Hetero-queery juvenalia
There's a pressing need for intellectual thought to be de-institutionalised before an irreversible rigor mortis takes hold. My lecture notes are mainly asides to stop me screaming. I scrawl instead: 'shut the f- up'. Still, I, no-one acts. I scratch: 'we are all prostitutes' on the page; and on account of our passive agreeing that it's remarkable, 'yeah, remarkable only for being shit' (underline underline), I'm afraid we're all complicit. Fantasies arise: 'Atomic bacteria eat the earth!' We're watching it happen, and all the 'words, words, words' have no meaning, no active praxis. False words are the new pollution, a post-'enlightenment' problem that like war, men inflict with such regularity you may wonder how they get anything done, and what for that matter the women might be doing. Laundry? Well, at least that's something. And no, I can't be blaming men for everything, but give a man a pen, soon enough he'll draw a dick and balls. And no matter the diversity in dexterity and drawing skill among men, each iteration of dick and balls will be the same.
Meanwhile my doodling skills come along in leaps and bounds. Stick figures depict castration theory, the Lacanian 'wall', the 'crisis in archiving', a deconstruction of what was once 'concrete', and my fantasy face-off: Rimbaud v. Rambo. I'm coursing closer to the definition of schizophrenia, but the world may beat me to it. Trump is possibly the president America (and we all) deserve. It's perfect. It fits the pure farce of our time. And Brexit? Care factor..? I don't trust the debate is anything more than the replacement of one set of rules with another, of one set of interests with another, and I doubt those interests are those that interest the 'people'. Vale Marx. I am but a word machine. I've been thinking about humans and how we rebel now. Who it is we can respect. And where it is we can go. Then I read this: http://www.lrb.co.uk/v38/n05/frances-stonorsaunders/where-on-earth-are-you and it didn't exactly cheer me up... but I urge you to read it.
Next week: Daffodils!
Dickheads and doodles.