Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Essaies On The Di-Siapoearing Piers (No, not Morgan).
Ally promised me: I had to say something; something at least about her cobalt rock glass' origin, and her memories witnessed as they passed by, as that was said, as I heard her call from beneath the road, above the sea, the underbelly of time and a town. Ah. Dear Pier. I had so much to say to you, mon chere. So much I saw that day (described below). Sat at a glass table, cogitating something of insignificance eight years ago. 2994? AD? Who knew. There were many causations in her; objefications of her were riddled with rigour. We should save her. We should remodel her. We should... I wondered. Could she be left to rot, to be melted by seatime and attrition, by molecular processes of mollusc and muscle? Damn words. The whole edifice of her, wrought iron mass, girders that were fitted by a Coroner on acid, trusses that were veiled as Victoria was veiled, internal, anything but what it was. And yet, a pier is a pier. Not Santa Monica Pier, where Seals are games and the pier is a walking pier; a pier is for finishing. Did I say finishing? For fishing, surely. She wasn't sure. Perhaps a pier means there is an ocean nearby? It was milk and cereal. Christmas morning, Denver Colorado. I recall it clearer when I'm drun....., She laughed. Speaking of which.... I pulled out Metzinger's Bible, on the first person, bent my back into the armchair that looked out the window to the snow that sat ontop of the Nederland and Never Never wrlds of whorl that was Aspen and her lights and their heads shone on and its snowing and she says, Meillasoux. Meillasoux who, to the phone and its not One of her Old Undergraduate friends from the Sorbonne then its two of her Cousins from the Normal School or Six of their friends in town for a cnonference. Dis i say I wanted to speak French. She tells me, after, after, and long after. There will be three of them. One of them's Meillasoux. Thanks.
she hands me a glass. We should call out for a pizza. Looking at the snow, wavering, wavering. Ring ring. Oh. They're calling back? 
IN CONCLUSION: The pier should be destroyed because now we have all these other objects to contend with, we can by hyper-sure that the years will be remembered and that the loss of one object which isn't an object is a blessing rather than a curse....
i use the word Victorian "super-loosley" in this text/ as loosleys as I tie words to vowels, a trace of lineament and lacey spice need not get in your way of seeing it this way--she does preside over the town, and tho it was not all built in that era, there's an air about Hastings (right or wrong): hyper-Victorian on the outside.....tho in reality, she has every architecture represented. it's not a pejorative either.
FOR Mustard.
Note: IN THE original version of this revel, the one that occurred in my "head" i was to make no mention of you; to draw attention to OOO directly would spoil the Op-Ed style piece that I had originally conceived as a piece of journalism to send into the local paper, as it seemed sufficiently worthy to attempt this, I made several trips in and around Hastings "reasearching" this article. But then came the Harman Scaffold, and qwuick on the heels of that, a more serious realisation that what I was in fact arguing for was the demolishment of the pier in question (or at the VERY least, some agreement to let "Nature take its toll" and we'll watch that as Event, rather than a "Restoration". (You'll be interested to note that the pier did indeed receive something of its first Refit only as late as the year 2000... almost as if our reticence to do anything more with it was somehow part of the object). The refit didn't last long (good enough to add a sense of style and excitement to the yr 2000 air around here), much revel happened, the new owners did dis-appear (to the Cayman Islands?) and it had been in various stages of rather disconcerting opening and closure ever since (bits of it open, but not all of it). To be truthful, the trusses look okay, but the main supports look like they could heave ho any minute. It's all very angular, and very good for artists who like something in front of them when they are drawing the sea. True. And there's a very good case for pulling it down and building another ( more... "new") for a 21st Century and three hundred years into the future) True. It's as good a case as the Restoration Project, but I was arguing for the demolition; for the end of it... so we could at last GET at that Horizon. I felt sure that day, as I still do, that this was a worthy philosophical point, for it seemed to me that a gradual dis-apearance (in the form of erosion, however aesthetically pleasing) would only repeat Bodrillard's historical move and wouldn't move us post-Victoria. My argument is that there is all-Victoria in the town and we needn't have as much of that object, so there for sure wouldn't be any loss for architecture. One could simply walk round the corner and bathe in the splendour of the Brassy Institute or walk on five minutes to the massive Pelham Place, set as it is so superbly into the cliff, beneath the Castle. Where, of course, I stand now, on the parapet of that castle looking "down" into where the magically transported pier would be in some other ocean, in someone else's backyard (much like the whales in Star Trek Four were transported), only brings the Castle into view, more, AND more of the road and the sea. Oh, I concluded CLEARLY, there was much more to be gained from the pier as an absence, even if that absence was not the main goal (the conmplete absence of absence being when the horizon, France there, and across to Newfoundland permantly came into view, then there would be no pier there. Then there would be sea. And this, I could see, was a coastline that needed to be opned up. I, legislating for the aesthetics of all, determined by my own free and clear observation, in this case, non preservus ex. the pier and look. I know what we will find (by eidetic fiction and braketing off, I have seen the pier-no-pier) and discovered my essay for the next revel: the view of the Oceans as seen from this perspective (like Pirsig's Hudson) suddenly opening up. So I thought best not to mention philophy if possible as I'd only confuse myself and my general readership (Or would I?) and as revel is revel, it didn't matter anyway because revel one and Essay 2 didn't translate from head to silicone in symmetric array (and might never do, as you seem to have suggested).
Here's the Essay as it first appeared:
Dear Sir: I was in a right mood for revellrye bread and tea, bones and all were qwaking with the schizzo lust, so I strolled straight to the beach. The sea's near the horizon, the horizon's grey and Qween Victoria overlooks all the Carnival Processions. Once the formed arrowhead of Red Arrow Jets swarmed in nenisonoseconds across the sakysky; but that was all long gone and gone a while ago, circa 1966 the Beatles appeared on the pier; I was swilling round a new beer with my mates, Johnno and Bill Buford from the local football team. We were just hooligans, Mods, whatever you wanted to call us and there we were, chatting about this Julie or that when we first heard the noise. Or was that the Rolling Stones? At the seashore I stopped and tried to remember. The Dmiral Benbow, I noticed had been nouight but bought to a London trader, and I couldn't remember. No. It was definitely the Stones, but probably not 1966, more likely earlier. The pier had been there for years. All our mums and their mums played Bngo on it, and there was always music. Ask anyone, those Sundays at the Proms, sea gurgle below your knees, the music sky high, moon blaring its whiteness at two a.m dawning head clearing through a massive amount of intoxication. You really hear the waves when yr hammered. And every four a.m on a Sunday yr as likely to see ten to fifteen of us, just sat there, "digging it" as we learned to say. Then we'd be off on our bikes and gone, back to our Weetabixes and Horlicks, Corrie and whatever job we had at that time. But there it was: the pier, burned out and gnarled. I could see the bent metal from the furnace, even tho a third of a mile on the horizon, something about it had been putting it into a new light. There really was no other way of saying it. After the flames had finished their job, and after the first wave of clearance of walls and debris and iron in the sand had passed, I stared, revel in my eye. Beside me, a corner cafe. There was Victoria, towering over Wellington's Gardens, very close to where the Prince Regent had stayed, William the Conqueroro's Dinner Table which had sat inert in front of the pier for three hundred decades, and opposite the orehouse and Bayeux Tapestry, all burned now. All gone. The strusts at the end of the pier stuck forty feet into the sand were wooden spikes of indifference now. That small protruberance where I had learned to Pier fish with my uncle, spinning into the sea. And yet something else appearing as I look, takes me back to the pier fourteen times, rubbing my eyes as now the pier's wrecked and half the buildings on it pulled down, I see I am able to see parts of the horizon that before I could not see; in fact, walking past it I can see across the bay to Beachy Head, where I know there is a Marina and a hundred stories about suicides, and as many about what lives in chalk, And there before me, in me somehow, France seen clear, and the shape of this local stretch of three miles of inlet, finally being seen. Why? Because the pier's been burned. It went up several weeks ago, thundering, howling wind took two boys little game into an inferno. Such a shame, some say. Such a shame. And only just after we received the Guiness Book of Records Title for Most Pirates Gathered. I'll miss it I will. At the bottom of London Road, I turn left and walk toward it. There's Bottle Ally, convered, so if it does rain I can walk underneath the promenade, where I don't hear the cars. I often walk on the seashore simply and only because it drowns out the noise of cars. But I don't hear the cars this day. I only hear my memories ricocheting around what remains of the structure, the bent metal, the new open space on the left hand side of the front where I bought the bookshelves, where i sat getting drunk many a time, where i took that lady, where i was treated to a magician's show, where that Record shop was, what that tea was like; all the particulars of memory shut out by the image of that Uncle and that day, years aded on to years ago, with Uncle Tony. Sad how he turinged out. It doesn't take long to reach the pier on foot from the bottom of London Road; a few minutes. In the middle of the pier, underneath the wrecked brick hall of Drum and Bass Legends and all night Raves, the glass walls of the Cafe where one could easily imagine one was on sea at deck in a Cruise Liner film. Should one need it, two public toilets and a small casino. Those were the days. It's all bolted up. The railings, iron (this is all about Victoria you know) spiked and brass padlocked, and men in suits and top hats, and the darling buds of May in technicolour with swimwear pantaloons and cupped broacdes of Velvet in Hey Day shimmering Sunshine dans Saint Leaonards by the Sea, Home of Burton Saint Leonard, home of Hoover Hastings, Coeur de Leon, bonhomie, renegades, pirates, smugglers, Just a town, just a town with a name. Hastings. Well, I look up, through the posted notes from the Council that assure me :No, the Pier isn't being Dempolished, it's just being. And I laugh. Steel studded to the lampost a Signboard for the local Contract Scaffolders who are holding it all together: Harman Scaffold. I laugh. I find it amazing that there could be such a coincidence as this because only that mornning, minutes before I had set out for the sea, I had been having tea with Tony and showed him "Toward Speculative Realism and Circus Philosophicus" having been in the bookshop nearby in search of Husseurl I had stopped in for tea to warm up a bit, as we say. But Harman Scaffold? The Harman philosophy? Could it be a Scaffold? What joke was God playing now on me, putting this philososopher into my head, and all that he has to say about Objects. Object Oriented Ontology. Me and the pier were now nothing. It was I and the Scaffold, that Memory trace of my uncle, and a legend told to me by my own father about that night the Stones played on the pier. Homage to Papa, dear Pier (so perhaps it is Albert we have to thank) for the many years of sound pleasure and joy that the pier has brought Britain, how many billions of photographs of her have been takes, how many ways of being on it experienced. Today the pigeons swarmed like starlings around the Bombed out enter me, the pier shouts. Enter me. Save me (the placard loosley attached to the side railings). Let me fall into the sea. Let me be. Open your hearts and eyes to the horizon. All from a placard of Harman Scaffolders. An almighty din in my ears, sea scraping through the billions of pebbles, high tide it comes right up through the floor borads; its been a eyesore for years: should we smash it up? Who gives a * about the Vioctorians?> What did they ever do for yes, eh? I was astounded how much of the sea I could now see as well as the ice creams i'd eaten, and the arguments i had witnessed and the glad smiles on market day, and the penny slots etc. Not gone though, I thought. Not gone at all. More present now than she's ever been, drawn to my attention by Fire.... and
Processes as HyperObjects : "Dear Tim".... sure I can detect in myself Here, my Latent Correlationalism...
not that I'm feeling shy; the book is a little over my head
having said that, I have had some thoughts (mostly to do with Chronology) as it appears to be 1999 that is a crucial year in the Harman bio... leading up to a surprise turn circa 2004-7 during which term the coise was praised. The writing is marvelous (Harman has a free range of objects to choose from and uses them wisely). I can't speak about Heidegger, but I did rush out and buy Latour (well, ordered it for christmas, during the snowstorm). Also looked up my old friends from Lancaster who were introducing Latour to me back in 1994. In Business Management Sch. one survives). I'm thrilled to look forward to years of reading ahead. Perhaps, at last, philosophy in English that I can read (is there any comparison to Hobbes and Hume?). My own interests were Derridean, years ago and I'm the first to admit I could dissapear up my own * with Heisenbergian-quivers and all. When did Derrida discuss Correlationism? (Did he need to? Did it matter; once a "writer" has incribed "himself-as-w" or scripteur, all else follows.) Surely he was aware of the dilemma (experts might refute). For my own mind, at least, the book has come with a big sigh of relief, as I mentioned to Robert J, at least a language for where my own "fiction" interests have lay is now upon me. (Flat ontology/strange mereology). I rushed out to the local website, immediately, and cross checked a few variables, samples, if you will, of Meillassoux's text. Found one from Middlesex Uni (that seemed to say it all). But with Latour, comes "assemblages" and "netowrks" (my lazy arse said, do I really have to read that?). I ordered the book. (Harman sort of makes you want to read the philophers that he is writing about, and that is a good thing). So, there I was, knee deep in snow right slap in the middle of the UCLA conference on Hyoerobjects and Object Oriented Ontology. I say knee deep in snow; my work-shed (Hasting' Hut), silver lined with space age foil, equipped with solar panels (running two computers, a jet black kettle and a suave lighting arrangement that is perfect for the eyes) watching as Mr Harman is introduced, and chit chat about Tim's U stream fades into the background as Bogost (?) discusses a resurgent interest in the arts, perhaps opera. Meillassoux's name had erupted into consciousness (or that other thing which isn't consciousness which appears to be operating) thrugh Tim's symposiums on Hyperobjects. A name unfamiliar to me as the spelling of, it turned out, a new French Master. (It's no surprise today that Harman's forthcoming on Meillassoux in July 2011 has bee praised by Zizek; yes, it is clear that if Harman does a treatment (a Harman treatment on Zizek, i'll be buying that too: he really does want you to know more about the one he is referring to. And why not? It's important, after all, isn't it? Given the fundamental observations about the concequence for us of being inside the Correlationist's circle (without even realising the consequences) prevented thousands (?) from asking other questions.) No doubt. But now these new objects are emerging. I pen in Zizek. You tube Haraway, Zizek and Latour, and find Latour in a museum, stone walled by acoustic variations before i stummble upon a clear audio. But it is not him that really interests me. It is Meillasoux. It is Meillasoux's break with Correlationism. It is Harman's way of explaining the nature of the what can be viewed after one has made the break. I personally love reading Husseurl, although as HArman suggests, I did remain mostly in the "bracketing" off category (a highly powerful feature in anyone's book), and learned to apply it in life while thinking. But Harman's pointed out that that's not the most interesting part of Hussewurl. And then Harman makes clear, what he thinks isn't what Husseurl thinks or certainly not what Heidegger thinks. A philospher announces himself, I suppose. Essays in hand (printed of the interswabble network), i set to reading, and notice most quickly a very real shift in my perceptions. Christmas is coming. A new way to relate to the objects and the bah humbug and roar of noise that dins out the quiet thought (there is a reason for the Latour Hut). So, this thought brings me to Chicago, because when one mentions Huts to me in philosophy, I always think of Pirsig (whatever one may think og him, quelle marvel in my eyes?!) and there, plump in Zen, Chicago. Having resolved the subject object divide long ago, even Pirsig would have to bow to Harman for bringing to view all that we can now write about and think about. Not "the christmas presents, but their speaking to us" within all the streets and houses, up and down the country the acoustic wanting to be bought and displayed as much as the how can i pay for this brigade. I digress. Most surprised anyway to see Chicago as source again, and vindicated also by Harman's honesty about his slow and assiduous approach through the years. But what of Derrida? Perhas it doesn't matter anymore because a new way fo seeing has approached us; the closest thing i can call a revolution in my lifetime at or in the perecptual realm of ideas in which within which I can say, yes, well that is definitely new. And there is a bit of fresh air about all of this. Ferris Wheel. Oil Rig. The details i'll unfold in the hapy years of reading ahead. I\d like to thank these people, sincerely. After Finitude, i hope, will be arriving in January and the others i have mentioned. I feel that i havn't quite missed the beginning of something, but I can see that that something has had its real genesis point long ago as 1999, possibly even 1996. Who knows? Anyway I look now, a new refraction is in place. It's not the pier I see. There's something else now, the always was there.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
circus philosophicus by graham harman
how did we miss it?
how did we not see? did we feel it, and in doing so turned, gradually away? (from books, we have all this to say) from grammatoolongforme-to-read (1967) the year of my birth has been stinging me to awaken. why? simply meillasoux's birthday will be celebrated; for sure! and yes, there will be cakes. Also, mr cameron may celebrate too, but these are imaginings, yes? The rest of the dialogue, coming via larval posts and the narrative told "to me" via the web is this: if he'd noticed, he would have written about something else. maybe we all felt this possibility? (maybe we did, but as GH says: (and I am paraphrasing: "They didn't exactly come rushing to my attention" <>lol. how did we miss it? how did we not see? the breakthrough (in 2005-6 or thereabouts, taking place in London, Christmas-time, no snow, in Hyde Park, drunk on a Ferris Wheel, in delight. a feeling, just a feeling (can we feel the dying last breath of those far away from us). Well, Derrida is dead. This is a fact. But how did we not notice? And how did GH realise? I hope, in sme sense (some small sense) I can traverse all of these narratives (and keep them from bogging me in a viscosity of my own making) this time; this time where the thing is claimed: "I thought this/This is my thought" . It is clear that GH did, and has contributed something rather marvelous 
http://www.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=lang_en&id=H8-YvzBaTR8C&oi=fnd&pg=PA1&dq=%22graham+harman%22&ots=RlQPCqXQEG&sig=sTEwZfQNPsuC23zOUk3N9YhSdm4#v=onepage&q=simondon&f=false
Monday, December 6, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
peut etre je pense seulement en francais quand je suis parlant "en philosphe"? (continuing notes on Bogost-Levi-Bryant Hyperobject)
ok. you guys did say (rather anecdotally) that the real challenge may be not with Meilla's Soup but with Badiou. peut etre. je said pas. quan le philophe parle aven le journaliste, ou avec le interieur du politique (establishment) il y a une autre probleme qui n'est pas le question du philosophe (comme) scripteur... no dicteur (dichte) so probably it really is "back" to Meill'as Soup and MArtin....until MAnchester's POlitcs dept get their end sorted via the Polyani-Sewell matrix on POlitics (which was never really followed up).
complex Graham Harman (his second talk)
Monday, November 29, 2010
Notes on Ecology from Video (link below)
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
test: Toward a neato paradise
Morning, a.m. Redsun sky and how that sun appears to be sidearally a side-rally, solstice movements across horizon; are the days longer than nights already? So I woke up this morning (relief) due to sun and SPICE on my httpmind, drifting through the ole Mollucas ofthat. School runs. Someone's comment from Chicago. A Writer's question: are we by nature bad? Another homophobic and racist slogan imported from Chicago; how we can perpetuate the problem by over focus on the "tee">> whatever that tee is... (the writers Tony Buzan & also Michael Gelb both hint at this example) used the example of "The Fifth Tee" for the Golfer who ..... jojoga;kjgoeol;aglr and further examples (to follow)....made it an impossible goal by over-practicing and visually "not" dropping that ball into the drink again.....meaning Right Practice and by extension (RIGHT) learning for jugglers.... The Spice book is marvelous. Right up my street. Perfect because I've been on both the trade routes of the explorers and the explorations of the traders and mostly because I'm interested in Abel Tasman and C Cook and Darwin. My Intro to this subject coming from a three month trip to Mexico, and five short visits to Florida and a very quick drive through Louisiana and Alabama. And having looked at Tim's Spice book properly am going to enjoy the poetry and the learning of all these new words: tropes, historical contingency.... Dryden. My own work-Chapters of my own Life-http/Present Logos Mind awareness are to do with de Vaca and Coronado (eventually one gets to and from them there in Panama, up the glades in Pensacola, through the wild woolies of the interior to reach the northern place, off I 70 somewhere in Indiana where de Vaca gave up.....looking for that Folding flowery garden of silver petals and running gold. Some indian guy telling him..."Mate, just keep heading North.... you'll find what yr looking for there; an inland sea full of..". but old Vaccy had had enough, turned round (phew) saying: Damn, this Fantasy island is a lot bigger than i thought (and he did think that, and WE KNOW he thought that). .. as the actual geography of the Americas slowly revealed itself; the first lineaments of its coastline and the mad depth of its interior cutting like a knife into the idea (the tiny idea) of a neat0 paradise.
Hard to believe (it happened) at all. The past, that is, what we've lived forward through; what we're understanding backwards. The picture, new and nowish, assembling itself as a possibility. A map made in the mind, driven by an idea. Here, the Frau Map, and a linguistic and symbolic metaphor of the brain (surely-subconsciously-that's what they were drawing); with all the features of consciousness at its disposal and the bicameral mind, flitting in and out (as it did in 1542, as it still does now) scoping for confusions. Ascertaining threats. And genuine surprise (especially in Cortez!) at the lack of resistance (explained and explainable only by Julian Jaynes). If the archeologists and Adventurers are to be believed (see Ceram) that meeting (sic) between Corteza nd Montezuma was as if we were to step up and shake Howdy Deedoody with Queen Ned. or Cleo Herself. World's apart (yes) only bicamerally so. Here, the discourse of Cook's second visit (sic.... well, at least the first one was to "measure Venus") is instrumental: word had gotten around by 1769, and this time they were not so hospitable. But, I digress through 200 years gap here and must jump back again to Hispaniola--the early idea: thin sliver of island, mounted, dripping with sumptiousness and especially gold). Facts. That a thousand years apart we had witness to an encounter with our own (and we must, I think own) "our" history.
Perhaps a note is important here: What if "we" don't? What if "we" say it "wasn't me" it was them. "Besides, I wasn't even alive then." What if we say that? What if we don't own this history of Ours; this encounter we have had with consciousness, language and mind. What if we don't ask what it is we have witnessed, bearing it irrelevant? What do we occlude by doing that?
My short answer to this is that we occlude a whole lot; particularly our heritage as an arabic-sumeric-egypto-Grecian-Indus-Castillian-Greco-Roman mindscape that vertically and horizontally has proved to itself that its common ancestors had indeed met; had indeed shook hands and gone to wars; (but not only wars); that the Spain of 1224 had met the China of 1224. That the Iran had met with the Iraq inside the growth after Thera. That tide in and tide out, we were, had been and quite consciously, were mapping the world. And if we don't side with Jaynes on this, and if we don't redeem the peculiar features of that past as the material from which we must draw our conclusions about our journey from language to consciousness (putting our minds where our mouth is, so to speak) then we really reallly reallly do miss something important.l
It is consciousness, emerging out of the schism that mounds of metaphors and nouns collecting together first caused to the bicameral Mind; those voices which had instructed, on command: Do. Build. The hyper-Hyper Voices of those Gods now latent in the right brain aptic, language structures that are now latent in our Hominid Brain. Silent languages we only hear now casually, easily disregarded, were once Life itself. Those statues really did speak. But the very Civilizations that those Voices had commanded of Bicameral Man collapsed, rose again, collapsed, struggled to reascertain itself, demonstrated learning (the Gods, learned) the Right side Brain Aptic structures were, after all, Hominid Man's to possess, and possess he did, much later as Poesie in its purely modern utterly bereft of bicameral form. A pure I. A physicist might type > A0(p) R= I<>
We were indeed stunned, both sides of the Pond (and inside all Ocean Waters) at the Encounter, as we popped out (Splash!) like Finn from the Salmon Rush, up into the Slipstream of Awareness. Oh! We said. Oh! Hello! (to ourselves) and our own bicamerality went one degree more quiet. ("Those Gods were dead long ago").
But oh! what a battle. What a series of unbelievable encounters! What a history! What a nutcase job! And why? Because the civilisational structures that we have inherited were, in their genesis, instructions from the Aptic Bicameral (Rightside) (Makes no sense to say "either side" (or Or) then) because in those days the Voices were heard. Quite literally (until it got up our noses to listen anymore)... upping and leaving the stones to ruin (because the voices had stopped). It was those commanding Imperatives of Hominid Man's Brain that he sought and looked (and listened to) that were navigating the complexity. So it makes sense now that we would sniff this out in ourselves. This silence that is ok; that doesn't "need" or look to OR HEAR) that. (What are those aptic structures doing, remains to be thought through and much more research is required). This silence that is the understanding that we have pulled ourselves through something. The only problem with that, it seems to me, is that it raises the Big Question: if those were only necessary to birth consciousness (and consciousness in Hominids is from language, not before language), what are we therefore to Value today?
Do We need any More Icons?
Both sides are, thankfully, in agreement over one thing: there is a slippery slope. Visnulala-ised either as Lord of the Flies, or some nutty shamanistic bad acid trip, both sides sense the slippery slope can exist and render consciousness once again secondary to Bicameral Voices. Concluding: we'd better keep some Bicameral Order Here, and get a few more Iconic Buildings Built because civilisation (viewed here as the ability to perceive (to have) consciousness actually has to be preserved if we are to get to the other order of job which is a higher job of continuing to see ourselves, and our history. Whihc is f course, a case f looking at things the wrong way round.
But what is that saying? I think it's saying that the objects Can speak to us, but only under very highly stressed circumstances, and even then, with nothing like the perceptual clarity and LOUDNESS which our circa 2000BC-1972 AD people heard. (Over time, obviously this is a gradually descending graph). Add in some stunning periods when Bicamerality appeared to be "back with a vengeance" as indeed the Gods voices were in their later stages angry because they were indeed being ignored (tho now we discover, that we were only ignoring our own Hominind (Homini Mind... the associations linguistically really are infinite) HENCE and it really is a big Hence: da Ecology problem: you have to be able to Hear what the trees says when asked: would you like to be Moved?
Or does it mean whatever it means to the individual only when and if they now as individuals choose to open up those latent aptic structures? Because the content would be completely personal unless yoked by some group formation-inherited Aptic Agreement
Quite plausibly the answer to this question may take another century. However, we do have some recollection of the Aptic opening of the 1960's. And we are quite cognizant (even in adim shadowy way) that during the 1820's and 1880's; that between Marco's Epic to Mongolia, between Arab pontoon and Indus Jaboo, 964 Ad. 1123.BC Arabian Peninsula. Round India. Up Malaysia. Through the Biscyne Bay up Newfunded Land, as dolphins now, swimming in the Viscous Stream of Origins. Cook dying in Hawaii. Darwin's relative "late" arrival in Galapagos. That we have at various times slipped into Bicamerality. Building things, destroying things. And people.
What caused all the fuss? Being around a lot of other People. That's what did it originally. The tipping Point of Language was then and is probably now the reason for the "overwhelm". Our present day Endless "Never before have we..." at first looks to the Bicameral Voices for guidance (and despite periodic outbursts) finds only the silence there, and the strange presence of our own consciousness in it all. Thinking about it...needs only language. And it goes on very fine without consciousness! (this, I siisasuppose, is the point I had to find via the ur Document-for our textual, Sumeric history shows us writing is antecedent consciousness.... therefore remembered now as Internet discharges onward we all occasionally have to stop and ask "What was the point again?"... after all, we're not looking to become overwhelmed! we're navigating with the tools that we have, right?
And so I land, like Cook or de Vaca, land on land ON-in consciousness itself, Jaynes' first feature of consciousness: it narratizes. And when it narrates, it conciliates disparate themes. And when it sees it sees something other than itself, somewhere other than where it is...a neato paradise or a neato hell, either way, it needs conquering, assimilating to itself, as information about the world and as we have seen "doesn't rest til it's done so"...it's a spatial thing (as Steve Lehar said). And it has everything to do with maps. And as it approximates by association with language...
from ~Metaphors and Metephrands
A Blank Stale Mate vs ecosophere diary-journal.Vol Xi. p, 223. !987. Prs,To. press.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
"is this the right room for an argument?
where is my plutonium 239? (on this mind map, it's "in" gerry garcia's crotch). Arguing, as Tim points out (via Monty Python) not outmoded but.... the object" resplendent" inaugurates a "new era in academic worlds" via WEIRDNESS ("which resides ") quote "on the side of objects themselves, not our interpretation of them""right here / not appealing to being of the pencil)"
like TIM, I'm feeling Garcia, like Plutonium 239, is going on long after I'm gone... (reincarnation notwithstanding, "I" am). this make sme (someone/ me?) think (s) the Grateful Dead may also be Hyper Objects.
are all Objects Hyper Objects? the observation appears to conclude that YES, the milkshake I hold before, full of its platinum froth and beleagured acumen, exists both in the mantle of McDonalds and outside the being that is sipping. Yes? I'm thrilled to be stimulated this way, thinking at last feels as if it has reached "the object themselves"... so I am now rushing, in a sort of non spatialised way, down to the metacafe to pick up his latest publication http://www.amazon.com/Ecology-without-Nature-Rethinking-Environmental/dp/0674034856/ref=ed_oe_p
Hyperobjects 3.0: Physical Graffiti
Here's the lecture I gave at Rice today. Featuring extensive discussions of relativity and quantum theory. I'm particularly happy with the stuff on relativity, which I've been keeping under wraps for a while. Basically everything Graham says about time and space on the inside of an object is what Einstein also says in another key. Also featuring the work of Levi
looking for the narcissm text....
http://www.derridathemovie.com/readings.html Re: PrOCESSES ARE OBJECTS PR...... an object like entity.... scary.... ref: Buddhaphobia" (by T Morton). Essence of this feedback loop is totally cool and really good; but is not me!
 | |||||||||||
 | |||||||||||
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
HOME TEXT CITATIONS FEATURED IN FILM 'We no longer consider the biography of a philosopher as a set of empirical accidents that leaves one with a name that would then itself be offered up to philosophical reading, the only kind of reading held to be philosophically legitimate. Neither readings of philosophical systems nor external empirical readings have ever in themselves questioned the dynamics of that borderline between the work and the life, between the system and the subject of the system. This borderline is neither active nor passive; it's neither outside nor inside. It is most especially not a thin line, an invisible or indivisible trait that lies between the philosophy on the one hand, and the life of an author on the other.' JACQUES DERRIDA THE EAR OF THE OTHER, SCHOCKEN B00KS, 1985 L'OREILLE DE L'AUTRE VLB EDITEUR, 1982 'The very condition of a deconstruction may be at work in the work, within the system to be deconstructed. It may already be located there, already at work. Not at the center, but in an eccentric center, in a corner whose eccentricity assures the solid concentration of the system, participating in the construction of what it, at the same time, threatens to deconstruct. One might then be inclined to reach this conclusion: deconstruction is not an operation that supervenes afterwards, from the outside, one fine day. It is always already at work in the work. Since the destructive force of Deconstruction is always already contained within the very architecture of the work, all one would finally have to do to be able to deconstruct, given this always already, is to do memory work. Yet since I want neither to accept nor to reject a conclusion formulated in precisely these terms, let us leave this question suspended for the moment.' 'Who is it that | |||||||||||
On-Going Mind Map about Conversation ref: Gestalt Isomorphism
cns-alumni.bu.edu/~slehar/Lehar.html The Central Insight Behind My Work:
 | The Epistemology of Conscious ExperienceA brief illustrated presentation of the epistemology of conscious experience, and its implications for the computational function of visual processing. The idea of Indirect Perception, or Epistemological Dualism, was the central inspiration for much of Gestalt theory. And although this idea is hardly ever discussed these days (except to be dismissed off-hand) it happens to be right, for it is the only explanation which is consistent with the materialist view of mind as the functioning of the physical brain. One day this idea will turn the worlds of neuroscience and psychology on their heads! |
 | A Cartoon EpistemologyAn informal cartoon presentation of the central epistemological debate between naive realism and representationalism. |
 | The Dimensions of Visual Experience: A Quantitative Ananlysis |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)