Swayves of Love

A delineation of love into three streams:

i) Love as Amatory Crisis of Predilection

Herein, love is a predilection based on love of a singularity or particularity, a preference of a distinct one: I love this person, his face, his voice, his laughter, and none others.  Elaborated upon by Kristeva in Tales of Love where it is a subjective crisis which remakes boundaries of ipseity and threatens self-containment, where an ideal-image of an Other is idealized, fetishized and symbolic effort is spent in an attempted merging with the subjectivity of the other.

ii) Love as Sharing Impossibility (Micrology)

Drawing on Nancy's mini-lecture on "Love and Community," love is giving what one does not have: 

"[T]o give something that doesn’t belong to the realm of give–able things, neither that nor to give myself [which] means that love consists in giving something which is nothing. Nothing has to do with what is not a thing, not at all a thing — then what is not a thing, what is not an object? If you want, this is a subject. But this doesn’t really mean to give the subject, as the subject would be once again some thing that I would be. Love consists in my giving from me what is not mine in any sense of a possible possession of mine, not even my person. So to love means to give what is behind or beyond any subject, any self. It is precisely a giving of nothing, a giving of the fact that I cannot possess myself. [...] To give is to give up [...] To love is to share the impossibility of being a self."

 

iii) Love as Command of the Commune (Macrology)

Love of the community, in the community, 'loving thy neighbour' and a 'love' which extends to unknown others of the 'community' we have to live with (and not the individualistic loves of (i) and (ii) above).  Community is never simply geographical, but is some sort of being with; there is a community of Christians, of Edmontonians, of gay men, etc.  In dealing with the question of 'We', Nancy configures a collective version of his 'love as sharing impossibility' where the community shares the impossibility of common being.  The community is a being-in-common without common being. The crux is the "with" of "being-with" others which offers proximity (a closeness creating 'community') and distance where that distance is "precisely the distance of the impossibility to come together in a common being," to have a common substance.  Instead, community love is sharing the "with", sharing the no-thing (no substance, no property) in common, sharing just the being-in-common, the nothing, the space in-between.   

"This night, this empty nothing"

Lack - void - emptiness...

Partially--but also an incalculable flow of forces, affections, and perceptions unable to be accurately demarcated or delimited.

This is where idealization, that faith vital to the amatory subject, fails.  When Roland Barthes examines the discursive configuration of "altération" in a lover's discourse--the 'tip of the nose' figure--, he finds:

"Abrupt production, within the amorous field, of a counter-image of the loved object. According to minor incidents or tenuous features, the subject suddenly sees the good Image alter and capsize."

Doubtless, because the loved object is no object, but a false history we've narrativized and a becoming's anomalous we've essentialized--the limit movements of his skin, the Loner, or the temporary governance, the Power, of his modalities.

The deception is already alive without any need to accuse internal forces of contagion or external powers of transformation, any affective becoming-Other or shift in ideological apparatuses or intersubjective crisis which refigures or reframes the white wall or multiplies or nullifies black holes producing faciality traits unrecognizable...

The lover we've known is already unknown.  He is already a stranger, his being and love a phantasm, a ghost.

Here she comes

"People who kissed, kissed and hugged one last time
Surprise me like a monster ...
A rape in the meadow, a fornicating fellow.
A flea on the fur of a shaggy old sheep,
All tangled up like winter ...
Cut the very life of her blood bank that billows up
from below her skirt and sunlit blouses ...
A hollycaust.  A pussy, wussy willow.
Marshmallow, a mantra.  A temper tantric tantrum ...
Watch out, here I come."

Who can bear witness to unknowing?  Who can speak (about) rape?  Can its memory, regressions, or ressentiment be spoken?

Displace the ghost with god

I wonder where I am now:  Not stoic, or sensitive, or some whore to take every fucking strike across the face he can.  Now: some panoply of forgotten emotional crises aaaaand walls crumbling, night setting in around my eyes, but offering no comfort of disappearance as salvation.  Now, a hauntology with a resonance which lets the incoherence and void of dynamism and becoming linger into consciousness, as an absent presence, present and not present: tracings from the past which rupture (in haunting) the present to re-orient futural experience as a destructive return of the Same, a traumatic moto perpetuo, ever understanding present freedom as nothing more than a phantomic irruption producing projectural finitude because it is grounded in what was.  Causality as trauma?  An internal secret, not to be discovered because it is undiscoverable, unconcealable: uncovering, never presenting a naked truth but a Moebius strip hall of mirrors or, in short, spectrality.  Heidegger exorcised it with onto-theology: to acknowledge, at base, the 'Mystery', wherein we displace the ghost with god.

May I suggest a Sun Prince?

The Petty King: The Masturbatory Divine

The petty king endlessly reads, decrees, and passes laws; in decadence and boredom, he forgets the martial caste, but sublimates their blood into semen, finding the masturbatory divine, alone in his granite fortress.  He, too (no, most of all), must pay the price for transgressing the law: his body lynched (by his own hand), to be eaten by domestic animals. 

'Little hope, little home of heavenly, come save us from this ugly truth ...
Little ghost, so innocent and carefree, they would never stop hunting you.
Little voice, life got the best of me, and, in time, that's what awaits you, too.
Little hope, sing a song of fire; I don't know how to be just like that ...
I've seen the truth and it's nothing like you said.
I've seen the picture of a perfect world ...
So many questions; so many things unsaid.'

These Ghosts of You

I've been intrigued, lately, on the figure of the ghost/spectre/phantom ... a first subtle (early) attempt at a mapping of the figure(s) of hauntology...

a) The Phantom as Liar
-The phantom is a ghost of concealment which lies, terrifies, and misguides to keep hidden its secrets.  Its exorcism is in superegoic challenge, in symbolization, in deciphering and interpreting (the shameful, the hidden, the prohibited) in order to dispel the apparition's hold on traumatic knots of occlusion. 

b) The Revenant of Temporality
- The revenants/spooks of past haunt the present in a non-presence which, regardless, leaves fragments and mementos in the material, affective, and representational realms which interrupt presence with absence rupturing the present and folding time to leave the passed-by and futural more suffocating and pivotal than the now.  This figure is a more experiential re-figuration of the effects of thrown facticity and projection on our concerned engagement with existence.

c) The Fantasm as Trace of the Plane of Consistency
- The enigma of material self-incoherence harkening the originary lack which birthed the text.  The fantasm/apparition is the non-present presence always haunting the symbolic with secrets of doxy and repression and the threat of (Kristevan) semiotization. This ghost is exorcized (improperly) by ontology. 

d) Spectrality as Masking
- This figure suggests a mode of being and sociality in which identity becomes dispersed, pluralized, elided, proliferated, and inconsistent (in pseudonymy, heteronymy, and anonymity).  Herein, the Real and corporeal fade into echoes, eclipsing social prohibitions, immobility and identification.

'That Story he Told'

<<< that story he told >>>
of course we are probably all introduced into the symbolic world at that same time but the difference is that most (or perhaps there is the lie) are without that tactility of an other embodiment, living instead in a experiential egonomy of our corporeality -- defining those contours in the mirror (stage) perhaps --  in a production of our (imagined) haecceity.  the first hierarchies are to be in ego-domination over food, faeces, inanimate playthings, and the naming of our flesh, we might think (in order to fine tune politico-erotics into our culturally privileged kinesthetic mimetics of healthy "passion" and "intimacy").  or, is it all blind trauma either way?

his resonance with my objects is so multiplicitous that he has become an upright river of such unintelligibility that even the dim light allows his face to melt into my past. "how do you say your full name?"

Rape Culture & SK Slutsauce

Saskatoon ConsentFest & SlutWalk happening May 28th, 2011: Facebook

The greatest response to this event comes in the form of the film, Irreversible (2002), which provides voyeuristic looks into notions of choice, dress, non-rape intercourse, women's pleasure in relation to men, and, most importantly, dares the audience to imagine shifting blame from the victim to the rapist and, still further, to a violent environment of sexism, classism, and heterosexism (homophobia and transphobia) which fosters and supports a rape culture and its acts of sexual assault. 

Fæg Robotics

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.

Construction is complete...

...a fagborg is 'born.'