Saturday, June 13, 2015

I Can Sudoku Syllables with the Scruples of a Butcher

That's the original, the typed out version is here. Today's monologue, today's post's poem.

It used to be accidental, then done half-aware, now deliberately, my favorite posts on Blegsylvania's slowest day of the week. See above poem.

  • The propaganda of a growing disasterThere is no Outside anymore, the world is information, reality is information, economics is information, humans are nothing more than bits in a slipstream novel that seems to be fading to Zero: Zeno’s paradox in reverse: an infinite circle that has finally lost its tail.
  • And a follow-up, The Anti-City: The greatest feat of capitalism was its standardization not of the commodity, but the commodification and standardization of reality. The speed of the Same is globalization in filmic stasis, the sense you have as you travel from port to port and step out of your jet into the comfort of your new destination of having never moved at all. You are not moving, only the world is. This is the age of movable stasis, speed as entropic effect, an empty time in which time has been emptied out. The flows have stopped, and you are merely shadowboxing in a corporate film realm of affectless  synchronization.
  • A note on the long tomorrowThe market has permeated all of life; there is no longer an “outside.” This makes it hard to conceive of any replacement for our unjust capitalist system, since anything we do, any action we take, only serves to perpetuate that system. Furthermore, the notion that groups of people might share an identity—whether workers or activists or immigrants—around which to organize is bankrupt; the revolutionary subject is dead. As a result, we can no longer formulate anything like a fifty-year political program that strives for emancipation and equality, or come up with a decent alternative to such a program.
  • The valves that control transitude.
  • Ornette Coleman's Revolution: But the essence of Coleman’s philosophy connects it to the defining trait of philosophical thought from Socrates onward: the puncturing of shibboleths, the rational devaluation of concepts considered essential, the proof through reason that ideas and categories believed to derive from nature are merely convenient artifices and social markers and can easily be dispensed with. But those ideas and categories are dispensed with by those who cherish their freedom of spirit, and often at the cost of their social position. To expose familiar habits as fusty fabrications is to expose oneself to ridicule, as a weirdo, and to persecution, as a threat to the established order.
  • RIP Ornette Coleman
  • Hamster, who knows and digs jazz far more than I, says he has a Coleman cascade, he'll get it to me as soon as the motherfucking internet is back at his apartment.
  • I hope everyone has fun, I send everyone my love, I don't begrudge the band its $$$, but it's not the Grateful Dead if Jerry is still dead.
  • A heartbreaking Creeley poem in another gorgeous post from Tom.

1 comment:

  1. I hope everyone has fun, I send everyone my love, I don't begrudge the band its $$$, but it's not the Grateful Dead if Jerry is still dead.

    Agreed on all counts.