fire-escape.
A hero is one who accumulates courage, with or without a steady entourage. This is no thing which can be contained, just as a singular view on necessity reflects the most constrained. Next to laughter, courage is possibly the leakiest of the elements, but never at a loss lest the word lose its title. It can't even be willingly witheld, only deceptively stolen, and that you can feel almost instantly, like a resounding "Gotcha!" from a Turn Coat. "Who'd a thunk he was a sniggling cop!"
If not for metaphoric ambiguity, a bit of sense to irony or parody, a self-proclaimed hero (or a leader) is seen by all as arrogant and fake. Heroes give, they do not take – they're funny that way. There are no famous heroes, only famous plays. The author's one and only grand creation is what's already found: a novel juxtaposition.
Conclusion? To deny risk is to ignore chance, and then chances are, you'll get got for sure. Don't get hung up on words – they often pretend and can intend nearly anything!
The attribution of greater reality to words than to worlds is already prefigured in the almost irresistible priority we accord as we grow up to commentary...
Clinical neurology offers many examples of conditions in which words become catastrophically split from actions such that patients' utterances and beliefs about what they're doing may be entirely at odds with conduct which is nevertheless in itself far from chaotic, and directed towards perfectly coherent and (to others) comprehensible ends. For example, in his book Destcartes' Error (Papermac, 1996), Antonio Damasio uses evidence from the observation of brain-damaged patients to suggest that mind is the product of an organism, not just a brain, and organisms are located in and mediate environments. Brain, body and environment flow into and out of each other, and what we do is by no means simply the result of the deliberations of a rational conductor sitting somewhere inside us.
I think there are also clear enough intimations of this in ordinary experiences familiar to all of us. The foremost of these is in dreaming. The 'commentator' is often absent in dreams, and the sense commentary allows us in waking life of being somehow in charge, gives way to a mysterious world in which we are constantly surprised not only by the events which overtake us but also by our response to those events. It is often not clear which of the multiple characters in dreams is 'self' or 'other', and the identity - the feelings, intentions, even the sex - of the dreamer becomes extraordinarily fluid. The dreamer spectates rather than directs, reacts rather than commentates. What we dream is, after all, nothing but our 'own' ideas and images, and yet we are constanty surprised - sometimes even terrified - by them. In dreaming sleep the illusion of 'ownership' dies with the silencing of the commmentator, and dreamers are left to observe more or less passively the ways the world flows through them.
Manifesto in Clear Language
If I believe neither in Evil nor in Good, if I feel such a strong inclination to destroy, if there is nothing in the order of principles to which I can reasonably accede, the underlying reason is in my flesh.
I destroy because for me everything that proceeds from reason is untrustworthy. I believe only in the evidence of what stirs my marrow, not in the evidence of what addresses itself to my reason. I have found levels in the realm of the nerve.
I now feel capable of evaluating the evidence. There is for me an evidence in the realm of pure flesh which has nothing to do with the evidence of reason. The eternal conflict between reason and the heart is decided in my very flesh, but in my flesh irrigated by nerves. In the realm of the affective imponderable, the image provided by my nerves takes the form of the highest intellectuality, which I refuse to strip of its quality of intellectuality. And so it is that I watch the formation of a concept which carries within it the actual fulguration of things, a concept which arrives upon me with a sound of creation. No image satisfies me unless it is at the same time Knowledge, unless it carries with it its substance as well as its lucidity. My mind, exausted by discursive reason, wants to be caught up in the wheels of a new, an absolute gravitation. For me it is like a supreme reorganization in which only the laws of illogic participate, and in which there triumphs the discovery of a new Meaning. This Meaning which has been lost in the disorder of drugs and which presents the appearance of a profound intelligence to the contradictory phantasms of the sleep. This Meaning is a victory of the mind over itself, and although it is irreducible by reason, it exists, but only inside the mind. It is order, it is intelligence, it is the signification of chaos. But it does not accept this chaos as such, it interprets it, and because it interprets it, it loses it. It is the logic of illogic. And this is all one can say. My lucid unreason is not afraid of chaos.
I renounce nothing of that which is the Mind. I want only to transport my mind elsewhere with its laws and organs. I do not surrender myself to the sexual mechanism of the mind, but on the contrary within this mechanism I seek to isolate those discoveries which lucid reason does not provide. I surrender to the fever of dreams, but only in order to derive from them new laws. I seek multiplication, subtlety, the intellectual eye in delirium, not rash vaticination. There is a knife which I do not forget.
But it is a knife which is halfway into dreams, which I keep inside myself, which I do not allow to come to the frontier of the lucid senses.
That which belongs to the realm of the image is irreducible by reason and must remain within the image or be annihilated.
Nevertheless, there is a reason in images, there are images which are clearer in the world of image-filled vitality.
There is in the immediate teeming of the mind a multiform and dazzling insinuation of animals. This insensible and thinking dust is organized according to laws which it derives from within itself, outside the domain of clear reason or of thwarted consciousness or reason.
In the exalted realm of images, illusion properly speaking, or material error, does not exist, much less the illusion of knowledge: but this is all the more reason why the meaning of a new knowledge can and must descend into the reality of life.
The truth of life lies in the impulsiveness of matter. The mind of man has been poisoned by concepts. Do not ask him to be content, ask him only to be calm, to believe that he has found his place. But only the madman is really calm.
– Antonin Artaud, for Roger Vitrac
- Internal Commentary: Do neurologists sometimes confuse the messengers,
with the message and their bantering grid the boss?
- Peggy Lee wrote: "If that's all there is, my friend, then let's go dancing."
Immolate the Buddha
22. Immolation: syn., immersion, anointment, dousing. Like the uncertain region between destruction and creation which cancels their distinction, it demonstrates the indeterminacy between thirst and its quenching, enflamement and its extinguishing; literally, to sprinkle food (meal) on a corpse, as opposed to the apparently identical process of salvation, to sprinkle salt on a meal for enhanced salivation. Immolative volition gives flavour to the bland and its philosophy of immersion is the search for the spice of life. As such, immolationism is as far from suicide or sacrificial victimisation as water is from fire or air from earth. It is the congenital genesis of generous sui generis – the social aesthetics of self-actualisation in reciprocal feedback, aka 'embellished growth' or 'ad-ornament' (see 'pantomine'), hence, it is not unbecomingly confused with art.
see Manifesto of Immolationism – Center for Immolative Research, Bulletin #2, Tuesday, Feb. 14, 2006
The Dreamy State
- medicine – Same as seizure (technical)
- poetry – stress that falls on syllables in poetic rhythm
- The "Dreamy State": John Hughlings-Jackson’s Ideas of Epilepsy and Consciousness – by R. Edward Hogan and Kitti Kaiboriboon,
- – Dream-Time
Abduction, Seizure or Movement:
Off and Away from the Conduits in Navigating the Unknown...
For the Time of your Life.
"The processes by which we form hunches about the world are, in Peirce's conception, dependent on perceptual judgments, which contain general elements such that universal propositions may be deduced from them. On the basis of his experimental work on the psychology of perception, conducted at The Johns Hopkins University with the well-known psychologist Joseph Jastrow (1863-1944), then his student, Peirce maintained that these perceptual judgments are "the result of a process, although of a process not sufficiently conscious to be controlled, or, to state it more truly, not controllable and therefore not fully conscious". The different elements of a hypothesis are in our minds before we are conscious of entertaining it, "but it is the idea of putting together what we had never before dreamed of putting together which flashes the new suggestion before our contemplation". Peirce describes the formation of a hypothesis as "an act of insight," the "abductive suggestion" coming to us "like a flash". The only difference between a perceptual judgment and an abductive inference is that the former, unlike the latter, is not subject to logical analysis.
Abductive inference shades into perceptual judgment without any sharp line of demarcation between them; or, in other words, our first premises, the perceptual judgments, are to be regarded as an extreme case of abductive inferences, from which they differ in being absolutely beyond criticism.
Concerning scientific method, abduction is, according to Peirce, "merely preparatory," or "the first step of scientific reasoning". The other "fundamentally different kinds of reasoning" in science are deduction and induction. Briefly, the step of adopting a hypothesis or a proposition which would lead to the prediction of what appear to be surprising facts is called abduction. The step by which the necessary and probable experiential consequences of our hypothesis are traced out is called deduction. Induction is the name Peirce gives to the experimental testing of the hypothesis.
Peirce also calls abduction "Originary Argument" since it is, of the three forms of reasoning, the "only kind of argument which starts a new idea", and, in fact: "Its only justification is that if we are ever to understand things at all, it must be in that way". Similarly, "neither deduction nor induction can ever add the smallest item to the data of perception; and... mere precepts do not constitute any knowledge applicable to any practical or theoretical use. All that makes knowledge applicable comes to us via abduction".
Abduction is an instinct which relies on unconscious perception of connections between aspects of the world, or, to use another set of terms, subliminal communication of messages. It is also associated with, or rather produces, according to Peirce, a certain type of emotion, which sets it apart from either induction or deduction."
Hypothesis substitutes, for a complicated tangle of predicates attached to one subject, a single conception. Now, there is a peculiar sensation belonging to the act of thinking that each of these predicates inheres in the subject. In hypothetic inference this complicated feeling so produced is replaced by a single feeling of greater intensity, that belonging to the act of thinking the hypothetic conclusion. Now, when our nervous system is excited in a complicated way, there being a relation between the elements of the excitation, the result is a single harmonious disturbance which I call an emotion. Thus, the various sounds made by the instruments of an orchestra strike upon the ear, and the result is a peculiar musical emotion, quite distinct from the sounds themselves. This emotion is essentially, the same thing as in hypothetic inference, and every hypothetic inference involves the formation of such an emotion. We may say, therefore, that hypothesis produces the sensuous element of thought, and induction the habitual element.
– Charles S. Peirce
Myth-time and the Mutilated Psyche
Benjamin writes: ‘The new, dialectical method of doing history teaches us to pass in spirit--with the rapidity and intensity of dreams--through what has been, in order to experience the present as a waking world, a world to which every dream at last refers.’ And then, elsewhere, ‘It is at this moment that the historian takes up ... the task of dream interpretation.’ The study of the nineteenth century would bring the historian and the reader to the threshold of the present, to the point of waking. Benjamin would be the wide-awake, and wide-eyed dream interpreter of history. "The nineteenth century is, as the Surrealists say, the noises which intervene in our dreams and which we interpret when awake."
Age five, more or less, has been agreed upon by many as the age children begin to be really human. Piaget said they've acquired concrete operational thought beyond the mere sensori-motor. By adolescence, it is often at the expense of sensitivity and mobility – without question, they are readily abducted. This is thought the necessary step required to fall for, er, appreciate the oppositional nature of a binary machinework universe which they are not themselves to oppose except according to instruction. Like, it's the operation of concrete which we refer to by "laws set in stone". Like a calcified heart or plaque surrounding not only your teeth, but lining your arteries and encapsulating your brain cells.
No wonder pessimists insist that childhood is the age when we begin to die. Regimentation & rigidity are the first stages of rigor mortis. A five year-old has reached the cognitive level of an adult chimp, who we know to be adequate to piloting a space capsule into orbit and back, can be trained to mix cement for use in the foundations of sky-scrapers and create works of art suitable for framing in hoity-toity art galleries. Well, actually, child art is not allowed in those places, and in this day and age, children are not even permitted to ride a bike around the block unsupervised, if at all.
At any rate, it is said a five year old is on the road to independence, extending the reach of mom's umbilical tether. This is interesting, because when we approach old age, we remember those earlier years prior to institutionalisation as the utopian, golden age of free-play and wonder-ful adventure, at least when not being ignored, slapped around or humiliated for "misbehaviour" by smart big-people. At a certain point, it is all we remember with any fond coherency: freedom. Certainly, it is the stuff dreams are made of, at any age.
Two assessments are available regarding old age. These are dementia and wisdom. The wise have retained some kernel of childhood which re-emerges as the layers of the superego begin to calcify, wither or rot away, particularly when what was considered good and true only a decade before is today deemed by all the middle-aged folk as obsolete, naive or irrelevant. The wise have merely rediscovered their nullshit detector, the negative aesthetic, if you will. We often call them "cantankerous", yet still "sharp". Dementia occurs when there is nothing left beneath the layers of superego. Amnesia from one moment to the next is the most rational response when one learns one has reached or surpassed the age most folks drop dead from "natural causes".
And that's the naked truth! Dementia is the reward for civilian success – the "hyper-civilised", or pure, personified "simulacron". Its denuded receipt gives a mirror image of the terror of prolonged child abuse producing waking nightmares or bipolar (dialectical) personalities. And to think Freud thought this all a necessary process for the sake of civil progress. What he called "The Reality Principle" demonstrates what is most wrongside-out about our thinking: we are separate and individuated, isolated but for a punishing environment. Thanatos, the death drive, is the desire to speed up this process 'til we're all old, alone and done-for. But there is nothing death-like about expressing a build-up of shit, no matter your definition of pent-up energy.
see also Animals, History and Art Instincts
always place (truth) in slanted green parentheses
("lest ye be shackled to dogma")
"Structuralist linguistics, for example, could only have been invented by people who've never had children, or at best, by professionalised theoreticians whose daily work isolated them from contact with infants. If you play with an eight-month to year-old baby, it's completely obvious that meaning is not a pre-existing, abstract system, but emerges from instinctual, animal behaviour – from persistent actions like grabbing, smashing and tasting."
[Unless referring specifically to Thetis, the silver-footed sea-maid of ancient Anatolian waters whose son, it was foretold, would supersede the father – a tale which in patriarchal translation portrays a possessive love of mothers to sons who must eventually leave her apron strings or die in the flames – otherwise, "revealed as a figure of cosmic capacity, quite capable of unsettling the divine order" – wiki] concerns stress in classical poetry, relating to or having stress; of or pertaining to assertive argument in formal prose; of THESES as opposed to THEMES [from Themis, the sense of mystery, oracle, a green blooming shoot, Prometheus' mother, embodiment of social tradition & dispenser of mead, distinguished from Eris (and her daughter, Dysnomia), goddess of disorder and mayhem: "the sexual power and energy of the unruly woman and on her license (which they had long assumed at carnival and games) – to promote fertility, to defend the community's interests and standards, and to tell the truth about unjust rule" – Victor Turner)].
[Late 17th century. < Greek thetikos < thetos "placed, stressed" < tithenai "to place"]
parentheses n. (pronounced "parent thee sees"; "parent thee says"): additional hyper-theses of parents; a constraint, binding or ligature producing truth. see arrogant ("not rogue"). Literally:
set beside and within a stressful place; a place-value. see dystopia: a sickly or sticky spot – a plagued polis like a sore thumb: "the truth hurts".
rogue: see short people, child, free radical, low-life, escapee, delinquent, 'unmannered' criminal from Latin rogare 'to ask'. The arrogant is without question, but full of answers.
Repeat after me: "When something seems 'the most obvious thing in the world' it means that any attempt to understand the world has been given up"
– Bertolt Brecht
S. O. Manifesto
Secession from the whole gamut of generalised categories as these thread through from molar notions of Nation, Class and Gender through Institutional entities to notions of identity and desire.
To reject the concept of nation to such a degree that internationalism takes on a reactionary hue: there can be no ‘inter’ of nations; this is a derivative of free trade.
To combat the ideological ruse of individualism by recourse to the common form of ‘species being’ using this as a base for the ontological production (becoming) of a ‘new being’ (built-drive).
We have no more use for knowledge as information. An exploration of the historic dynamics of the general intellect, the common social product, is necessary, but the affective, prehensive dimension needs to be emphasised.
The community of affinities is transhistoric. We must ‘finish the work of the past’ as a praxis of the ‘to come’. Incommunicado in the present we are in communication with precursors and forebears who have always been heralds of the future.
Intending to become increasingly removed from the discursive we embrace the poetical and the musical, rhythm and noise, as keys to the future of politics. These materialisations of the polysemic enable meanings to be produced as common and encourage extra-sensory perception (transmental).
The full ramifications of reception-as-activity is to be played out as affective susceptibility: not simply understanding or completed meaning but an erethism that has socially transformative effects.
We maintain ‘non a priori relation’ as an ourganisational platform. In this way not only is passion able to be conceived as a ‘structuring power’, but non-selectiveness wards off elitism and opens us fully to the socius.
Many precursors: Marx’s ‘historic party’ – Fourier’s ‘Phalastery’ - the organisational lyricism of surrealism – the unconstituted praxis of improvising musicians.
To remain unconvinced and unable to proselytise about the above.
Birdsong or tweetercraft?
In any aesthetic system, the "follower" is the agent, the "leader" is merely a passing perturbation or coming attraction, a point of, or gateway to other interest. Think of tweetercraft. The more tweeters, the more diverse, numerous and complex are the followings. A form with unpredictably and incalculably variable content. In tweetercraft, all have their say, or chirp, but the groupings are provisional and therefore short lived. The first to tweet is buried in the aftermath, and that is its strength: indeterminacy. There are no instigators of brownian motion in a petri dish, just as psychedelic patterns cannot be replicated by any imaging technology.
Once a permanent organisation ("avant garde", or in bird-speech: "predator" or "cage") emerges, the birds stop singing or merge with the (unintelligible) background noise. Cacaphonics is a priori gibberish -- the sound of shit is shit talk, roughly equivalent to trolls in the peanut gallery or the pantomocritique of mid-twentieth century calypso.
The delusion of mainstream democracy minimises the perturbations allowed to operate, hence limiting the availability of turning points or preferential attachments – in the sense of an attachment according to preference (an aesthetic decision) and not the distribution of balls into urns – often down to two, as in the binary decisions of modern computing (right and left but not in and out – binary or even trinary systems rely completely on either/or logic and justify decisions as themselves permanent with such aphorisms as "you made your bed, now you have to lie in it" or "you can never go home" or even "all roads lead to Rome"). In such systems, each allowed perturbation is a power point like an electro-magnet set on high, the higher-archon which can only respond to positive, negative or ambivalent (agreeably wishy-washy) inputs. This is also the standard definition of leadership.
The importance of sky-scrapers is not in their reach, but the number of hypo-critical stories it constrains. This is the standard definition of bureaucracy.
In the spectacle, there is this main attraction (phallus) and numerous ostensibly choice but essentially equivalent alternatives (talking points) presented: hegemony is disguised as a scattershot pattern. Critique of scattershot patternings reveals their equivalent shotgun deadliness. Dupontist critique, for example, well illustrates this equivalence but stops dead in its tracks, concluding not only the futility, but the impossibility of all transgression. Like the technosociologists, it is trapped in the spectacle's interweb. It makes no difference whether the nihilists are agents of the spectacle or sincere critics. The outcome is the same: they have reached a stopping point themselves so broadcast the essential message of do nothing philosophy. It can be hardly distinguished from the Victorian British virtues of approach: "stiff upper lip" or "grin and bear it". Serenity is an illusion (unless in seclusion), transgression is impossible, or so they seem to suggest. It is the argument of the determinism of material forces, of permanently forced constraints. Like, it's nature dude, so why fight it? Dissenters must eventually self-immolate when the truth of necessity is discovered. Truth can never back off. Tolerance and leeway are never acknowledged qualities of nature when the only question is "to be or not to be". Even "fight or flight" is negated as folly.
But the so-called "chatter" in the background illustrates that most folks don't buy this impossibilist meme for a minute! Dada has irrefutably illustrated that there are very few practical exigencies in the world, like bricks don't have functional wings so their flight is dependent on gravity or the material force of external propulsion. Humans must eat above the water-line and not perpetually below it. Their gills have been metamorphosed into expressive facial muscles not by linear exigencies but inexpressably complex contingencies. All contingencies are provisional offerings, or offerings of provisions, and laugh at necessity. Like most things, we can take it or leave it depending only on matters of encouragement.
So what is the alternative to socio-mechanistic thinking? Aesthetic action. As the avant garde emerges, it is always possible to ignore it, follow your nose or smother it in noise. Neither interest nor exploration rhyme with commitment. The transgression of text messaging and tweetcraft is not a principle of organising but the expression of potential. Birds do not sing to mobilise a resistance against crawlers and swimmers. On the contrary, it merely keeps lines open like the pinging between fax machines and the telephone network nominally tuned in to voice protocalls or a locating beacon set to stun.
All communications begin with "hello". What is transgressive is the language created by cramming as much interest as possible into a space of 140 characters. Transgressive permutation. The factorial possibilities of one hundred forty characters is precisely 1.34620 times 10 to the power of 241. That's a lot of zeros in contradistinction to a whole bunch of nothing! And like song or poetry, the distribution of arrogant meaning (truth) is merely considered a recursive teleology of mean arrogance and pushed to the background. Negotiation between the avant garde and any movement's "leadership" is irrelevant, beside the point, out of the loop, and the universe undergoes another flip-flop behind their backside. Who could ever represent the gaseous movement of tweetership? Like, what is the sound of one goose gaggling? My space?
Defend yourself against property! It's only another ego defense mechanism.
– Id Liberation Front
For absence of presence
Some presents of absynth
they were all at our service
Toward the yamboos, Eugenia spoke:
Who is the abacist here?
A small man appeared within the tripod
where the vibration was strongest,
and proffered a hand whose fingerprints
had been purposely stained black.
~Le gem pome~
has been disrupted
by your conclusive shivs;
Pay what you owe.
Pay back what you have embezzled
from those of us
who actually create something.
Dig it! Abacists with conclusive shivs. Too many scalpels. Cut wrists to better fit our uni-sized handcuffs. Those ignorant proles with dirt under their fingernails, always digging wells to quench my thirst because I've shit in all my rivers. Or people who spend too much time around livestock and not enough surveilling the crested grebe mating from a hidden advantage. When will they learn they could be like me and work at a secret call center for NIMH amongst the professionals drinking a nice hot cup of tea or otherwise do nothing at all?
But tell me, who will mine the ore and build the machine to replace the digger with dirty nails?
Maybe we all just want some inclusion, although that at one time meant "shut-in". Poet just sounds more expressively passionate than parent-voyér or patrolman or the people's organised revolutionary party uv seriosity (PORPUS). But look at them. Really! The instinctually impulsive aesthetics of group ... never a politicisation ... which might adopt you, me, us ... not just for jail-time. So I give myself a label like "anarchist" to match my leanings and the others want to disassociate. No, not one of those! Another dud. Maybe I should look up the etymology of clutter or clude. Was there a word "clusion" meaning other than the condition of being closed? Or "cline" as in "clination": a leaning or bent on support? Too much of this, we must send for the clinician, the historical expert for the chronically bed-ridden.
If there is no subclinical spontaneity, I'm inclined to conclude clutter would be impossible and we'd need no delegated waste-management patrols! But a conclusion is impossible for a mere "one". When not short for concrete, "con" is either togetherness or a scam or a resident of the joint. How often is "providing closure" just another Scarlet O'Hara sublimation swept under the rug til tiomorrow? The sublime must be expressed!
Even an ex-con has a culture: the criminal fraternity or maternal sorority, either way a growing majority. It is no exclusive club. Like the Seminoles never signed a treaty with Florida, so there is still a state of war as long as there are five civilised swamps. Conceive this: what's conception to do with organising babies? Or is there a natural contradictory context for every ligature, making contractions recapitulate a necessary evil? The mutual cramping of concentrated camping?
The class struggle
FOR EUPHORIA, USE DRY RAG!
A blown mind's like a blown nose
in matters of unplugging apertures
meant to stay
open for well-being
to slip through here
dwelling neverstill means:
Oh no! the utopia word again!!!.
|– Claude Hopper
We must be clear. No, ambiguous. The on-going struggle between the Gray Men and the Lizzard People out to enslave the planet. Today there are two clauses: Poets (or insanely green-ferry magicians – see amorphous amphibians
) and uptight grammarians. They are identified by the presence or absence of rulers (in the first sense as well as the second). Try absynth to dissolve both dialectics and ecclectic epilepticians.
There is just no comparison. Compassion? Lost during vivisection. Who needs a synthetic lobotomy when we've got theoreticians bearing an abacus and tape measure to inform public opinion?
Ok, I'm grumpy again. The literal translation of "Take me to your leader" is "Who's the biggest shit-for-brains here?"
My favorite line from Ronald Sukenick was "Better and better. Better and better. Not as good as before it started getting better but..."
There. That feels better! And to think swamped used to mean "going in for a refreshing dip"!
A matter of interest-bearing solids. The theory of clumping or aesthetic stickiness. Not shut-in or balled up, on a roll. Good shit is not just what you smoke! We often hear the phrase "In the interest of humankind" or some relatively equivalent catch-all to ring in our social motivations, or rather more often, a justification for 'necessary' sacrifice and eliminations in the exercise of civic obligations. But what might this phrase come down to in the context of an anarchic utopia, where sacrifice is not only minimised (for ex, the three-hour-per-day disgusting toil for all which so many future planners call NOVA – the Nirvana of voluntary association – to cover up the fact that it is the short term slavery, er, public works of "free workers") but abolished altogether? It's an old call: "Good News!" The abolition of sacrifice in the interest of good times for all. Have a ball. Do socialist planners even need interest or have they only a singular bent on necessity? How 'bout an orientation "according to the various interests of variable kindly humans"?
Where's your sportin' spirit? How is p(l)aying tolerance toward other's interests an expression of antisocial egoism? I'd call it "exploration" and its observation "free association" and its distribution not "aspiring" or "despairing" but "inspiring a sharing"! (see plying: to travel a route regularly, especially on water; to sail a boat on a zigzag course against the wind [from pli, 'to bend]).
Where there is customary tolerance or curiosity toward differences, there are no shackles of custom, only statistical tendencies of habits in need of no measurement. Embrace, then laugh at paradox and moral certitude loses all its sense of direction, a victim of a (not-so) cruel pantomimic accrual. Even progressive educators endorse propaganda of the deed, something the more radically inclined label "praxis". The old school approach, "do as I say..." has only resulted in the embrace of hypocrisy. That anal tyrant of private works projects, old Mr. Gray Matter, wasn't that funny to begin with. Hardly anyone is clinging to that old school shit any more.
Shit is always a relative experience. If you're in the midst of excessive amounts of it, distribute yourself elsewhere. It will have degraded just in time for your return. That is poetic justice. It may be discovered that some shit is just not that necessary after all! Must it be true that we all die alone? Where does that notion even come from? Certainly not from the crowds gathered round the guillotine at the opening ceremonies in the public squares. Or is it merely that we can only shit alone if there is no surgical intervention? Does this negate the possibility of a community toilette, or is it just another mass burial?
Luck & Chance
HERETIC AND CRIMINAL
You are right – shot shall you be.
In his book on the golden mistletoe, The Golden Bough
, Frazer describes how primitive people often kill their medicine men when they demonstrate abnormal fortune in their healings, and thereby reveal that they have abnormal powers
. He relates that even in highly enlightened Rome, a case was brought against a farmer because his vegetables were always uncommonly well-grown, and despite the poor man being unable to point to other causes for his advance than rational working methods and well-kept tools, he was nevertheless condemned to death for his subversive activities. The story is also told that the discoverer of palm wine was killed because of his uncommon ability to invoke spirit or spirits, which did not, however, hinder his murderers from exploiting this inheritance to its fullest. All such crimes are committed, not because of superstition but, on the contrary, because of scepticism and sound common sense, in order to maintain peace and order, decency, the rules, custom and usage, bon ton and public rights and morals
, and this is in no way a thing of the past, but is and always will remain the primary social problem for aesthetics, because all renewal is crime against the rule, and as a consequence punishable.
POWER AND MAGIC
Knowledge is power.
Crime or law-breaking is like a wound in the body, an irritation, that attracts all the interest because something has been committed that is not permitted. Every crime therefore is a miracle or wonder, be it just the theft of a chest of drawers.
If, however, the action is successful in showing that the impossible was possible for someone
, then we have come outside the area of extreme aesthetics, the unknown has become partially known, the powerless has become a power or a magical factor
, the aesthetic has been transformed into art in its primary meaning. We see that we are here using the word magic
as a synonym for art
, and the word magician
for the artist
in the meaning shoemaker
etc. and are ignoring that the word has gradually only been attached to makers of magic by thought, word and imagination.
. This is an untranslatable play on words: superstition is overtro (lit: excess of belief), scepticism is undertro (lack of belief).
. 'chest of drawers': in 1937 Jorn ilIustrated the book Kommodetyven
(The Thief of the Chest-of-Drawers) by J.A.Schade with a set of collages, but the book was eventually published in 1939 with vignettes by Schade himself. Around 1948, Jorn attempted in vain to publish a French version including his illustrations.
. This paragraph contains a series of word plays: magt
(-maker). The three base words magt/magi/-mager
are all of different etymological origins. [– translator]
– Asger Jorn
CRITERIAN RUTS or QUESTIONABLY R(IS)ULTS?
Anti-Thesis: “What Why I DIsliek Poetry Distill is it if is it a, a, I, A, become increasing restrictive disease of the as Popeye would sayit the edjumacated, perfuming their big brains as control ovf meaning and mashuremints, with all their Goddamned rults like a government”
– m. basinski
Criterion: (antonym: aesthetic) "Standard for judging things, an accepted standard used in making a decision or judgment about something else (see critic: somebody who habitually finds fault [Mid-16th century. Via Latin < Greek kritikos "discerning" < krites "judge" < krinein "decide"] (see pessimist: somebody who habitually confuses euphoria with the avoidance of pain (see Hobbes)))".
"Freedom of speech is nothing more than the freedom to repeat the monologues of the various factions of the ruling class, and the duty to remain silent when your bosses tell you."
– Stuart Wise
"Spirit in artworks is posited by their structure, it is not something added from outside. This is responsible in no small way for the fetish character of artworks: Because their spirit emerges from their constitution, spirit necessarily appears as something-in-itself. ... Reflection must equally comprehend the fetish character, effectively sanction it as an expression of its objectivity, and critically dissolve it. ... Artworks organize what is not organized. They speak on its behalf and violate it; they collide with it by following their constitution as an artifact. ... One of the paradoxes of artwork is that, though they are dynamic in themselves, they are fixated, whereas it is only by being fixated that they are objectivated. Thus it is that the more insistently they are observed the more paradoxical they become: Each artwork is a system of irreconcilables. Their process itself could not be presented without fixation; improvisations are usually no more than juxtapositions, so to speak, marching in place".
What does Capital want?
identify and destroy small-return bullshit
shut off anything that's noisier than it is useful
make brutally fast decisions about what I don't need to be doing
avoid anything that feels like fake sincerity (esp. where it may touch money)
demand personal focus on making good things
put a handful of real people near the center of everything
Provisional manifesto 4 [12.25.2010]
- To help militant radicals who are having trouble admitting to themselves that in everyday life they must serve capital (at least for now). To help militant radicals who are having trouble admitting this to themselves to the point where their intransigence and small refusals are making them sick. To help militant radicals who are having trouble admitting this to themselves to the point where their intransigence and small refusals are manifesting as involuntary melancholic periods of downtime, severe apathy, alienating paroxysms and ideomotorological self-destructive behavioral anomalies that are unhealthy to their bodies, and that are enacted in unwise moments. If we can focus on what capital wants, we can serve it better, or at least feign to serve it better, which may ultimately create less stress in critical emotional moments. Timing is everything. Intransigent revolt is useless in certain areas and forms, and thoughts of it should probably not be dominating your mind all the time. Please be careful.
- To speculate and identify what capital wants so as to know what is aesthetically disgusting, or, to "use technology in order to hate it better" as Nam June Paik once remarked.
- To harness and conjure this split consciousness in a way so that it manifests emotionally without misery as its primary governing mental state.
- Considered as capital, and from an experimentalist point of view, Misery Lit is a clichéd and a specialized niche market. Dee Dee Ramone was a self described 'misery addict'; Pink Floyd lyrics; Adorno as the miserable theoretician par excellence ("Adorno criticises society from the point of view of absolute social possibility, which is why his comments can appear psychotic, incapable of coping with the damaged lives we must lead under capitalism"); and so on.
- People who are unfortunate enough to be inexorably cognizant of intense troubles with capitalism more often than not are usually forced to exist in this state of split consciousness (efficient servitude combined with perceptive, resentful, miserable awareness) on some level, with a lot of emotional energy invested in maintaining an ironic sense of 'coolness' to temper those insurrectionary, iconoclastic, barbarian urges that want to snarl at and destroy the facades of capital immediately. Since the guaranteed prioritization of misery on this emotional front is the doing of capital itself, we should not let it take over. Flirting with paradox, absurdly retain vigilant awareness of the pitfalls of capital while simultaneously removing misery from this awareness. Impossibly and legitimately replace the misery that usually governs this awareness with experimental emotions that are opposed to misery, perhaps leaning your ambivalence towards 'positive' or 'happier' or 'calmer' or 'relaxed' emotions more often than not (not always).
THE PROVISIONAL AVANT GARDE
by Anne Boyer
1. It won’t be called the avant-garde. It will be referred to by various names, all of them precise, like “the society for touching lightly the forearms of another” or “a tendency toward making chains of half-rhymes in a circle with one’s friends.”
2. It will share with the historic avant-garde that art will often be made in groups, but it will seek or find the artistic and literary expressions that mimic something other than war or machines or violent manly death, something like “human touch” and “animal touch” and “comforting noises made when another is ill” and “maternal protection” and “friendly ritual” and “a little daub of secretion” or “just like playing cards with my aunts and uncles” or “the soft feeling of an arm” or “game for which the rules are never directly stated but which everyone knows how to play.”
3. It will be a great deal more about the omphallus than the phallus.
4. It will be fascistic in that it will be devoted to play. In this, it will mimic my dining room. Like the avant-garde in history, the best thing about it will be its games, which will proliferate and in this proliferation be in a constant state of alteration.
5. There will in this avant-garde be no fixed rules for these games, so one cannot, though one might try, publish a book called “THE RULES OF THE GAMES OF THIS” or they can publish this book, but only find it full of reliable recipes for chocolate cakes and inexpensive soups and instructions for encrusting ants with gold while not denying them their mobility.
6. It will organize itself around the notion of committing one’s life to soothing and assisting, but this art will soothe and assist in ways as yet unknown. It will not soothe like base sentimentality or luxury goods, which are not that soothing. Instead it will use art to find methods of delirious compensation for the twentieth century. It will be “extreme care.”
7. No one will use art to hurt anyone. They will not use art to hurt themselves. In this it will be a new thing: a defamiliarization not about infliction.
8. Boredom will have its uses, as it always does, but it will not become a value.
9. All ideas will be tested by writing them in dry erase marker on a white board and leaving them outside in the elements “to weather.” Those that survive will be implemented.
10. Its artists and poets will make in their work delicious and obvious entrances. Its works should always begin with “HELLO.”
11. It will include both robots and animals, sometimes robot-animal chimeras. There will be other chimeras, too. I recently read that the great question of our time is “Am I machine?” and though I do not know if this really is the great question, no one will mistake herself for a machine who also has a tail.
12. Ezra Pound said “make it new” and Gertrude Stein said “make it ugly” but I say “make it okay.”
13. There will be children, though often not in the ways we expect them.
14. It will make no fetish of form, or rather, it will seek such a multiplicity of forms, which results in such a formlessness that its forms cannot be dumped out and reused as sacks to hold the stuffy or banal or slightly/greatly evil.
15. There will be a healthy combination of jouissance and juiciness, but it will often also be chaste. Its every intercourse will be Fun’s Right. Sometimes it snuggles. Genitalia will be frequently hilarious. It will be a great deal cuter than porn.
16. Its transmissions will be much more like milk from a breast than spilling seed. This is not to say men can’t do it, too.
17. There will be a lot of sewing last year’s fragments with this year’s threads.
18. It will revive the brilliant idiot.
19. Because it is committed to something like comforting, it will build for those who hate it a papier mache giant with a familiar sort of face. Artists and poets will be on megaphone rotation saying such things as “art is war” and “we love money and/or death” because it is this sort of statement, alone, which the enemies (having been, early in life, deprived of 90% of something) can hear. The enemies will squat and defecate, then sling their feces at the giant. They will be amused enough, imagining themselves in a battle with something real, “look at us proud warriors” or “I’m getting my individuation on.” The feces will be composted and used to fertilize fields in which the enemy’s food is cultivated.
20. If these enemies ever encounter this avant-garde that is not the avant-garde outside of this ritual they will not be able to recognize it. They will say “what is this noise?” and “there might have been twinkling” or “is this love or is this incoherence?” or “manly women and effete men!”
21. Institutions will not want it, as it resembles what is exactly not important. It’s okay because it will sort of ignore them.
22. It will make its own money.
23. It will develop many languages, all of them like lovers to each other or parents to their child. These will probably be embarrassing.
24. It will be utopian, in the sense that it wants furniture enough for every home and home enough for everyone. No one will ever confuse home for the enemy of art, or a woman with a home.
“I have imagined saying no so often and rarely ever fantasize a yes.
One may own a strategy that contains spitting yes repeatedly as
a tactic leading to the fulfillment of a grand vision
that will be the
unmistakable embodiment and subsequent catatonic astral eruption
of a no”
– Anselm Berrigan
Pomo thought these days still seems to be all about defamiliarization and the blurred boundaries between disciplines and categories and blah blah. Amazing to see Jorn talking about this as early as 1952! I still think one of his best points is that aesthetics doesn't necessarily have anything to do with art - refusing that division of labor. This is probably obvious to us, but not so much to many art students, maybe... perhaps unavoidably so due to the nature of their everyday realities, their choice to perpetuate the conflation of aesthetics with art for the sake of labor division. Aesthetics is most interesting to me when it can be found in areas that have nothing to do with the word art. I read the other day that in Bali they don't even have a word for art. I always love stumbling across stuff like this:
"In Bali, everybody does something artistic, but they relate to it differently, they say: 'We have no word for art, we do everything as well as possible'. They don’t say it to brag, they say it with a self assured, and egoless certainty."
Aesthetics becomes most interesting when perceived as "creativity with no vested interest in having its output feed back into connotations supporting any so-called art." The focus should be entirely elsewhere. Making decisions about color and shape and form and texture and sound and pattern happen everywhere, everyday outside of the realm of art, and it's exactly these aesthetic decisions, because they have no use as art-capital, that are the least publicized and thus the least explored, the most ripe for experimentation. The idea that aesthetic experimentation has almost nothing to do with art pedestals is the most interesting to me.
One must be wary of the slimy encouragements oozing from vested interests standing atop pedestals or soap boxes like a flag to rally around or a vacuum cleaner. The focus should be entirely elsewhere.
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?
Yes, art is fiction. But fiction is the only blurred branch (not excluding 'science', 'philosophy' and 'religion') with the integrity to acknowledge this, thereby elucidating reality all the more, than eluding or objectifying it, as do all the rest. The attraction to the improbable or impossible is a matter of aesthetics or erotics or even of recognition, but not always. It is sometimes just a result of our disgruntledness with the reality we experience (or rather, don't), a reality which science, philosophy and religion only justify as materially, logically or metaphysically necessary. Sometimes the exaggeration or even lie reveals more than any calculus or legislation. Fiction is the calculus of possibility and ecstasis, and that possibility, as Henry James points out, captures our interest or it does not. As for truth, it can only exist between the lines or as an unplanned synergy erupting from them – metaphor and analogy in free association. So goes non-fiction, back into the inter-region of possibility or out of it as subterfuge. Art does not compete with life! That is the job of the police.
Of unlimited possible manifestations and ways of thinking of it, pantomicritique is the anarchist black bloc of literatheatrics. It appears as the gait of critique that furtively tiptoes, flamboyantly barrel roles, apprehensively trots, or empathically leaps over the boundaries of acceptable miming formations of the body. Pantomicritique is the miming assemblage, without makeup and costume, that has not yet met approbation. Pantomicritique is the strut of the ambiguous gender, in full makeup and costume, that treats bigoted heckling as if it were water on a duck. Pantomicritique is something distinguishable from an exhibition, lecture, play, poetry reading, video (etc.) or word like "pantomicritique" representing the subject. Pantomicritique is the nonspecialist qualities of critique expressed as gesticulation and distributional scheme — the qualities of this manner of critique that occur as gambits not yet captured, claimed by or produced for artistic or commercial labor divisions. The spectrum of distributivity inflected pantomicritique (i.e. pure pantomicritique does not leave the realm of miming and dance) might consist of a frenzied GG Allin being tackled at a show, to polite forms of expressive dance appearing in unfamiliar contexts and not dance venues, to taking a piss in Marcel Duchamp's Fountain, to playfully splashing water on someone, to flipping the bird at nothingness while rotating in a circle, to the Black Panthers' choice of openly arming themselves as a dramatic pataphorical signification of black empowerment, to leaving wooden roses for someone as a pre-suicide gift, to famous cases of art theft, to common theft, to the plagiarism of pecuniary attire as parody, to Jeffrey Miller dressing up as brick wall for a poetry reading and on and on.
Vienna Actionist events. Kaprowian happenings. Situationist psychogeography. Pantomicritique as an aesthetic impulse is not new. It has obviously existed as the pre-human fervor in a pterodactyl's wings to Artaud's criticisms of the domination of the written word over behavior. However, what remains as a rarity in our era is clever, exciting, experimentalist or aesthetically daring (etc.) pantomicritique, especially when considered as something juxtaposed to critique-as-writing. The latter is the more widespread and acceptable form in higher learning atmospheres, in the protective ozone layers of literary milieus, and is based, for the most part, in heavily normalized submission procedures that are impervious to the potential for pantomicriticality. In the twenty-first century, the rights of mime boxing circuits remain subject to far more bureaucratic red tape than the freedoms of the written word. Bodily pre/post-venue critique as writerly or painterly mimeform remains the frontier less explored. Defamiliarization as distributivity. Pantomicritique intuitively comprehends the nonlinguistic world as a series of familiarized mime routines manifesting as dyskinesia. Perhaps something stirs an active response to this. Rather than, or along side of, the general privilege and mediated caesurae that is writing.
– from polyanymous joints
Hello. There is something I've imagined which on several occasions I've tried to articulate with little success. This is the difference between "constraint", "determination" and "influence" within any context. It may be just a matter of terminology but there are implications we may be surprised at. Perhaps the terms are chosen because they are the implication (acquired taste) coming from a certain emotional stance or habitual movement.
Constraint and determinism suggest to me practical resignation. Influence, on the other hand, implies some degree of choice in the matter, even if what comes out the other end superficially appears the same. It is not to say everything is possible, but under the influence, one participates in/with the matrix. This can mean going with the flow as well as transgressing, even destroying bits of it, and that can be an aesthetic in itself: brick, hand, window, ahhhh!. The more complex or scattershot the context, the more bricolage comes into play, especially when we realise the bookends are not the substance of the shelf but (as with all our categorical articulations) merely provisional support for what is stacked between them. This means there is an increased chance for novel juxtapositions. It does not mean the creation of something from nothing.
In medieval times, fate and fortune were something one aspired to -- self-actualisation rather than self-defeat, surprise rather than banality, exploration and adventure rather than life in a coffin or other such cubicle. Not ironically, it resulted in community, something not even close to the kind of individualism we generally infer from such a process. Every child knows that danger is exciting and difference is the spice of life. They also know that without friends to share it with, without support, without its fostering or reinforcement, it is soon meaningless beyond angry transgression for transgression's sake. The lucky one's find foster care among the "criminal" element.
On the topic of Peter Pan, while it may be true that normal children must grow up or die trying, I refuse to be an adult about it!
An open letter to A. C.
Dear auntie christ,
Theory has become the proprietary constraint in the machine universe of Euclidean space-time, no longer a matter of provisional guesswork to fascilitate a decision as to which way to turn next. Reification is impossible without stop-signs and their police. Poetry precedes linear discourse, but only in Euchronia (which means 'healthy times', just as euphoria means 'well-being'). It is a matter of navigation rather than accumulation & controlled discharge. One transcends (or transgresses) theory not with reflexivity, which is only another tautology, but with ecstasy, which accompanies empathy. The one (empathy) is impossible without the other (ecstasy). One must stand beside oneself even to witness the other. Without empathy, society is impossible. Full-immersion sex and a dog licking the salt from your face (desalination?) are the clues to the possibility of disalienation. Beware of cheap imitations. The discrediting of Eutopia (the place of well-being) is both the theory and praxis of the state patrol and slogan of the impossibilists.
If uchronia is fiction, then there are no moments of pleasant surprise, no achronic recollections, nor any sense of timelessness whatsoever, that floating feeling now only available under general anaesthesia. In fact, the world itself would come to a standstill. It is only those unpleasant perturbations which need discharged in a great flatulence or belch. Pleasantries do not accumulate steam useful to motivate a locomotive, except in the full ironic sense of a surly meat-grinder...
The chief tautology is the totality of ruling ideas of rulers and their incessant and timely rules. And they're all written down somewhere, just so we won't forget. "All these bosses and rules!" complained the apostle, Cool Hand Luke. There is always not only the possibility of heresy, but room for its prevalence. Fanatasy should not be confused with fantasy, just as a horde of cash is not the same as a hoard of people. The difference in spelling only reflects the sophistry that constraint is necessary and [economic] necessity is the the originary determinism. The first is the object of law and order (property) whilst the latter generally refers to a lawless mass of people, a golden riot of godless barbarians. Crime is the proof of revolution as non-narrative non-fiction. Lawless is not just against the law -- that is merely a side-effect -- it is without it. And that is the condition of its indeterminacy and priority. It is the law [a mere theory] which is the hyperreal intrusion and perturbation on life which is neither fictional nor theoretical. Theory does not constrain the criminal, prisons and cops do. Theory is the confusion of law and commonality. Like the sexual display of the crested grebe, pantomime (or ritualised play) is never fiction. It is merely a shared elaboration. The build up and discharge of anxiety only describes frustration with constraints. Your sado-masochistic god is dead, buried right alongside the prophet Hegel. Get over it.
There is no justification for bad habits. They can always be broken. The proof of this is every former smack-head. Even Keith Richards, who also said "silence is a canvass on which the guitarist applies subtle brush-strokes", was no nihilist! Music is a loving caress, not an explosive fart, even when it is meant to mimic one.
Only philosophers can navigate tautology and call this truth. It is the truth of one's own excrement in an intestinal maze. Self-defense is not murder any way you look at it. Murder is rape taken to the next emotional level. Fanaticism is merely the rational justification for the habitual state taken to an emotional height. I give for illustration, the guru Karl Marx, who, along with Lasalle, was an agent of Kaiser Bill and Honest Abe, both more sympathetic to enslavement by the Bourgeois revolution than we have been led to believe. Social Democracy was always the goal, even before Marx became excluded from the west german camp after WW2, the war to industrialise the planet making the work-place the extent of the conditions of living -- social control. Only a cop or cop-humunculus would still insist "how you make a living" determines life. But they did on both sides of the curtain. Lesson learned by 1989, now they're all one big happy family and Mr. Marx has become superfluous.
A cop is, by definition, one who has never experienced ecstasy, and insists no one else can, all the while selling drugs from the trunk of his cruiser to innocent bystanders enraptured by the faux-transgressive novelty of it. Love is thereafter a four letter word, but only for agents of Rome like the woman-hater, Paul (the new-age incarnation of the greek patriarch, Apollo), and ecstasy is a little white pill to make it all feel real.
j.c. (judas crackpot)
Constraint & Fiction
"Express yourself!", retorted the swollen pimple to the teenager in the mirror.
Just a clarification. Sometimes a turtle is not a turtle, but an island hooked from the depths by the long penis of an Hawai'ian Trickster, and reeled up to the surface. In the language of the Hopping Sand Flea (which, of course, is "flea logic"), a turtle may be a continent. Mythic legend makes us laugh. It shows that the world only acts as if it were real.
As for hidden assumptions, they are portals to fictional readers. The author may never see these portals, although sometimes writer and reader coincide. Such a fictional reader (Alice Chalmers) is to whom my comments were directed -- that staunch believer in a mechanical universe where sex is only and ever the release of pent up energy just like the whistle on a steam locomotive or a delco battery. This seems to be taking the law of thermodynamics a bit too far. Of course, sometimes a penis is a loco-motive, and not just an electric fishing line!
The law of the necessity of use-value is read at the first sacramental station in the first church of cybernetics. Already, love has become the brunt of popular jokes concerning romantic fiction, and while de Sade was being ironic, everyone now believes "people are not esteemed save in reason of the aid and benefits one imagines may be had of them". Affinity, as we all now know, pertains to co-conspirators working on a project. The world itself has been squeezed through a tight aperture leaving only politics, projectuality and a clear complexion.
It all comes together, it all falls apart. Bateson's "schizmogenesis" is Poe's "electricity". Edgar thought it a good thing, a necessary counterpoint to the forces of gravity engaged in a cosmic dance. He had read his Empedocles well. But Bateson followed more along the lines of Platonic Durkheim, who called for better glue ("social cohesion") to keep society from fragmenting. Henceforth, we have cybernetic conflict resolution useful to psychoanalysts as well as union negotiators, all to prevent the creation of difference, which is, as we all know, abnormality. Grace is such a kinder word, once it has been forcibly extracted from it's religio-historic context! A grace particle can be none other than a free radical.
But even Darwin noted the ubiquitous prevalence of uniquity, and wrote a swell fiction to account for it. I say swell because it coherently jived with the power-gaming epoch, and grew quite well with the squeezing. Apparently, we are most of us still in it. Pustules. An epoch is just a pimple yet to burst. How's that for aphorism? But as Jainist epistemology reveals, "all affirmations are true in some sense, false in some sense, meaningless in some sense, true and false in some sense, true and meaningless in some sense, false and meaningless in some sense, true and false and meaningless in some sense"
"When everything is legislated (or under control), all that is left is flambuoancy, flatulence and flambeaux."
– Oscar "Wildman" Molotov
The second half of the equation (or is it a correlation?) I agree with. The total phrase is exclusive of other cultures (it needs a modifier like "modern", in other words) but also of psychotic, poetic, pataphoric, mythic, macrobiotic, etc. "styles". To consider (with or without Freud) these "obvious" sources of fiction or error, is to contradict the second half pointing to logical discourse as fiction. Logically, everything is therefore fiction, which contradicts my contestation. It is still a tautology but not a perfect one mathematically speaking, because hidden in there is the afirmation "West is best". That should also be a fiction, so the whole formula is meaningless. Conclusion: Meaning itself is fiction.
thought = consciousness = discursive logic = fiction.
Proof: A Tweetybird is conscious. It is said if you cover a chicken's head, it goes limp and, in fact, falls asleep. You can try this at home. It probably dreams of getting laid. We witness chickens getting laid in every sense of the term, so we are unlikely to call this fiction. Fiction would be a chicken practised in aristotelean logic. I've known people who also fit this category in every sense of the term. I had a friend who fell instantly asleep whenever I mentioned the word, anticapitalism. True story! Jesus freaks are known for such behaviour when confronted with arguments from de Sade or Mark Twain.
Or maybe not.
The Arrogance of Meaning
“Museless Now Fay Wray” is a collection of poems in three sequences. The poetries are juxtaposed fragments composed to conceal and reveal by focus and out of focus musical constellations. There is rhythm first rather than the arrogance of meaning. They are to be ancient.
Fuckin A! Poetry is a participatory sport, like 'fill in the blanks' or 'empty the banks'.
Musement: The rhythm of juxtaposition invites the muse. It's very hard to empty a blank but easy to reject it out of hand. The void does not exist; even space is bricolage. Hence, the first law of physics: from something, nothing never comes (and vice verses like a bird in the mouth straight from the horse's hand).
The meaning of the second edition is belated, a muse arriving late to the party. "Bank robbery is a participatory sport", mused the amusing little bird, but not till it noted the semantically arbitrary (random) juxtaposition of blank banks (and white ones if you're french). What has rhythm is immediately meaningful. A bazillion African drummers can't be that wrong -- you can feel it in your gut. Brazilians too. Brazen lions only look brass. There are no African Pumas outside of zoos. It's a simple cymbal symbolism. I'm kool with rhyme and meter is fine, but give me a weird juxtaposition, and there's no zoos for fiction outside of old libraries with brass handles.
Babble? As Tennyson noted, "There is music here". Soft petals and blown roses are played just like an accordion wandering between tables at a greasy spoon diner replete with blown noses on rags ripped from the books of moses. Folks sometimes spend way too much effort trying to figure shit out. It's not a math problem, but may contain images. If not, try LSD.
So much for literary criticism and photojournalism. It may just be a non-representational snap shot. Lens cap is optional.
1. You pointed out the ludicrosity of an assessment about men, and I said "everything is" and you said "It is not helpful to say everything is X" and I said "It can be helpful when it suggests, even figuratively, a common pattern". The obvious absurdities of obvious overgeneralisations are often clues that we are speaking metaphorically, figuratively or humourously, not logically, literally or religiously. Shock value in dada is not necessarily "for itself" but gives the perturbation necessary to see that something other than the expected banality is "at work" (sick) here. It is not a literal assessment of "reality", but points to something we may otherwise miss. That something as well, is not necessarily given. Maybe it's only fun. Maybe it's a mirror or a pointing finger. That is going to be personal or subjective unless we are not shocked in the first place (ho hum, nice try) or turn away in a pouty posture of moral indignation. I always say context is everything, but it is "really" nothing at all without a sense of humour...or wonder. Here, today we have the most rational species on the planet, and we don't know how to say "Enough!" or "Fuck this shit!". What kind of weird juxtaposition is that? This is the problem of too much democratic consideration, possible without implying determinism or constraint. What would people think? What should people think?
2. I agree that organisms are a local tautology or even a self-referencing synergy, and that consciousness is an emergent effect of this synergy experiencing a time-space (historical-contextual) mutual influence describable as a feedback system. My point is that the "organism" precedes the rationalisation about "it". Thus, chickens are conscious but do not spend much time rationalising their existence. We learn that they are therefore limited, but I'm not so sure. I suspect stupidity and intelligence are also fictions somewhat akin to the anthropomorphism of the ego position. Early Greeks said we were an afterthought; Nietzsche thought we were a goof up; Artaud said we were only wrongside out. Even were the organism a machine in a machinic universe, there are so many loops (intervening variables or grace "particles") going on, uniqueness of every moment or each variably situated vortex or loophole or organism is impossible to neglect. The limits to possibility can only speak to averages or "mass" abstractions. These are the fictions which feed back to the fictional character of limits to possibility. The difference between surrealists and genetic engineers inserting frog genes into crested wheat is that the former do not have to kill fellow travelers to realise their creations.
Very likely, Thoreau and Rasputin were not pen pals, but a little dabbling in sin never hurt anyone, and in fact, may be essential to hear a different drum in the first place. The democratic instinct is a lie. This has nothing to do with individualism. Whatever nature has to say, nurture eliminates the self-other dialectic (or irony) altogether and "allows" ecstasis. You can feel downright beside yourself. That is Zen, where it is essential to kill the Buddha, and that is anarchy.
3. Alfred North-Whitehead said something similar to your "all [are] hostings and processes of consciousness" but he called this "god". Pascal too. Only Hegel could take this sentiment as gospel, "absolute" fucking truth and creating the new religion of phenomenology: the literal interpretation of everything, symbolically! Of course, we know better and call it what it is: "dogma". Ok, my whole point is also "we cannot know". That is skepticism: "Mechanically or symbolically, all knowledge is fiction".
I think we can agree here: A chicken is conscious even when a tree falls in the forest (unless it is under it). Even when human hunters have been banished from their lookout stands among the trees. We do not squirm at the idea that dogs dream. Chickens? If we could get into the heads of sleeping chickens, we might learn something important about the universe. Maybe we do this all the time but experience amnesia on waking, so saturated are we with "normality"?
In a determined universe constrained by recursivity, we could not have this conversation (it only looks like a monologue). There would be no fiction, no fantasy, no poetry, no dissent, no movement, pure euclidean geometric order. No sin. Absolute predictability is as fictional as enlightenment utopia, which is why Hindus and rationalist mon(othe)ists not only endorsed but "proved" the god-head: "There must be a reason" "god knows why we have no resin!" "we are too simple-minded for god not to exist, but we're getting better!" therefore, "try harder!" It's not logical. I tried it and found it not even doable. This is why I decided to replace the tree of life in the proverbial garden with navigational instruments as a more practice-able method than the accumulation of apples. If to start with, it's fiction, every book can be rewritten. Co-optation is no less creative than detournement. With little to no imagination, the co-opters (provocative pigs, madison avenue types, ceo's, gradual students with gifts of apples sucking up to prof's and publishing houses for the big bucks, whatever!) are starting to look ridiculous to everyone. If there were limits, they're trying very hard not to apply. Even adults can see the emperor is gowing bald. A Skinhead after all?
Above, I might have said "West logic is best logic", but the aesthetics of the words beat out the arrogance of the meaning. Other cultures are like other chickens. Because we have some "bits of information" concerning them (and dig this, if anthropological tidbits are all fictional -- as many are -- then so are Bateson's "bits of information" coalescing into rigid systems like radar stations useful to analysts), they could be called grace particles, intervening variables, entropic detritus, absurdities or flukes. The average mass could end up just about anywhere, all things considered (including that famous flapping butterfly in Costa Rica!). Even when it stays within a territory, the territory itself moves over and across time. How can we identify "the" impetus? An originary particle? Trauma at the home base? Suppose home is a travel trailer or teepee on a travois?
Given "the right circumstances" possibility is probable, but no statistical analysis can predict it. Right circumstance is itself a mighty big expectation. So go limits placed upon possibility without materialist restraints. Like a black box with one lever. Another such restraint is your certainty that you're not dreaming this minute. Interesting, so many dreams are not accompanied by this self-assuredness. It's a cosmic trick. Certainty itself may be the dream. If there was no question about it, then why are we so quick with the answer, ruffled feathers and all?
But I do see your point, and I have no bitch that folks tend to mimic their environment, especially if they're paid to. But tendency is not necessity. Even for a machine, the more complexity built in, the less likely we are to discover the primary malfunction. It is likely a synergy of different malfunctions occurring in a unique arrangement every time. What was once called "planned obsolescence" is now unavoidable. I call it Toyota Syndrome. Increased negentropy accelerates entropy. But some new toyotas don't break down on the freeway. Who'd a' thunk it? Yes, cybernetics is useful. But so are play and instinct. We are not machines, even when we pantomime them, just for the hell of it.
It is true we are constrained, but not by cybernetics. To de-turn a phrase by Orwell, "Constraint will stop the moment we want it to stop, and no sooner, and if we genuinely want it to stop the method adopted hardly matters." More functions of consciousness we share with tigers backed into a corner, and probably why porcupines back into a cave, in case it is already occupied. It is helpful to be reminded that we could die because of choices we make, but no one has yet successfully transgressed against this likelihood. There is no long term survival. Why not live now? I don't think you and I are in too much disagreement with Derrida's notions of deconstruction to expose weaknesses or openings. But these holes in our heads remain portals to possibilities. Maybe we're all saying the same thing after all? Who'd a' thunk that? If this is so, I'd call it "common sense" trying to break out from the underground and not "truth by mass consensus".
Figuring the mass is a normative fiction and Descartes knows that he is, so if we can agree that we are ourselves not figments of someone else's imagination (only under the influence), no amount of corrective adjustments will build anything bigger than a hill of beans. A hill of beans is not a paradox owing to the smooth surface area of its constituent members: It flows and spreads and can't maintain a heightened rigidity. This is why the kids want an insurrectionary rupture, not because they were inspired by John Wayne and James Dean movies. I say, to each hers own aesthetics and then see what happens. When we stop meddling in the behaviour of others, others can behave themselves. Society for itself? Take away the model and artists will have to improvise. Do nothing? Shit, do anything you can, but be sure to unplug your extension cord first! As little zeus found out, umbilical cords are meant to be bitten. Then he capped the old man just to cop a feel of power.
When we stay at home and mimic only each other, we must stay the same old normal same old, democratic, corncob pipe-smoking, jug-tipping, porch-sitting gossip mongers playing the banjo to the tune of "I'll marry my sweet sister Sallymae". When we explore a bit and mimic others or equally, when we embrace novelty which comes our way, we change our behavior. We learn the incest taboo, which is the birth of adventure (or born from it), and is very nearly the only cultural universal, said Freud, learned when we repress our mortal desires to take our fathers place at our mother's table (the roles are reversed in the female "electra complex"). The healthy ego is attracted to the strange and different. What can be more familiar than the family?
Adventure is the birth of rebellion as a solution to pimples and excessive hormone-fueled teen angst. Of course, it could as easily be said that our first pimple itself produces a desire to retreat from the potential ridicule "for being different", as ridicule is always observed to be the centerpiece of rounds of front-porch gossip. If Freud was even near the right track, it would seem that numbing fear of (or constraint from) adventure results in patricidal ideation which eventually escalates beyond the immediate family. It is said the only way to be truly comfortable in our own skins is to take on a job in town and evacuate our selves like a boil freshly come to head. "Express yourself", we are told. In this way, adventure is negated and our fathers survive to see us become them and we marry, not our sister, Sallymae, but someone who highly resembles our mother (or at least one we wish we'd had).
The adventurous amalgamation of observation and mimicry of the new and different is the source of scientific experimentation and modeling technics, which is to say art and invention. It is also the primary existing condition for the possibility of life itself in all its diversity. A mind to aesthetics is proven by the eye-spot of the amoeba and its propelling protoplasmic foot. We can say "it follows its nose". Social mimicry at its most basic is participation in a mutual feeding frenzy. Mimicry encapsulates and merges the novel into the familiar (and vice versa), and that requires not only movement, but stimulus discrimination (a state of aesthetic excitement) and navigation, even at the cellular level.
Hyper-flexibility illustrates that feeling "as if the top of your head has come off..." Emily Dickinson spoke of when she realises she's read a poem ("...is how I know it's poetry"). It approaches a euphoria (mind-blowing) which is the condition of trust or receptivity as much as suggestibility. It is where you really hear the music (or muses, as the case may be). Unfortunately, it is also the sophistry of honey covered poison and sugar-coated (but 'essentially' bitter) medicine no child would volunteer to take. Such internal 'truths' burried in the fiction (my ancestors would have said "medicine in the story") can kill you or save your ass. Without restraints by totalitarian pill pushers, that is to say, with the personal agency of a free person, we can decide not to take either the white chalk or red syrup, but take a different route and see what the Gypsy fortune-teller at the carney has to say on the topic. There is always the image available of the dog bleeding from the ass after lapping up the sweet anti-freeze from the asphault driveway the day before to exercise our cautionary instincts. 'True' or 'useful' flexibility is the capability to shift states of consciousness as the situation requests. Expertise would add "at will". [As long as there is room to move, the proverbial 'third way' which is 'Out', situations are never 'demanding' -- but in this archic day and age, that would be uncircumscribed utopia]. Sometimes some consumeables serve to satisfy the sorting, at least till we're well practiced. From where I sit, utopia is the word for the imagination of possibility of non-alienating society. What it is or looks like (the image) is less important than its possibility, unless we are out to construct or brew it up it in the workshop or kitchen. Such behaviour has always ever produced cans of worms. Think I'll put my trust in the Gypsy who prophesized it ("be careful what you wish for") and not the circumcisionist out to cut off all exits with precise incisions.
Yea, brethern and sistren, now abideth doubt, hope and charity; these three; and the greatest of these is doubt. For doubt puffeth not itself up into pomposity; doubt suffereth long, and is kind. With doubt all things are possible.
– Robert Anton Wilson
A 'logical' extension of my train would seem to suggest the formula: Fiction = Possibility. Don't we at least demand plausability in our romances? To see one's self in another (and vice versa) is, from a literal and empirical perspective, a fiction. Some call it a delusion. From the formula however, as well as from a skeptical point of view regarding 'knowledge' in general, one may actually witness possibility in any reflection -- an hypothesised pattern of resemblance. We are, after all, said to be a species equipped with self-awareness. Or is that paranoia? Our own positive aesthetic sense of the environment (an estimation: "that which is esteemed") leads to a degree of familiarity, trust and elaborate emulation -- 'pantomime'. Toward some specificity, we enjoy our mimicry.
The inverse of this, the bullshit detector in a perturbed nasal aperture allows introspective re-assessment, which is another way of saying mindfulness of our own behaviour, and the tautology or recursivity of the mirror is complete. We can always question the image in the mirror or the voices in our head. (Heavens forbid! A dialogue?) What is conscious, therefore, can be cha(lle)nged, detourned, tuned to the direction of a different (esteemed or not) aesthetic drum. The question of the destruction of habits invites a flood of possibility which means indeterminacy and disconstraint. Some call this "insecurity" but that's certainly a misconstrual. Even at the other end of 1-900 numbers, there is never an offer of free bondage. Only in the joint can one get three free hots and a cot, but watch out for the side dishes.
Were this consciousness of one's own habits unavailable, there could be no theatre. Acting is always a playful matter of experimentation or approximation. Even spirit possession. Otherwise we use different words, like "trickster", "charlatan" or "perp". The progressive elimination of grace or absurdity calls for one's own corruption, or 'truth'. "There is only faith" is a helpful lesson from Pascal. It is precisely the unminded truth (like the man behind the curtain) which we need to avoid if there is to be a third act breaking cycles of abuse or ending addictions. This need not extend to paranoia or egoistic vigilance, that is an extension of democracy. Whether tracking or trafficking, let your nose be your guide. We should not forget that sin is just a meandering path from statistical normality, and that is always a portent or adventurous exploration.
Why not come out with what we really want to say? It's either
1. Forget the totality. Change starts at home. Be mindful and break the abuse cycle (but first you may need to find at least one nurturing other for a bit of resilience). You are the revolution (but only your children might appreciate it, that is, if they know their grandparents or study history)...
2. Forget all alities and plicities (re, mutil, multi & totally). Recursivity's all assonant alliteration: but, but, but, but...to infinity (or the end, which ever comes first). There's nothing to be done but asinine iteration. No room here for obliteration. Nothing can be done but endless repetition. The game is fixed, determined and constrained. So join us! Find something which engages your interest. It'll all be over soon. Avant G_d is the final judge. But remember, there are always more of them than you!
I'm never really sure which is the agenda here. Both? Or is there a third? The generalised dissemination of the uncertainty principle? Then count me in. A little ambiguity never hurt anyone, and is no reason to give up the ghost.
This is why I like aesthetic and Taoist approaches (or navigation), combined with a little behaviour modification (sin?), remembering that pissing and breathing are also behaviours where, if things become uncomfortable, reform is usually preferable to revolutionary rupture. A lot of shit besides bladders fit in that category, like for instance, spleens. Sometimes fighting back can prevent splenic ruptures, and revolution and reform merge.
I don't know whether to piss or roll another cigarette. I can tell you, though, I'll not piss in the tobacco tin. This is not an example of constraint (moral or otherwise) producing a personal conflagration. It is merely another equivocation requiring neither cost-benefit analysis nor time and motion engineering. It will sort itself out one way or t'other. I can always wash up later. True story: I once mistook an open filing cabinet for a toilet, but I'd been drinking. It was an error of judgement only after the matter, but not from the perspective of my unhappy bladder. Gotta go!
god is the right side of any moral assessment (Or should I say ineptitude?), QED. God is goood (and put back in its proper etymological place -- three times '0' is still nothin')
A LED watch named Chronos and his big brother, Youranus, who said to little zeus: "Bend over", strike match and there was light, and later goats were tethered tight. (When he grew up, zeus pulled an oedipus out of 'is ass, er, hat)
They made the earth in six days flat, on the seventh they took some breast. Into orbit they let it fling, to give it a dry-run test. After a billion lonely years, baby jesus stole the fire and created moral leftitude crying, "liar, liar", his pants caught fire, already dying as he crawled away.
Good is now a ski-mask with a schtick of dynamite between the teeth, setting the goat free before burning down the barn. With genetic modification and covered breasts with sagging rapes of prophets, mothers are unnecessary to any economic discourse, but white men still accumulate much gas and can't fart. And the second cumming brick through the first thin walls of all beauty salons is.
And there is no void on the other sides of imagination you can still breath if you open the window.
Free, free, free at last / all glass houses break so fast / ain't it just a gas, gas, gas / take a hit of righteous grass. Having trouble with my metaphors? Oh well, it was only a six day job. This whirling blob and your ism is not an anheuristic aneurism, it's all just poetry.
& hinges do not fold;
neither do they swindle...
When you get down to it, whatever it may be,
the idea's just a question, and who has dibs on that,
but kings & property?
Come to fore or be it passed,
should it appropriate the immortality of go-spells,
or be confined within a fence?
Time's up? my ass!
Is every 'this' not reminiscent of an other 'that'?
and spells not cast as evil elocutions?
A fence's only task is this:
to pass on the goods such that the thief goes by
unbeknownst to all but friend or kin.
Gossip's charm is known to break out in rash distribution,
but who's to blame if possees pose it as a silly question?
Over, under or through the fence;
a hinge for any recompense,
Penny loses all her cents but gains in independence.
So much for authorship or other claims
to any & more familiar fames."
– Pro-verbs: 4.Q
Authenticity and authorship and other "ego defense mechanisms" are sneaky euphamisms for truth at the expense of all our questions, (to bring in just a hint of economic metaphor). Once we accept this, we see the ego as the biggest fiction of property. The function of truth is always the hostile elimination of questions, particularly the unique ones. It is a mass-acre of expansive ground. When questions are eliminated, there is no movement possible but that from behind the sooth sayer. One never sees this behaviour among "real" sheep (the notorious "other" said to resemble ourselves). They think with seven stomachs, leaving the brain to properly record interest rates for future transgressions. Rumination is no transaction. Having but one gut, we couldn't even pronounce their real names! It's a matter of smell, among other things.
The real difference between fiction and non-fiction is zero, whilst the distance between them is infinity. Bipolar personality? Truth is irreverently irrelevant to motion in any grassy orb or omnigravitational field. "Give me back the figure in the wax museum, you thief of otherness!" Hypernymity is the shit! Long live Kent Johnson! (even as a ghost) it's all just radio with oragami colors between the channels. Noise and paradox are as equally uncertain as order and chaos, but if our gut is happy, so what? I agreed with Shelley long before I knew his name or read his "work". Tune in, drop out, it's the same thing. The moral? Don't off your friends with too many truths.
This does not mean we should embrace the simulacron. It's just not that appetising and may just be the monster serpant with your own tail in its mouth. Is it an emerging birth or your consumption prior to an other's digestion?. Equivocal ambiguity is the preservation of all distribution networks. What Bernstein calls "poetry". It's what allows radicals to exist even if immersed among a large number of institutionalised and mediochre fakes. All of them have names we will remember if they succeed at selling their product. But occasionally there are mistakes! Memory is way cooler than truth. In Wyoming a good lie elevates one's status as "wise". It makes the story more real because we laugh (or cry) in the telling. It triggers our hypothesis organ. It is a sacred perturbation which wakes us up to possibility.
"Horace tells us that mediocrity in a poet is forbidden alike by gods, men, and publishers, but, whether forbidden or no, there are a good many mediocre poets who are doing fairly well. So far as I can see, indeed, gods, men, and more particularly publishers, will tolerate nothing in a poet except mediocrity, and if a true poet by some rare accident slips in among the others, it is because gods and publishers’ readers did not find him out until it was too late to stop him. Horace must have known perfectly well that he was talking nonsense."
-- Sam Butler
Worried you've been infiltrated? There is always the option of leaving the circus altogether (not necessarily in mass, but wouldn't that be nice?), giving rise to many other options, such as burning the tent down from the outside or entrepreneurially starting up your own entertainment business. (You did want that didn't you? To be entertained or to be entertaining? Isn't that really the question?) But enough with Shakespearean rackets! It's time now for guerilla theatre! Just how do you infiltrate a mind blowing?
"Our authorized sanities are so many Nembutals. "Normal" citizens with store-dummy smiles stand apart from each other like cotton-packed capsules in a bottle. Perpetual mental out-patients. Maddeningly sterile jobs for strait-jackets, love scrubbed into an insipid "functional personal relationship" and Art as a fantasy pacifier. Everyone is kept inside while the outside is shown through windows: advertising and manicured news. And we all know this.
We don't wish to inspire mutiny so that we can all sit around the hookah and be friends. We do it so they'll get off our asses! When you stop meddling in other people's behaviours, those others can start to behave themselves. And not a minute before! Meantime, expect some counter-meddlement! Be serious: just what is a misbehaviour but someone behaving like a pig (no offense to the four-legged variety), or treating you like a piece of personal property or lump of car-wreck meat? Defend yourself against property, but don't over-worry about mistakes. They are usually self-limiting as long as we aren't somnambulistically zoned on Nembutals!
How many TV specials would it take to establish one Guatemalan revolution? How many weeks would an ad agency require to face-lift the image of the Viet Cong? Slowly, very slowly we are led nowhere. Consumer circuses are held in the ward daily. Critics are tolerated like exploding novelties. We will be told which burning Asians to take seriously. Slowly. Later.
But there is a real danger in suddenly waking a somnambulistic patient. And we all know this.
What if he is startled right out the window?
No one can control the single circuit-breaking moment that charges games with critical reality. If the glass is cut, if the cushioned distance of media is removed, the patients may never respond as normals again. They will become life-actors.
Theater is territory. A space for existing outside padded walls. Setting down a stage declares a universal pardon for imagination. But what happens next must mean more than sanctuary or preserve. How would real wardens react to life-actors on liberated ground? How can the intrinsic freedom of theater illuminate walls and show the weak-spots where a breakout could occur?
Guerrilla theater intends to bring audiences to liberated territory to create life-actors. It remains light and exploitative of forms for the same reasons that it intends to remain free. It seeks audiences that are created by issues. It creates a cast of freed beings. It will become an issue itself.
This is theater of an underground that wants out. Its aim is to liberate ground held by consumer wardens and establish territory without walls. Its plays are glass cutters for empire windows...
No play can change your life unless you are in it.
A requiem for audience, a morgue for voyeurs.
Some grandiose Palace of National Honor and Culture is prepared for a final performance: searchlights, white canopy, funeral wreaths.
Solemn politicians greet overdressed notables at the door. BIack-veiled ladies hand out lit white tapers. Ushers hang oversize tickets like bibs around patrons' necks and stuff white silk handkerchieves down their throats to enforce silence.
Curtain opens on an exact duplicate of the house and a cast identical to the audience, also gagged, ticketed and holding candles.
Fidgeting in the house, fidgeting on stage. Someone rernoves a soggy handkerchief to cough. Everyone in the cast mimicks him. Now the rest of the audience imitates the cast. Volleys of coughs are exchanged for 15 minutes.
"What the hell is this?" mumbles the boldest patron.
"What the hell is this?" mumbles the cast
Volleys of mumbles for another 15 minutes.
The mayor clears his throat and stutters, "St-the-star start the show."
"Start the show," roars the cast, "or we'll kill you!"
Murmurs through the house. A fat benefactress whispers, "I thought it was a proper memorial for years of attending Shakespeare, Brecht and Noel Coward."
"I heard that," snorts a gentleman in the cast "Listen, lady, I've been watching you slobs fidget, mumble, murmur and whisper for 37 years!"
"They'd murder you at La Scala," shouts an opera buff, pitching a candle onto the stage.
Cast boos and send a wave of candles into the house.
"A happening! How wild!" It's a critic giggling in the balcony
"Fuck you," screams the mayor's mother and aims a candle at her counterpart on stage. Enraged pediatricians and stockbrokers are charging down flaming aisles to strangle their doubles.
Cast dives into the first row, snatching jewelry and bellowing, "Fraud! You call this art? Give us our money back!"
The final act of police theater...
Listen tool, we got a man on every exit.
Nobody wants to live forever anymore.
But suppose some citizen,
unaware he's a source of car-wreck meat,
pastes up the windows with parking tickets,
and won't report missing?
Who counts his change?
Who gets an erection in the unemployment office?
Who pays the rent and THEN locks up?
Anyone's an exit but no one leaves.
Right! We got 'em standing in the aisles
Sit down and watch the line-up.
– Emmett Grogan
Eldridge Cleaver (more or less) had this to say:
"A determined radical doesn't require consensus from the committee before offing a pig. As a matter of fact, when the need arises, she will off the central committee..."
Take a Cop to Dinner
Cop a Dinner to Take a Cop
Dinner Cop a Take
Take a cop to dinner:
Racketeers take cops to dinner with payoffs.
Pimps take cops to dinner with free tricks.
Dealers take cops to dinner with free highs.
Business takes cops to dinner with graft.
Unions and Corporations take cops to dinner with post-retirement jobs.
Schools and Professional Clubs take cops to dinner with free tickets to athletic events
and social affairs.
The Catholic Church takes cops to dinner by exempting them from religious duties.
The Justice Department takes cops to dinner with laws giving them the right to do almost
The Defense Department takes cops to dinner by releasing them from all military
Establishment newspapers take cops to dinner by propagating the image of the friendly,
uncorrupt, neighborhood policeman.
Places of entertainment take cops to dinner with free drinks, and admission to shows.
Merchants take cops to dinner with discounts and gifts.
Neighborhood Committees and Social Organizations take cops to dinner with free discussions
offering discriminating insights into hipsterism, black militancy, and drug culture.
Cops take cops to dinner by granting them immunity to prosecution for misdemeanors and
anything else they can get away with.
Cops take themselves to dinner by inciting riots.
Have a cop for dinner.
– Digger Papers, '67
Art thieves & High-waymen
So when a toddler 'cops some takes" and mimics the sounds in its environment (because it feels good on the vocal chords like a blown raspberry?) and later comes up with a unique (but 'meaningful') phrase from the juxtaposition of normally disparate elements predictably (or "comfortably" when they are) situated elsewhere like "Magdalene margarine mourns mornings more cuz me mum makes mush more than chocolate syrup!", is it nefarious sampling & thievery? By this formula, all language learning, language itself is theft. Mum's the word! It's Absurd!
In one rough translation, (considered a variety of linguistic theft as well as sabotage), Lao Tse said (and I repeat) "Throw away industry and profit and there won't be any thieves" (obviously meaning "property constrains creativity") Hey, It wasn't me who did the translation. I don't even speak Cuban! Honest, officer. I stole it! Property! It's fucking ridiculous! Commy property, doubley so.
Properly speaking and speaking of property, some courses come with curses. Therefore, discourse is the appropriate set of dis-cursive rituals often engaged to provide security in one's travels by meandering around portentialy dangerous points. If these rituals are metriculously mimicked, and precisely without regard to poignancy and portent, doom (or an attack of idiocy) is certain. Another word for this, highly applicable to free way travelers, is SWERVE, and that is a game one can play alone as well as collectively. Cyberneticians would call it "An odd decision gate". It is odd only by virtue of its sudden unpredictability. It is useful by virtue of its momentous (mindblowing) equivocation, after which use value is superseded by the aesthetics of a stolen moment.
3 Inductions:1) Shoving a tampon down yer throat to induce silence is never indicated except as an intended feint. 2) Spirit in artworks is always posited from outside. 3) Spirits are never constrained by objectivity.
The structure is the fetish, everything else is real.
– Hypernonimous Botch
The mass e(n)tymology of after-dinner (re-)treats
"Talksick Babies"A dew!
To Stew, and you, sweet Adieu.
Deserting dessert in a deserted desert
for frying flaws, flying flies flew,
defecting from the defect
for more formerly mealy meals
chorus: a course now known anew
and different corpse remains: drinking several glasses where one only entertains.
"How d'ya do?"
said the spider to the fly who flawed, flying into a flue.
There a rent no flawers in any scents,
but other wise d'esthétique ouv(r)e mints
and errorist judgements on mobious strips
or gummier mobiles twirl above cribs
come hear where curdling babes have no moves
but wiggles'n waggles'n gurgles'n grooves
just like bugs in rugs if so it bee hooves.
– Polly Seamus,'58
"The greatest difficulty consists in this: (there) certainly contains a good amount of information that must be translated exactly. But this is not essentially a matter of information. Essentially, the information resides in the very manner in which it is enunciated....
What exactly does this chorus mean? It means all that is possible to find in it. Scorning good classical rules, the apposition "drinking several glasses" can be linked, and here as a euphemism, to the preceding; but it must also be linked to the phrase that follows it, and then it makes a figure of exact and instantaneous observation. But, beyond the subject represented by the [word] "one," perhaps equally understood as being an outside observer (in this case, fully disapproving) and as being the subjective judgment of this youth (and, in this case, expressing a philosophically or cynically lucid satisfaction). All of this is true, one must not delete anything...
Each time – and this is quite frequent – that a word or a phrase has two possible meanings, one must recognize and maintain them both, because the phrase must be understood as entirely veracious in both senses. For the ensemble of the discourse, this also signifies: the totality of the possible meanings is its only truth.
...One must also sense that this is not a simple irony: must they ultimately be experienced as truly ironic? One must leave this doubt intact."
– Guy Debord
Read More: Wrecking & Recreation