blög - page 5

  • made redundant

    note

    i guess this is a kind of draft write-up of a tirade i wrote on christmas day last year. why not share a tirade. you can also read the pdf version of this text.

    null beginning

    Nothing is happening, but you are not where you are. You are emptied and filled, tied down and thrown overboard. You go to move closer to where you are, but where you are moves as you do. Is it a kite in the wind strung to your waist, is it straining to elude you or indifferent to your straining. You are continually ‘acting’, in both senses of the word, you have to, yet you are also a kind of atmosphere or field through which broken scraps and threads of thought continually flow, and these needn’t have any necessary link to any of your actions or acting. You go to seize them as they flow out of and across you, but you are not where you are and nor are they. You go to fix one, as a garment to a table for trimming, but it frays and the threads wriggle away to combine anew or miraculously multiply to become other flowing scraps of thought. They flow through your atmosphere, obscuring the massive, implacable rack-work of logic it is also home to. It seems like anything could be constructed with and upon this rack-work, even an upturned world. Yet in this atmosphere it moves through anything, the scraps flow right through it, it cannot net them, cannot be recruited for your project of pinning them down to tailor something. It is organization itself, but for its own sake: it is completely useless for the actual practice of organizing something in particular, least of all your own self. You dream, you are dream, you are so filled it seems a miracle, so filled it hurts too, it hurts to be this filled openness, and so exposed. You are filled and falling, you are far, far below a sentence, a proposition, you see it as a possibility as one sees a scene from underwater, blindingly bright yet impossibly contorted, unattainable even as inner vision. And you see it far, far below you too, like a stone glimpsed by a flying eagle, a stone in a pile of stones. And yet reams of language bottleneck inside you, you’re awash with it, riddled with it, with both its ethereal flow and the pitiless density of its arms, arms that sometimes reveal they have the power to split (and fuse) anything. This power, does it come from the scraps, does the rack-work secrete it, does it make the scraps and the rack-work. Do they have anything in common at all. Would you maybe know the answer to these questions if you were where you are, or can that power maybe help you get there. Is it the way or the goal. Has anyone ever known anything of all this in a way other than you are straining to now, which is to say, other than this not-knowing-shit-about-the-lot-of-it, the lot of it that you are and are also failing to be.

    (more...)

  • suns

    we know that if we are kings we are supposed to be the sun, everyone from akhnaten to louis xiv thought that, it is a staple of vitalist power to pretend (in both senses) to be the generative principle itself, the very possibility of growth. and ever since popular sovereignty we have been supposed to be kings (emphasis on supposed).

    but i was walking around in the mountain prairies the other year gawking at the fields teeming with amazing flowers, and i realized something else about us<—>the sun: that maybe we are all also like suns in that everything happens, and in happening it can be happening for our eyes; our eyes are like backward suns, receptacles for the generative principle itself.

    the sun sends light to plants, and plants strive upward back toward the sun and its infinite light, in the direction of what feeds them. but in doing so they also swatch open into the spaces where everything and one is, and this opening out and filling out of the spaces we happen to inhabit, it is just that it is hard not to say that this is also a striving into the infinite darkness of our eyes, not merely a performance for eyes, but a raw and visceral driving at them, into them, whether or not the eyes or their owners realize it.

    this is not meant in a egomaniacal way (the eye is impersonal), nor in an anthropocentric way (there are other eyes), and the feeling that happened to me on the prairie was not at all akin to the usual self-interested leering of anthropos, it was a wholly depersonalized experience, and i experienced it as a stepping back out of ‘my’ vision to ‘see’ these interactions independently of individual agents and their positions. maybe it would be better to say that our eyes are usurping and backward suns. the black disc intervenes to capture the light being bounced back to the sun, intercepts it. it absorbs all, which it then processes into knowledges and informations and evaluations such that it can then pretend (in both senses) to be the generative principle itself.

    so imagine you are a sun, negative or positive or both, you are a sun, and there is no longer any earth time, which depends on that tiny planet’s rotation as it orbits you. there are no days, no nights, no lunar months, no seasons, no years and no possibility of eclipse, of blinking, there is only burning without measure, and absorbing without measure, neither of which now occupy a point, but an indefinite field. you face in all directions, and stay the (non-existent) course.

  • mkv-this

    i recently wrote a small text generation programme called mkv-this. it’s really just a wrapper for the markovify python library (which is what powers all your favorite twitter bots), a way of passing the options it provides to an end user.

    you can feed it text files, a directory (tree) of text files, URLs or PDFs, or a combination of these, and it will output new texts depending on the options you select.

    i have been feeding it my journal, my dream diary, my email sent folder, my notes and scrapbooks, as well as books by other ppl, etc. the types of juxtpositions, derailings and re-threadings it comes up with can sometimes resemble haruspicy, and often also utter trash, which is also great.

    the code (which is very bad but i’m slowly getting better), as well as details on how to install and use the progamme, are available at https://git.disroot.org/mousebot/mkv-this.

  • hangar


    picture yrself in a great hall, a hangar, built of alien alloys. picture your friends, families, loved ones, dear ones, communities, comrades, kin, your ppl and their ppl and their ppl and so on going about their livings, their daily commerce with small lime green plants and yellow grains and seeds from the outside, picture their handy creations kocked up from wood or clay or metal. picture their stories and theatres and histories and astrophyisicses. now picture an immense black form, a kind of solid matte box or crate that is the exact form of the hangars interior, now picture it filling the hangar, now picture vertical ppl celebrating something inside it.

  • metadata as history


    my thought today upon waking: will metadata, which is a waste product of machine—machine interactions, become the historical record, ie externalised or technical human ‘memory’. ie will it (functionally if not literally) replace the library/archive: this person was here, that person was there, said this to this person, did that to that person, manipulated this, re-coded that, exploited these people, screwed those ones, invented this new value-extraction-from-living-flesh app which saved us all, ergo made civilization, programmed this satellite community’s shoddy air system, modified x gene in their lab-grown meat, sent the ppl in that other satellite to their deaths in space in the name of fearless technological progress but actually for the insurance money, etc… and this info wouldn’t be in a library, in the sense of a funcionally separated/localised institution, it would just be backed up in the logs on the machines running whatever different kinds of infrastructure.

    (more...)