An Erotic One (#poetry)

My ideal for sex
is of bored eyes;
bored eyes
and an idle finger in her sex
then left.

Continue reading

Breath Cycle (#poetry)

Against Analysis

“To produce is to force what belongs to another order (that of secrecy and seduction) to materialize.” (Baudrillard, Forget Foucault, pg. 37)

Preamble

The following is a reflection on a tendency of modern, techno- informational capitalist societies: the tendency to ‘analyse’, become ‘self-conscious’, to ‘decide’ or ‘choose’. It is a tendency which is demonstrated in David Foster-Wallace’s This is Water commencement speech and its character is exampled by the following excerpt:

“’Learning how to think’ really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience.” (David Foster-Wallace, This is Water, 8:10)

As a background, it is worth noting that Continue reading

The Deep (#poetry)

The latest thought
to occupy me, is that
in the deep of reverie
lies an essence Continue reading

Against Bodies (#Poetry)

Today, in-the-world,
I decided to scar my face: Continue reading

Bus Girls (#poetry)

They are screaming and we are looking.
They are something of all
this metal, mechanics and speed, Continue reading

Digital Mythologies / Digital Plagues – (Part 3)


”He’d always wanted to become quantum dust, transcending his body mass, the soft tissue over the bones, the muscle and fat. The idea was to live outside the given limits on a disk, in a chip, as data in whirl, in radiant spin, a consciousness saved from the void. The technology was imminent, or not; it was semi-mythical; it was the natural next step; it would never happen, it is happening now. An evolutionary advance that needed only the practical mapping of the nervous system onto digital memory [...] But his pain interfered with his immortality. It was crucial to his distinctiveness. Too vital to be bypassed and not susceptible, he didn’t think, to computer emulation. The things that made him who he was could hardly be identified, much less converted to data. The things that lived and milled in his body, everywhere, random, riotous billions of trillions, in neurons and peptides, the throbbing temple-vein, in the veer of his libidinous intellect. So much come and gone. This is who he was. The lost taste of milk licked from his mother’s breast, the stuff he sneezes when he sneezes. This is him. And how a person becomes the reflection he sees in a dusty window when he walks by. He’d come to know himself, untranslatably, through his pain.” (Don DeLillo, Cosmopolis)


“Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.” (Albert Einstein, notice in his Princeton office)

Irrational Value

It is interesting that Continue reading

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