Expansion upon Distention:
whereas, Science produces Functives (predictabilities in a becoming-useful on a plane of reference), Philosophy creates Concepts (consistency in a becoming-thought on a plane of immanence), and Art composes Works (sensation in a becoming-other on a plane of composition), as their respective modes of response to the provocations and problematics of existence and enhoming in chaos, we wonder at the enclosing of this discourse in political sovereignty; what of the warriors and labourers in chaos.
Philosopher-gods: one-eyed, celeritas, magician-emperors, signs that capture, tying knots at a distance, encasting nets, the bind/bond, making moves 'once and for all'.
Scientist-kings: one-armed, gravitas, jurist-priest-kings, law and technology, giving laws, making a pact, alliances, laying out a field, organizing, principling and disciplining, appropriating, starting all over again each and every move.
Artist-barbarians: not the warriors appropriated by the State maschine with their dō and honour codes. (No more magic violence of the emperor; no more military institution of the king) Instead, the divine law-destroying violence and terror of barbarians flooding out of the desert and cutting intense nomad lines through cities and forests, burning as they go. Against State gravity disciplining art into craftspersons of paint, clay, and so on, or into principles of art theory (and interpretosis proper) and history (and the hysteria of artistic periods/movements/collectives), the pure aesthete is the intensifier of the outside, the scapegoat turned queer, turned into the goat's anus demanding a new anti-logic of anilingus, the guerrilla whose secrecy and spying form a War maschine against. Simply: counter.
This leaves the martial class of warriors: the engineers and applied scientists who protect the Law and harvest technocratics with reason. And, the caste of fecundity: the varieties of proles. But, among the fecund, the applied theorists, or theorists for short, who finally make use of the conceptual universes of philosophers, turning these dusty grave-stones into homes, into centripetal eco-nomies of (dis)contact, and whose activity becomes the social. Not sign-making, but sign-working: semiurgy.
We each are already malfunctioning, wounded, blinded, maimed techno-bodies, patchwork circuits, who have to stop pretending. The signs that control us, the signs we emit, the signs we hope to dominate, or eat; stop rooting in the filth, becoming a petty king or prophet to a false god, or burning our lips and praying without praying for psychosis. Labour in the signs, rustle up their ghosts, and set them to work; become conjurors and sorcerors. We must learn to be semiurgists, ready to speak the tongues our gods have taught us then forbid us to use.
No comments:
Post a Comment