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February 07, 2012
Strumpshaw (evening)
Longing And Indifference
Mark Edwards via
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A Scrupulous Fidelity,
On Thomas Bernhard’s The Loser
Douglas Glover
(....)
Over and over, the reader senses that the narrator is thinking fast to prevent himself from thinking, his thoughts always implying an excess they dare not express (although the narrator does let slip many very clear pointers). The entire text is framed within an implied conflict—the narrator's resistance to a truth he cannot face—and this conflict propels the text forward with a mysterious urgency. The desperate, compulsive, and transparently self-serving if not delusional nature of the narrator's thoughts in turn motivates the stressed form characteristic of the prose. Hysteria motivates hyperbole. The mechanical elaborations of grammatical yoking are desperate attempts on the part of the narrator to appear logical and analytical even as he is constantly dropping into spiraling word repetitions, fugue stops, digressions, and self-revealing tirades.
But the disorder is only a semblance of disorder. It looks like a verbal torrent, the delirium of a madman, which of course it is meant to resemble in some superficial and theatrical sense, a deranged dramatic monologue (of thought), when in fact it is also artfully controlled, patterned and symmetrical (right down to the substandard Ehrbar piano the narrator plays as a child which returns at the end of the novel as the rented, “horribly untuned” Ehrbar Wertheimer plays for his travesty concert), art as symptom or symptom as art (repetition is a pattern of art and also of dream and neurosis), super-controlled (such an Austrian trait) and at the same time in tension with its own apparent haphazardness and compulsivity.
Hyperbole and absurdity subvert every aspect of Bernhard's novel; hyperbole is the constant marker for irony, the double sign that destroys the fictional facade of plausibility and univocal meaning and points to a second meaning that is absent in the text. This is the ultimate moment of ambiguity and difficulty, the text announcing that it doesn't mean what it says it means....(more)
via Mark Thwaite
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Silence
Henry Fuseli
b. Feb. 7, 1741
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tweets from engels
Outsider Poems: A Mini-Anthology in Progress (35)
presented by Jerome Rothenberg
(....)
kit + krystof
survival instinct is more prominent in th #homeless // society wears blindfolds #kit
I wake up + think oh no another day will I walk in2 sum1 whos generous //? //or a fist #kit
alcohol + drugs get u thru th nite // like prisoners #kit
#comfort = a big word when u think of it = warmth is th main 1 Id say warmth like an emotion #krystof
family push-u pull-u in again or Id be out of here = a bullet from a gun // a changing face #krystof
yr hand = comfort a warm feeling in th pit of yr stomach + a glow in th mind nice + toasty #krystof
...(more)
tweets from engels
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The Evergreen Review Reader: 1967-1973
mediafire epub
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META. Research in Hermeneutics, Phenomenology and Practical Philosophy
Vol. III, No. 2 / December 2011
At the Threshold of Memory:
Collective Memory between Personal Experience and Political Identity
Jeffrey Andrew Barash
Politics and the Internet: A Phenomenological Critique
Gregory Cameron
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Kitchen Garden
Padmaloke Buddhist Retreat,
Surlingham
Mark Edwards
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The Roles of Finance, Food, and Force in US Foreign Policy
Stan Goff
The Text of a Lecture at Pennsylvania State University - School of International Affairs
February 2, 2012
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Wittgenstein's Ladder
David Lehman
G A M M M
(....)
6.
Philosophy was an activity, not a doctrine.
“Solipsism, when its implications are followed out
strictly, coincides with pure realism,” he wrote.
Dozens of dons wondered what he meant. Asked
how he knew that “this color is red,” he smiled
and said, “because I have learnt English.” There
were no other questions. Wittgenstein let the
silence gather. Then he said, “This itself is the answer.”
...(more)
David Lehman at the Poetry Foundation
February 06, 2012
photo - mw
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Address to an Old Wooden Gate
Patrick Kavanagh
Battered by time and weather, scarcely fit
For firewood; there’s not a single bit
Of paint to hide those wrinkles, and such scringes
Break hoarsely on the silence – rusty hinges:
A barbed wire clasp around one withered arm
Replaces the old latch, with evil charm.
That poplar tree you hang upon is rotten,
And all its early loveliness forgotten.
This gap ere long must find another sentry
If the cows are not to roam the open country.
They’ll laugh at you, Old Wooden Gate, they’ll push
Your limbs asunder, soon, into the slush.
Then I will lean upon your top no more
To muse, and dream of pebbles on a shore,
Or watch the fairy-columned turf-smoke rise
From white-washed cottage chimneys heaven-wise.
Here have I kept fair tryst, and kept it true,
When we were lovers all, and you were new;
And many a time I’ve seen the laughing-eyed
Schoolchildren, on your trusty back astride.
But Time’s long silver hand has touched our brows,
And I’m the scorned of women – you of cows.
How can I love the iron gates which guard
The fields of wealthy farmers? They are hard,
Unlovely things, a-swing on concrete piers –
Their finger-tips are pointed like old spears.
But you and I are kindred, Ruined Gate,
For both of us have met the self-same fate.
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photo - mw
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Combusted Travel Journal to a Former Friend
Thomas Bernhard
A Translation of "In Flammen aufgegangen Reisebericht an einen einstigen Freund" by
by Douglas Robertson
The Philosophical Worldview Artist
As you know I have been on the run for more than four months now, not southwards as I gave you to understand, but northwards, it was not warmth to which I was ultimately drawn, but cold, not architecture, my dear architect and building-artist, but nature and in actual fact that quite specific[ally] northern nature, of which I have spoken to you so often, the so-called polar circular nature about which I wrote a paper a full thirty years ago, one of the innumerable secret papers, secreted papers that are never destined for publication, [but] only for annihilation, for I have indeed recently recovered my intention of continuing to live, not of merely prolonging my existence, [for] I am bent on continuing [only] in a [state of] absolute libertinage, my dear architect, my dear building-artist, my dear charlatan of superficies. Secretly, secretively epoch-making, so to speak, my dear sir. At first I had thought that I would never write to you again under any circumstances, as it really does seem to me that our relationship has actually and irrevocably been standing at its terminus for quite a number of years, above all has reached its intellectual terminus, never again to establish contact with you had been my intention, naturally never again to write you any lines, every additional line to you has appeared to me for quite some time to be a complete absurdity addressed to a person who once decades ago was a friend, an intellectual companion, but ultimately [and] for quite a number of decades has only been an enemy, an enemy of my thought, an enemy of my existence, which of course is nothing but an intellectual existence. I had written to you several letters in Vienna and in Madrid, ultimately in Budapest and Palermo, but not sent these letters, I had actually put addresses and stamps on these letters, never sent them, in order not to make a sacrifice to a vulgar piece of tastelessness. I have annihilated these letters and sworn to myself not to write any more lines to you, to refrain from writing to you as [I refrained from writing] to everybody else. I permitted myself no further correspondence. So I have been traveling for several years through Europe and North America, possibly in a [state of] unavailing madness, as you would say, without contacts, without correspondence, because my pleasure in communicating had died at once, after I had denied myself [this pleasure] for years on end. I went, so to speak, into myself and no longer came out of myself. ...(more)
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photo - mw
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A Provisional Topography
Jürgen Becker
Translated By: Okla Elliott
On the Weichsel River, before the war. You see
exactly where we
could have gone farther on the path
above the dam separating the Nothing of river-silver
from those things that formed only shadows
in the changing light.
The unmoved architecture of clouds: it is
this moment that over decades has dragged itself
and has adopted the color of newsprint.
In the distance, in the dark, two houses.
Although it’s bright as day.
Whether souls wander here . . . in any case, distant,
on the dam, two people walking
stand out against the horizon, in the middle
of this past.
The rows of trees continue until
they disappear in a line that returns
on the other side of the river.
The question, whether such or similar conflicts begin.
At night, and not just nights, in the subjunctive.
...(more)
Arch Literary Journal
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On the Commerce of Thinking
Of Books and Bookstores
Jean-Luc Nancy
Translated by David Wills
ifile pdf
February 05, 2012
photo - mw
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Knot iii.VII
Stacy Doris
If people could feed on themselves which they can, whether in despair or
Pride, time becomes a circulation, reduced and expanded to that, imitating
Digestion. Ingesting decomposes any scrap into functions, whereas eating
Something other than yourself disprove wholeness. What rewards
Rewording might be justice. Then does response outrun responsibility,
Overthrow it, so all government's automatic, total, a model of control based
On nature? If retribution's normal, rule's always enforcing, twisted and
Abstract: flexed. Then days are contaminated by law, and life's a code,
Dead yet lethal. Even putrefaction would be saturated thus: the severed
Hand molder on schedule.
Perhaps in this way all living's starvation, programmed to regurgitate itself,
So cutting off supplies would free, while goods stifle. Thus the excuse
That oneness means bodiless, that what has parts is too bulky for unity.
Indivisible then implies a corpus subtracted, or, origin in amputation. Any
Bomb curls back on its unleashing, so mirrors cause and denies effect.
So repeats; is a refrain. Like all waves, destruction won't break. If so,
Nobody needs to be alive to go on. State equals machine, but runs only
By crashing. Each project attacks what may be in place with the corrosive
Burn of potential. Passivity's the only order: ordains. But breathing counts
Down. Each movement of respiration encodes terror, which flourishes in
Everyone thus, in the midst of hunger and abundance, in the speed of love.
No tourniquet dispels it.
With Respect: Stacy Doris, 1962-2012
By Harriet Staff
Stacy Doris at PennSound
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Anton Mauve
d. Feb. 5, 1888
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The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad
Wallace Stevens
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.
The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.
The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian
Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;
One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
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Nature Morte, ABC
1927
Fernand Léger
b. Feb. 4, 1881
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The Global Square: an online platform for our movement
A proposal on how to perpetuate the creative and cooperative spirit of the occupations and transform them into lasting forms of social organization.
Reflections on a Revolution (ROAR).....................................................
call and response
Sounds, sights, and stanzas from then and now. An #OWS survey.
triple canopy
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Beyond SOPA: ACTA, WIPO, and the Global Copyfight
Michael Geist
youtub
Keynote address at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg on January 27, 2012 that discusses the role of digital activism in countering bills like SOPA and the ongoing copyfight over the use of WIPO, ACTA, and aggressive laws to promote restrictive copyright rules.
via Copyfight: the politics of IP
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Sharing: Culture and the Economy in the Internet Age
Philippe Aigrain
Abstract
In the past fifteen years, file sharing of digital cultural works between individuals has been at the center of a number of debates on the future of culture itself. To some, sharing constitutes piracy, to be fought against and eradicated. Others see it as unavoidable, and table proposals to compensate for its harmful effects. Meanwhile, little progress has been made towards addressing the real challenges facing culture in a digital world. Sharing starts from a radically different viewpoint, namely that the non-market sharing of digital works is both legitimate and useful. It supports this premise with empirical research, demonstrating that non-market sharing leads to more diversity in the attention given to various works. Taking stock of what we have learnt about the cultural economy in recent years, Sharing sets out the conditions necessary for valuable cultural functions to remain sustainable in this context.
OAPEN (Open Access Publishing in European Networks)_______________________
The case for piracy
J. D. Hildebrand
Software Development Times
What if we are looking at this the wrong way. What if, instead of expending their time and energy stopping piracy, copyright holders accepted the pirates as an inevitable, even helpful, part of the creative ecosystem?
A number of researchers, writers, and even copyright holders are starting to come around to this point of view. In increasing numbers, people are sharing their opinion that piracy is a good thing.
How could this be?...(more)
February 03, 2012
West
Callum Ross
1 2
interview: Callum Ross
small sight
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On Death, without Exaggeration
Wislawa Szymborska
(....)
Sometimes it isn’t strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.
All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.
Ill will won’t help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d’etat
is so far not enough.
Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies’ skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.
Whoever claims that it’s omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it’s not.
There’s no life
that couldn’t be immortal
if only for a moment.
Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.
In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you’ve come
can’t be undone.
...(more)
Wislawa Szymborska
(2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012)
Possibilities
Wislawa Szymborska
Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh
(....)
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.
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Slow Media
Transformations
Issue No. 20 2011
Given the contemporary fascination with and, indeed, addiction to real-time media dispatch and commentary, what does it mean to speak of “slow media”? Is this to invoke the memory of “old” media, of legacy media, the media and technologies that are now thoroughly mediated and remediated into newer, faster, digital forms (Bolter & Grusin)? Or is it to speak of the possibility of experiencing our media more slowly, of taking time out or time off from the email, releasing some of the pressure that has built up in our systems? And dare we even think such a thing when everything around us screams of increased processing speed, increased bandwidth, and increased convergence? We are 24-7, we are always-on, we are connected; we are locatable, we are geotagged, we are Cartesian-coordinated; we are status updated, we are tweet-fed; we are real-time media junkies and everything about our mediascape exists to remind us that we don’t have time to slow down.
Indeed, “slow media” may seem entirely inimical to the age of social media and 24-hour news channels, where we live immersed in a mediascape dedicated to that magical moment “when the interval between the triggering of an event and its processing/reception falls beneath the threshold of sensible perception” (Mackenzie 168). In such a scenario, “slow media” appears either heretical or retrogressive, a wanton disregarding of the patent necessity of instant information dissemination and rampant friending, or just another Luddite reaction-formation.
And yet the term, and concept, has a resonance that is not so easily elided by the familiar narratives of progress and development, and it has taken root in a number of quarters. ...(more)
Digital Suicide and the Biopolitics of Leaving Facebook
Tero Karppi
Slow Play Strategies:
Digital Games Walkthroughs and the Perpetual Upgrade Economy
Daniel Ashton and James Newman
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Staircase
Alexander Lapin
1981
Underground:
Russian Photography 1970s-1980s
Nailya Alexander Gallery
via
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Why I Quit Facebook
Justin E. H. Smith
(....)
I have mentioned that some of my reasons for leaving Facebook have to do with my own personal concerns, my projects and the way Facebook perhaps fails to facilitate them. I also mentioned that in my view Facebook is failing to live up to its potential. Recently, when I looked at my wall, it was as if 'Family Circus', 'Marmaduke', Penny Saver and Reader's Digest were spilling right off of Gutenberg's own press: such a wonderful and promising technology, descended into pure idiocy just after its first appearance in the world.
I have in mind in particular this new innovation, whereby whatever trashy meme some friend (in a highly equivocal sense) deems worthy of liking, ends up in my own newsfeed with the purported explanation that such-and-such friend has just deemed it like-worthy. Thus, after having fought so hard to banish Farmville and Cityville and shit like that from my wall, I was now being bombarded with misspelled slogans insisting that Marilyn Monroe's curves are in fact more beautiful than Lindsay Lohan's skin-and-bones, or that Obama is alright because he fist-bumps janitors, while Romney by contrast likes to get shoeshines on airport tarmacs (something I truly doubt, by the way). And most recently George Takei, likeable enough in himself, has entirely drowned out, with his good-spirited and sassy mash-ups, any possibility of using that social network for that higher aim for which it briefly held some promise: the exchange of well-thought-out ideas.
All the way back in 2007 there was something about this endeavor that rubbed me the wrong way: it was born of the dormitories, and to some extent it draws us all back into them. Or perhaps I should not say 'back': I was a commuter, to a state school, and I lived with my mother. I never lived in a dorm, and I never showed up in a yearbook, to be judged for my hotness or my plainness. The culture that produced Facebook is one that I never knew, and do not like. An image of that culture invaded, and invades, my mind every single time I hear the name of Mark Zuckerberg's venture, and every time I hear the name of Mark Zuckerberg.
I still believe Internet-mediated social networks will prove to be more important in human history than printing presses. But my social network will not be Facebook....(more)
February 01, 2012
Desperate Intentions
Viviana Peretti
Guernica
Viviana Peretti
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To saddle me with a lifetime is probably not enough for them: I have to be given a taste of two or three generations. But it's not certain. Perhaps all they have told me has reference to a single existence - the confusion of identities being merely apparent and due to my inaptitude to assume any. If I ever succeed in dying under my own steam, then they will be in a better position to decide if I am worthy to adorn another age (or to try the same one again, with the benefit of my experience). I may therefore perhaps legitimately suppose that the one-armed wayfarer of a moment ago and the wedge-headed trunk in which I am now marooned are simply two phases of the same carnal envelope (the soul being notoriously immune from deterioration and dismemberment). Having lost one leg, what more likely than that I should mislay the other? And similarly for the arms. A natural transition in sum. But what then of that other old age they bestowed upon me (if I remember right), and that other middle age, when neither legs nor arms were lacking, but simply the power to profit by them? And of that kind of youth in which they had to give me up for dead? If I have warm place it is not in their hearts. Oh I don't say they haven't done all they could to be agreeable to me, to get me out of here (on no matter what pretext, in no matter what disguise). All I reproach them with is their insistence. For beyond them is that other who will not give me quittance until they have abandoned me as inutilizable and restored me to myself. Then at last I can set about saying what I was, and where, during all this long lost time. But who is he, if my guess is right, who is waiting for that, from me? And who these others whose designs are so different? And into whose hands I play when I ask myself such questions? But do I, do I? In the jar did I ask myself questions? And in the arena? I have dwindled, I dwindle. Not so long ago (with a kind of shrink of my head and shoulders, as when one is scolded) I could disappear. Soon, at my present rate of decrease, I may spare myself this effort. And spare myself the trouble of closing my eyes, so as not to see the day (for they are blinded by the jar a few inches away). And I have only to let my head fall forward against the wall to be sure that the light from above (which at night is that of the moon) will not be reflected there either, in those little blue mirrors. (I used to look at myself in them, to try and brighten them.)
- Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable
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Beyond Passaic
a photo essay by Bryan Zanisnik
The Meadowlands cannot be comprehended from a bird's-eye view, nor can it be experienced in a hazmat suit-or even by driving above the wetlands on the Turnpike. One must stay close to the ground and risk exposure to the environment. And so I did, armed with nothing more than a map and a camera.
Triple Canopy
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The Past Under Erasure? History, Memory, and the Contemporary
Geoff Eley
At the Crossroads of Past and Present - 'Contemporary' History and the Historical Discipline
Edited by: Jan Palmowski and Kristina Spohr Readman
Special Issue: The Journal of Contemporary History
.....................................................
Recent history and the new dangers of politicization
Pierre Nora
Translation by Mike Routledge
eurozine
The positivist tradition of nineteenth century history, dominated by the idea of the nation and based on the archive, began in the 1970s to give way to a concern with recent history, in which the historical witness became paramount. With the past ceasing to be a body of knowledge and becoming a public issue, a new form of political influence has exerted itself upon historians. In the French case, the subject of colonialism is particularly controversial. Now more than ever it is crucial historians retain critical distance.
Reflections on writing historyOmnivore at bookforum
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Words without Borders
February 2012: International Graphic Novels: Volume VI
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UbuWeb's Top Ten for February
selected by design critic & author Rob Walker
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The Sky Is Rising!
Techdirt
For years now, the legacy entertainment industry has been predicting its own demise, claiming that the rise of technology, by enabling easy duplication and sharing -- and thus copyright infringement -- is destroying their bottom line. If left unchecked, they say, it is not only they that will suffer, but also the content creators, who will be deprived of a means to make a living. And, with artists lacking an incentive to create, no more art will be produced, starving our culture. While it seems obvious to many that this could not possibly be true, since creators and performers of artistic content existed long before the gatekeepers ever did, we've looked into the numbers to get an honest picture of the state of things. What we found is that not only is the sky not falling, as some would have us believe, but it appears that we're living through an incredible period of abundance and opportunity, with more people producing more content and more money being made than ever before. As it turns out... The Sky Is Rising!
With A Little Help: Digital Lysenkoism
DRM, “social DRM,” and the madness of publishers
Cory Doctorow
(....)
It’s one thing to have your publisher’s bizarre, ideology-driven superstitions erode e-book sales. It’s quite another to learn that you’re going to miss out on a chance to pay off your mortgage because your publisher has bought into a form of digital Lysenkoism.
(....)
... we know that customers hate DRM. They rail against it, they actively seek out non-DRM versions, and they boycott products with DRM platforms. In publishing, there’s the dawning realization that allowing, say, Amazon, to lock up your books with its DRM means that Amazon essentially owns your customers. That is the reality of DRM. This is incredibly bad for publishing’s future.
Still, in many publishing boardrooms, executives cling to their Lysenko-like belief in DRM, while on the lower floors, digital strategists, editors, and production staff all know exactly how bad DRM is for business....(more)
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Westport
photo - mw
January 31, 2012
photo - mw
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Letters to a Middle-Aged Poet
Michael Gottlieb(....)
5.
What are we supposed to do now?
Do we try and hop aboard those fast-moving freights? Do we claim that we too are one of them, that we are card carrying members of their movements – we’re with them and just like them – and always have been (even before they were conceived of), or does that make us seem ridiculous? And, if we do not try and sport those ill-fitting skinny jeans and pork pie hats and (for those of us capable of sprouting same) that artfully curated facial hair – what indeed is left for us?
If we can’t be one of them, can’t carry that off, are we obliged to ask ourselves: why bother writing at all anymore?
6.
What if our reaction to all that is going on around us is not some cringe-worthy, pathetic attempt to climb aboard an express that has left the station several decades after we had our own tickets once and forever punched, but, instead, something else?
Perhaps our posture should be one of welcoming. Maybe we should be able to get it together to write some positive criticism, a supportive review or two. We could even assume, or presume, the mantle of a champion. Let’s not dismiss such a possibility out of hand. But what if the reaction, our reaction, is different? Speciously curmudgeonly? Angry, vexatious, rejectionist? What if our response is a frankly hostile, knee-jerk dismissal of whatever it is that naturally – some might say – quite naturally, comes after what we ourselves in our youth, in our own day, served up to the world?
...(more)
Otoliths 24
the southern summer issue
Editor: Mark Young
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Winter Wrapped Trees
© of Karen McRae
Karen McRae
via Steve Himmer
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The Bicameral Eyeball
John Ashbery
boston review
No one noticed that it was midnight out.
The tools to make the tools were forthcoming.
It wasn’t so much that we were afraid of farting
as that other thieves had gotten wind of his maladdress.
She was startling in her new headdress.
Oodles of trolls performed the funeral litany—
hey, it wasn’t their turn at the foc’sle, so why
be perturbed ahead of time, and too late? The factory
whistle blew and released all the workers inside
who came crowding down along the pavement.
As though walking on stilts people blew up in amazement
like pieces of trash a wind desultorily lifts,
then returns for no visible reason. We were all tired
and happy, plodders on life’s great thoroughfare.
None of us were in it for the long haul, but paradoxically
all of us were, we just didn’t know it yet. ...
...(more)
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The Daily Digital Lock Dissenter: The Series To Date
Michael Geist
Distinguishing Friend from Foe in the Intellectual Property Debate
Mat Callahan
Socialism and Democracy
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How Apple Can Solve Its China Problem
Mike Elgan
Apple is on the brink of becoming the poster child for worker abuse. Journalists and rights organizations are starting to draw attention to the enormous contrast between Apple’s quarterly billions in profits, and the desperate plight of abused workers in China.
And the closer you look, the uglier this issue gets. And it threatens to damage Apple’s long-term prospects for continued growth and success.
Here’s the problem, and also what Apple can do about it....(more)
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"If goods and capital can move freely from country to country, and people cannot, then people are and always will be slaves to goods and capital. We as a global society will not solve our Apple problem until people are free to live and work where they choose."
-
Stephen Downes
_______________________
circa 1980
Francesca Woodman
1958-1981
at the Tait
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