Notes mid July
"...skipping backward only 200 years, and
much closer to our time, another historical moment celebrated
the virtual to produce the first elaborate virtual environments
– often in the form of the interior decoration of churches.
This indulgence in trompe-l’œil contrasted with the disloca-
tion and wars of eighteenth-century Europe, the first state
powers asserting a harmonious, ecstatic world, in part as an
expression of their power. These simulations were made to
appear to defy gravity.
From The Virtual by Rob Shields
The heady lure of these mystical works is based on their elaborate continuities of human and fictive space. . . . They pair techniques involving the creation of a dreamscape, and the provision of [human] figures for identification that call the viewer to enter fictive space, changing with their movements, inviting their co-authorship. They are fundamentally navigable... ‘spaces of persuasion’.
the history of electronic communication is less the evolution of technical efficiencies in communication than a series of arenas for negotiating issues crucial to the conduct of social life; among them, who is inside and outside, who may speak, who may not, and who has authority and may be believed.
The pyschological, museum and archeological metaphors by which the past is conceived.... tend to transform the temporal into the spatial and are intensely visual. Layers are excavated, veils lifted, screens removed. As such the recall of socially and effectively charged events involve a social organisation of a present space (struc- tured encounters with a site, even tours or processions), with specified stopping-places and actions (ablutions, obsequities, gestures and readings) and time (seasonal ceremonies), as well as an historical space and time (Kirmayer 1989). Memory is reconstructed anew each time through secular rituals of for example the systematic, often guided, tour in which the site is ‘framed’ by discourse. The position of the viewer may be left in question or explicitly positioned, but there is always a space, a distance, between the spectator and her memory.
From The Virtual by Rob Shields
fassbinder and bataille
G. Bataille (from eroticism, chapter -de Sade and normal man )
… The extremes are called civilization and
barbarism- or savagery. But the use of these words is misleading, for they
imply that there are barbarians on the one hand and civilized men on the other.
The distinction is that civilized men speak and barbarians are silent, and the
man who speaks is always the civilized man. To put it more precisely, since
language is by definition the expression of civilized man, violence is silent.
Many consequences result from that bias of language. Not only does ‘civilized’
usually mean ‘us’, and barbarous ‘them’, but also civilization and language
grew as though violence was something outside, foreign not only to civilization
but also to man, man being in the same thing as language. Yet observation shows
that the same people are alternately barbarous and civilized in their
attitudes. All savages speak and by speaking they reveal their solidarity with
decency and kindness that are the root of civilization. Conversely all
civilized men who rate themselves as among the most highly civilized of our
age. If language is to be extricated from the impasse, we must declare that
violence belong to humanity as a whole and as speechless, and that thus
humanity as a whole lies by omission and language itself is founded upon this
lie.
Violence
is silent and de Sade’s use of language is contradiction in terms
Common language will not express violence. It
treats it as a guilty and importunate thing and disallows it by denying it any
function or any excuse. If violence does occur, and occur it will, it is explained
by a mistake somewhere, just as men of backwards civilizations think that death
can only happen if someone makes it by magic or otherwise. Violence in advanced
societies and death in backwards ones are not just given, like a storm or
flood; they can only be the result of something going wrong.
But silence cannot do away with things that
language cannot state. Violence is as stubbornly there just as much as death,
and if language cheats to conceal universal annihilation, the placid work of
time, language alone suffers, language is the poorer, not time and not
violence.
Useless and dangerous violence cannot be
abolishes by irrational refusals to have any truck with it, any more that the
irrational refusals to treat with death can eliminate that. but the expression
of violence comes up against the double opposition of reason which denies it
and of violence itself which clings to a silent contempt for the words used
about it.
i had a scene in my head- you read the foucalt scene and i will have a huge piece of meat on the flour and i will cut it in pieces rhythmically. i would love to have a hummer. may be this is too literally , but may be other-way around by being literally and doing it for real it can evoke different thoughts. the pleasure of violence and breaking of taboo. it is also very sexual.
i had a scene in my head- you read the foucalt scene and i will have a huge piece of meat on the flour and i will cut it in pieces rhythmically. i would love to have a hummer. may be this is too literally , but may be other-way around by being literally and doing it for real it can evoke different thoughts. the pleasure of violence and breaking of taboo. it is also very sexual.
Notes from last conversation
aggression
spokes in a wheel
subtle
an album
story telling
and performative
foucault thing
no one development
rather eclectic
how much you can take
how much you don’t get bored
feel sorry
becomes statistic
whole peice speaking of viollence things
but in very documentative thing
how long can it touch you
violent stories
issues of compression
like a list of things
things we discussed
soft violence
maybe we can find no more concrete examples
not obvious things
aggressive behaviour towards an indvidual
the super power
the law the queen the god
the exception
Carl Schmitt
that she didn’t do as expected as he wanted then he has the extinguish and destroy
has to do radical evil
carmen is not faulted
gypsies
how to be critical without taking victim position
be more productive in conflicts
tries to understand the gypsies
try out of understanding beyond the conflict
this exclusion -- when you feel your values are violated
carmen idea
shot reaction shot
collecting more stories
combine foucault story with carmen
re-enactment
august 30th
more stories
carmen stories
bodylesss body
addresss me
transparancy as the motivator of a bodyless body
use parts of the blog
beginning of august 1
we meet again
and research about
spokes in a wheel
subtle
an album
story telling
and performative
foucault thing
no one development
rather eclectic
how much you can take
how much you don’t get bored
feel sorry
becomes statistic
whole peice speaking of viollence things
but in very documentative thing
how long can it touch you
violent stories
issues of compression
like a list of things
things we discussed
soft violence
maybe we can find no more concrete examples
not obvious things
aggressive behaviour towards an indvidual
the super power
the law the queen the god
the exception
Carl Schmitt
that she didn’t do as expected as he wanted then he has the extinguish and destroy
has to do radical evil
carmen is not faulted
gypsies
how to be critical without taking victim position
be more productive in conflicts
tries to understand the gypsies
try out of understanding beyond the conflict
this exclusion -- when you feel your values are violated
carmen idea
shot reaction shot
collecting more stories
combine foucault story with carmen
re-enactment
august 30th
more stories
carmen stories
bodylesss body
addresss me
transparancy as the motivator of a bodyless body
use parts of the blog
beginning of august 1
we meet again
and research about
europian the same bullshit
in germany tuskish problem is actual, i saw a theater piece from 'a free scene', made by turkish director, where he also like in this movie puts himself in a 'good german shiller educative position' towards turkish authoritarian values. in this movie the same -the director is very famous-fatih akin (turkish 2 immigrant generation in germany) propagandizing christian values, how good germans are in their hearts in the same time showing how christian are our german turkish imigrants, we have raised them. this is again 'positive, passive, hidden aggression'.
i think today we can not talk from national positions, you are american and i am georgian, but rather from political positions
i think today we can not talk from national positions, you are american and i am georgian, but rather from political positions
stalin is everywhere :)
this is of course very stupid Hollywood movie, but if you analyze it, as stalin propaganda movies, then it's quite interesting. the image of the enemy, the 'mother law' as a black women. the old enemy 'russia' is a 'new friend', but europe represented in the image of 'superficial spanish sexy guy, that wants only pleasure'. how the movie is based on christian values and how it shows the game of todays politics. the real enemy is not russia anymore, but europe :), because they are still irresponsible, too free with sex, 'too leftist hobbish', too week, not real heroes. :) they still have some kind of leftovers of the 'social state'-atheists, whereas russia is now openly a brother of US-they are also christian-putin and the dream of america - to concur the russia :)) Russians dream the same. and how it all looks like innocent sexy comedy, but for masses it gives a clear massage. the same with stalin movies-sentimental, innocent-propaganding love, based on authority and christian values, funny entertainment and hero drama. how it manipulates love and educates immigrants.
i guess being an immigrant i am more sensitive to this kind of fucking bullshit.
i guess being an immigrant i am more sensitive to this kind of fucking bullshit.
daniil harms
There Once Was a Man...
There once was a man whose name was Kuznetsov. He left his house to go
to a shop to buy some carpenter's glue so as to stick a stool.
When Kuznetsov was walking past an unfinished house, a brick fell off
the top and hit Kuznetsov on the head.
Kuznetsov fell, but straight away jumped to his feet and felt over his
head. On Kuznetsov's head a huge lump had come up.
Kuznetsov gave the lump a rub and said: -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left
the house to go to the shop to... to... to... Oh, what on earth's happened?
I've forgotten why I was going to the shop!
At this point a second brick fell off the roof and again Kuznetsov was
struck on the head.
-- Akh! -- cried Kuznetsov, clutching at his head and feeling a second
lump on his head.
-- A likely story! -- said Kuznetsov. -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left the
house to go to... to go to... to go to... where was I going!
Then a third brick fell from the top on to Kuznetsov's head. And on
Kuznetsov's head a third lump came up. -- Oh heck! -- yelled out Kuznetsov,
snatching at his head. -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left the... left the... Left
the cellar? No. Left the boozer? Nol Where did I leave?
A fourth brick fell from the roof, hit Kuznetsov on the back of the
head and a fourth lump came up on Kuznetsov.
-- Well, now then! -- said Kuznetsov, scratching the back of his head.
-- I... I... I... Who am I ? I seem to have forgotten what my name is ... A
likely story! Whatever's my name? Vasily Petukhov? No. Nikolay Sapogov? No.
Panteley Rysakov? No. Well, who the hell am I?
But then a fifth brick fell off the roof and so struck Kuznetsov on the
back of the head that Kuznetsov forgot everything once and for all and,
crying 'Oh, oh, oh!', ran off down the street.
If you wouldn't mind! If anyone should meet a man in the street with
five lumps on his head, please remind him that his name is Kuznetsov and
that he has to buy some carpenter's glue and repair a broken stool.
1935
Kalindov
Kalindov was standing on tiptoe and peering at me straight in the face. I found this unpleasant. I turned aside but Kalindov ran round me and was again peering at me straight in the face. I tried shielding myself from Kalindov with a newspaper. But Kalindov outwitted me: he set my newspaper alight and, when it flared up, I dropped it on the floor and Kalindov again began peering at me straight in she face. Slowly retreating, I repaired behind the cupboard and there, for a few moments, I enjoyed a break from the importunate stares of Kalindov. But my break was not prolonged: Kalindov crawled up to the cupboard on all fours and peered up at me from below. My patience ran out; I screwed up my eyes and booted Kalindov in the face. When I opened my eyes, Kalindov was standing in front of me, his mug bloodied and mouth lacerated, peering at me straight in the face as before. 1930
Five Unfinished Narratives
Dear Yakov Semyonovich,
1. A certain man, having taken a run, struck his head against a smithy with such force that the blacksmith put aside the sledge-hammer which he was holding, took off his leather apron and, having smoothed his hair with his palm, went out on to the street to see what had happened. 2. Then the smith spotted the man sitting on the ground. The man was sitting on the ground and holding his head. 3. -- What happened? -- asked the smith. -- Ooh! -- said the man. 4. The smith went a bit closer to the man. 5. We discontinue the narrative about the smith and the unknown man and begin a new narrative about four friends and a harem. 6. Once upon a time there were four harem fanatics. They considered it rather pleasant to have eight women at a time each. They would gather of an evening and debate harem life. They drank wine; they drank themselves blind drunk; they collapsed under the table; they puked up. It was disgusting to look at them. They bit each other on the leg. They bandied obscenities at each other. They crawled about on their bellies. 7. We discontinue the story about them and begin a new story about beer. 8. There was a barrel of beer and next to it sat a philosopher who contended: -- This barrel is full of beer; the beer is fermenting and strengthening. And I in my mind ferment along the starry summits and strengthen my spirit. Beer is a drink flowing in space; I also am a drink, flowing in time. 9. When beer is enclosed in a barrel, it has nowhere to flow. Time will stop and I will stand up. 10. But if time does not stop, then my flow is immutable. 11. No, it's better to let the beer flow freely, for it's contrary to the laws of nature for it to stand still. -- And with these words the philosopher turned on the tap in the barrel and the beer poured out over the floor. 12. We have related enough about beer; now we shall relate about a drum. 13. A philosopher beat a drum and shouted: -- I am making a philosophical noise! This noise is of no use to anyone, it even annoys everyone. But if it annoys everyone, that means it is not of this world. And if it's not of this world, then it's from another world. And if it is from another world, then I shall keep making it. 14. The philosopher made his noise for a long time. But we shall leave this noisy story and turn to the following quiet story about trees. 15. A philosopher went for a walk under some trees and remained silent, because inspiration had deserted him. 1931
Rebellion
-- Drink vinegar, gentlemen -- said Shuyev. No one gave him any reply. -- Gentlemen! -- shouted Shuyev -- I propose to you the drinking of vinegar! Makaronov got up from his armchair and said: -- I welcome Shuyev's idea. Let's drink vinegar. Rastopyakin said: -- I shall not be drinking vinegar. At this point a silence set in and everyone began to look at Shuyev. Shuyev sat stony-faced. It was not clear what he was thinking. Three minutes went by. Suchkov smothered a cough. Ryvin scratched his mouth. Kaltayev adjusted his tie. Makaronov jiggled his ears and his nose. And Rastopyakin, slumped against the back of his armchair, was looking as if indifferently into the fireplace. Seven or eight more minutes went by. Ryvin stood up and went out of the room on tiptoe. Kaltayev followed him with his eyes. When the door had closed behind Ryvin, Shuyev said: -- So. The rebel has departed. To the devil with the rebel! Everyone looked at each other in surprise, and Rastopyakin raised his head and fixed his gaze on Shuyev. Shuyev said sternly: -- He who rebels is a scoundrel! Suchkov cautiously, under the table, shrugged his shoulders. -- I am in favour of the drinking of vinegar -- Makaronov said quietly and looked expectantly at Shuyev. Rastopyakin hiccupped and, with embarrassment, blushed like a maiden. -- Death to the rebels! -- shouted Suchkov, baring his blackish teeth. 1934?
There once was a man whose name was Kuznetsov. He left his house to go
to a shop to buy some carpenter's glue so as to stick a stool.
When Kuznetsov was walking past an unfinished house, a brick fell off
the top and hit Kuznetsov on the head.
Kuznetsov fell, but straight away jumped to his feet and felt over his
head. On Kuznetsov's head a huge lump had come up.
Kuznetsov gave the lump a rub and said: -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left
the house to go to the shop to... to... to... Oh, what on earth's happened?
I've forgotten why I was going to the shop!
At this point a second brick fell off the roof and again Kuznetsov was
struck on the head.
-- Akh! -- cried Kuznetsov, clutching at his head and feeling a second
lump on his head.
-- A likely story! -- said Kuznetsov. -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left the
house to go to... to go to... to go to... where was I going!
Then a third brick fell from the top on to Kuznetsov's head. And on
Kuznetsov's head a third lump came up. -- Oh heck! -- yelled out Kuznetsov,
snatching at his head. -- I, citizen Kuznetsov, left the... left the... Left
the cellar? No. Left the boozer? Nol Where did I leave?
A fourth brick fell from the roof, hit Kuznetsov on the back of the
head and a fourth lump came up on Kuznetsov.
-- Well, now then! -- said Kuznetsov, scratching the back of his head.
-- I... I... I... Who am I ? I seem to have forgotten what my name is ... A
likely story! Whatever's my name? Vasily Petukhov? No. Nikolay Sapogov? No.
Panteley Rysakov? No. Well, who the hell am I?
But then a fifth brick fell off the roof and so struck Kuznetsov on the
back of the head that Kuznetsov forgot everything once and for all and,
crying 'Oh, oh, oh!', ran off down the street.
If you wouldn't mind! If anyone should meet a man in the street with
five lumps on his head, please remind him that his name is Kuznetsov and
that he has to buy some carpenter's glue and repair a broken stool.
1935
Kalindov
Kalindov was standing on tiptoe and peering at me straight in the face. I found this unpleasant. I turned aside but Kalindov ran round me and was again peering at me straight in the face. I tried shielding myself from Kalindov with a newspaper. But Kalindov outwitted me: he set my newspaper alight and, when it flared up, I dropped it on the floor and Kalindov again began peering at me straight in she face. Slowly retreating, I repaired behind the cupboard and there, for a few moments, I enjoyed a break from the importunate stares of Kalindov. But my break was not prolonged: Kalindov crawled up to the cupboard on all fours and peered up at me from below. My patience ran out; I screwed up my eyes and booted Kalindov in the face. When I opened my eyes, Kalindov was standing in front of me, his mug bloodied and mouth lacerated, peering at me straight in the face as before. 1930
Five Unfinished Narratives
Dear Yakov Semyonovich,
1. A certain man, having taken a run, struck his head against a smithy with such force that the blacksmith put aside the sledge-hammer which he was holding, took off his leather apron and, having smoothed his hair with his palm, went out on to the street to see what had happened. 2. Then the smith spotted the man sitting on the ground. The man was sitting on the ground and holding his head. 3. -- What happened? -- asked the smith. -- Ooh! -- said the man. 4. The smith went a bit closer to the man. 5. We discontinue the narrative about the smith and the unknown man and begin a new narrative about four friends and a harem. 6. Once upon a time there were four harem fanatics. They considered it rather pleasant to have eight women at a time each. They would gather of an evening and debate harem life. They drank wine; they drank themselves blind drunk; they collapsed under the table; they puked up. It was disgusting to look at them. They bit each other on the leg. They bandied obscenities at each other. They crawled about on their bellies. 7. We discontinue the story about them and begin a new story about beer. 8. There was a barrel of beer and next to it sat a philosopher who contended: -- This barrel is full of beer; the beer is fermenting and strengthening. And I in my mind ferment along the starry summits and strengthen my spirit. Beer is a drink flowing in space; I also am a drink, flowing in time. 9. When beer is enclosed in a barrel, it has nowhere to flow. Time will stop and I will stand up. 10. But if time does not stop, then my flow is immutable. 11. No, it's better to let the beer flow freely, for it's contrary to the laws of nature for it to stand still. -- And with these words the philosopher turned on the tap in the barrel and the beer poured out over the floor. 12. We have related enough about beer; now we shall relate about a drum. 13. A philosopher beat a drum and shouted: -- I am making a philosophical noise! This noise is of no use to anyone, it even annoys everyone. But if it annoys everyone, that means it is not of this world. And if it's not of this world, then it's from another world. And if it is from another world, then I shall keep making it. 14. The philosopher made his noise for a long time. But we shall leave this noisy story and turn to the following quiet story about trees. 15. A philosopher went for a walk under some trees and remained silent, because inspiration had deserted him. 1931
Rebellion
-- Drink vinegar, gentlemen -- said Shuyev. No one gave him any reply. -- Gentlemen! -- shouted Shuyev -- I propose to you the drinking of vinegar! Makaronov got up from his armchair and said: -- I welcome Shuyev's idea. Let's drink vinegar. Rastopyakin said: -- I shall not be drinking vinegar. At this point a silence set in and everyone began to look at Shuyev. Shuyev sat stony-faced. It was not clear what he was thinking. Three minutes went by. Suchkov smothered a cough. Ryvin scratched his mouth. Kaltayev adjusted his tie. Makaronov jiggled his ears and his nose. And Rastopyakin, slumped against the back of his armchair, was looking as if indifferently into the fireplace. Seven or eight more minutes went by. Ryvin stood up and went out of the room on tiptoe. Kaltayev followed him with his eyes. When the door had closed behind Ryvin, Shuyev said: -- So. The rebel has departed. To the devil with the rebel! Everyone looked at each other in surprise, and Rastopyakin raised his head and fixed his gaze on Shuyev. Shuyev said sternly: -- He who rebels is a scoundrel! Suchkov cautiously, under the table, shrugged his shoulders. -- I am in favour of the drinking of vinegar -- Makaronov said quietly and looked expectantly at Shuyev. Rastopyakin hiccupped and, with embarrassment, blushed like a maiden. -- Death to the rebels! -- shouted Suchkov, baring his blackish teeth. 1934?
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