Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My neighbours I know myst be freaks casue thet are playing a real hard ball game at appearing inconsequental. The insanity to maintain such an appearance is suffocating to say the least.


Advertising meats like any other week

(Advertising is a lot like conversation.
Selling a point of view
 In a way we all know it
 So
IT sells itself
We call this..
Genius)

Along come a jingle
A lyric with a rant
Of hypnotality

Youd have to sell it.


Time for a safety,
Smoko
In the burrough

A story safely of
 Journey taken
 Amongst wrecks of open sea
Friends like these
Leave for Africa
To fight in the liberation army
They are idealists in Virrelos concept
Of concepst destroy flows.. all flows
All perception.


Art Aristocracy is
A battery
 The cells of black and white carbon
Dating the charred romains of thoguth
 Processes 2000 years  old
 The super cosmic deoartment store
 Ot the illusion of options.

The maufacture of surplus desings
In a area of before was relativ and nessessary
Almost exclusively even if some of those objects were generously tokens of magic or logis. Operating systems upon this world….

“She just through me a perfect look where she made the point of raising her eyebrow in a sardonic mater, authoraive but with graet humour and hi jinx, this accomplishment requires an audience finely attuned tot this type of performance, There is a opposite attracts aspect to each others attraction, One it happens, and it’s more thean flaesh post flesh beyond, behind, with out, inside, in love, lovi. “
“he’s like OH MY GOD”
“are you tying everything I say”
“yes”
OMY GOD”
He is, he sitting right across from me typing…

“That sound great, “
you know that
that’s what…
umm
that’s what bob Dylan did
 yeah
when he was living in grench village, (MEAN TIME)
yeah
what
that sounds like a great idea
 I’mjealous
 Oh yea we don’t even have tha option which im  jealous
Yeah
Yeah
Tao really likes analying all kinds of stuff


TV IS THE CONVESATION
THE ADS THAT ARE RHYTHICALLY
PROGRAMING OUR LIVES
 THIS IS THE SONG OF THE MACHINE<
THE SUPER SOUND
 OF THE INNNER
 MACHINE OF LUST WE HEAR A CRWOD AND WE PERPETUALLY WANT TO SE WHAT THE CROWD IS SEEING SHOUTING ABOUT < EXCITED< AND WE CAN NEVER EE E PAS THE BACK OF THE HEDS OF THOSE WTACHING SEEIGN REAL LIFE>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“you discribe the story perfectly , about Jan and the television…

I think it’s 70 return
70 return , nah
that was way cheepr the Auckland
 and we paid more like 80

oh cool, leaving in Aril

oh yeah
 I haven’t relaxed yet I’ve been tense for a long time,
I’m starting to sound lliek a robot, oh it’s the line, I was dreaming  ok mybe I have to go cause the reception is cutttin gme out…
Aos good we’ve got a system, so he doesn’t have tot have to get fulltime emlymets
 Whera as in Taiwan it was like
Get a job now
 It was so stressful
We are so hapy to be back
 It was so stressful
 We took to long
 We should have come back earleies
R we werere too dedicated,  or something
Ay way thanks for calleing we should go
 Oh did you get my message that I left on your machine,
 Oh maybe ive been calling the wrong phone, oh yeah there was an answer maching
 Oh you don’t check your messages,
Oh
 Fnny
Yeah
Well
 Yeh it doesn’ tmater case you called,
It was  afunny message any way, I said hi I’lll call you tomorrow , but I didin’t I sent a email a month later, to my brother, who I also treated such, said e waited by te pone fr lef a day..

Ha ah
 I hope you werne not like that

 Ha aha


I don’t kow il’ve got to go to bed soon early
I’ve got to bake bread tomoorw
 We’ve been at this great plave where tao is making a documentary about it..

I see it as an issue around ownershp of land,

Surplus

He incredible effort of not doing anything, well…
I’m gonn use  big part of my life reading
I want to take 3 or 4 months reading doystovsky,
Or read for years the shock doctine, and burroughs dreams…

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

chris krauschris krauschris kraus

CK:If you accept that we’re all composed largely of other people we’ve known, then compassion becomes a form of self-love. Compassion, composition. Awkwardness and grace live side by side. There’s a great line in a poem


If all the best writing is actually reportage, then the awkward moments have to live alongside of the grand ones. You have to stumble around for a while to get anywhere, and I try not to delete too much of the stumbling. It’s a performance idea: much of the pleasure is in watching the actor arrive at the mark, not just hit it. Compassion is also a kind of emptying out, so that new things can come in. Becoming very porous, receptive. The danger is to let that shiny luminous state become an affect*, and I think that occurs when the awkwardness gets edited out. I’m very distrustful of uncut lyricism.

Anonymous said...

SS: In your art-writing ("ficto-criticisms," I've heard them coined) you detail the ways we seek to escape and/or numb out to various voids, and also detail how those voids might be engaged with, all the while illuminating how, in particular, "art stars" turn such voids into a commodity. I believe you once said something in an interview to the effect of, "The art world mirrors the larger one, rather than presenting an alternative to it."

Do you sense a similar paradigm in the world of contemporary literature? What is the difference between "mirroring" and "presenting alternatives," and what kind of value do you place on presenting alternatives?

CK: Actually, I was quoting something the critic Jeremy Gilbert Rolfe once wrote, that I wholeheartedly agree with. There seems to be much more freedom and flexibility in contemporary visual art now than in literary fiction. The publishing industry is so hegemonic, that the "big books" of next season have all been determined two years in advance. It’s very depressing to imagine a small group of tastemakers determine what we’ll all think and discuss two seasons later. The art world has more cash in its lower echelons. This is largely because contemporary art is so wonderfully opaque that no one knows how to read it, and so power moves more arbitrarily. In that sense, the art world mirrors the chaotic flows of global capital. Branding in the art world occurs very quickly, through curatorial genius or folly, while the literary world lags behind, paying lip service to the old humanist myths of the Great Writer. The cynicism of the art world is very close to the surface, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Within it, there’s still a much better chance to do something marvelous.

SS: With your new novel, Torpor, you've discussed that you work with what in French is called the "future anterior"—a tense unique to trauma in which the past is not cast in the realm of "was," but rather: "it would have been"—a statement which reveals the present and future's complex, painful relationship to the past.

In what ways does trauma rupture language into new forms so that language might speak loss, absence, erasure, silence?

Having worked with this theme in great depth, what have you learned about the nature/fabric of language in terms of the awful, shitty things that humans do?

CK: In Torpor, I dealt with the experience of a child survivor of the Holocaust navigating his way through the last days of the avant-garde, in the late 1980s, early 90s. There’s a great deal of comedy in this. The language of trauma has been discussed in great detail by 20th century thinkers like Maurice Blanchot, Cathy Caruth, Georges Perec, Dorie Laub. The comedy is to transpose the torpid language of trauma to more banal situations—fame, resentment, glamour, ambition. Jerome, in the book, straddles both worlds. But then I look at whole parts of the late 20th century world that are completely enmeshed in trauma’s negative entropy. Ancient nationalisms in eastern Europe largely determining which of the new “free market” nations would be winners and losers. The nations that clung to their traumatic histories most fiercely turned out the big losers. The traumatic tense of the “future anterior” is unable to move completely forward, because it’s always held back by history. “It would have been …”—a future with one foot in the past. Romania, in the year 2000, was like a cluster of medieval fiefdoms struck by mad cow disease. I’m stunned by the transposition of micro to macro: the way the very personal experience of trauma can destroy the infrastructures of entire countries. So banality—in the form of global homogenization—saves the day. Flaubert saw it all coming. In Madame Bovary, the dreamers end up poisoning themselves, and their children are sent to the poorhouse, while the grubby pragmatic Mrs. Hommais “goes on to win the Legion of Honor.” Cupidity and avarice will always triumph.