“The tips of the five loops at the center of the figure have the same geometric relationship to one another as the five vertices, or points, of a pentagram, and each group of five intersections equidistant from the figure’s center have the same geometric relationship.” (source)
“The motif of a heavenly being striving for the highest seat of heaven only to be cast down to the underworld has its origins in the motions of the planet Venus, known as the morning star. The Sumerian goddess Inanna (Babylonian Ishtar) is associated with the planet Venus, and Inanna’s actions in several of her myths, including Inanna and Shukaletuda and Inanna’s Descent into the Underworld appear to parallel the motion of Venus as it progresses through its synodic cycle. (source)
“In the Book of Isaiah, chapter 14, the king of Babylon is condemned in a prophetic vision by the prophet Isaiah and is called הֵילֵל בֶּן-שָׁחַר (Helel ben Shachar, Hebrew for “shining one, son of the morning”), who is addressed as הילל בן שחר (Hêlêl ben Šāḥar). The title “Hêlêl ben Šāḥar” refers to the planet Venus as the morning star, and that is how the Hebrew word is usually interpreted. The Hebrew word transliterated as Hêlêl or Heylel, occurs only once in the Hebrew Bible. The Septuagint renders הֵילֵל in Greek as Ἑωσφόρος (heōsphoros), “bringer of dawn”, the Ancient Greek name for the morning star. Similarly the Vulgate renders הֵילֵל in Latin as Lucifer, the name in that language for the morning star. According to the King James Bible-based Strong’s Concordance, the original Hebrew word means “shining one, light-bearer”, and the English translation given in the King James text is the Latin name for the planet Venus, “Lucifer”, as it was already in the Wycliffe Bible.” (source)
“Why does Chomsky pretend to not understand this?”
Deleuze & Guattari
well well well, shout out to the Pay-Walled Street Journal for serving me up a nice helping of vindication in the form of some choice quotes from the limp left’s favorite American “dissident” Known Chumpsky, who apparently kept the company of everyone’s favorite prison “suicide” victim Jeffrey Epstein. when asked whether he knew the, ahem, disgraced financier, Chomsky said, “First response is that it is none of your business. Or anyone’s. Second is that I knew him and we met occasionally.”
really now! suddenly Mr. Government Transparency thinks he can invoke his right to privacy when asked about compromising activities! and “occasionally”? I “occasionally” have two cups of coffee in a day, which is to say, not infrequently. what sort of “occasion” is it to meet with sex traffickers connected to intelligence agencies, hmmmm? of course, Noam might be using words loosely. you know, the way a philosopher of language might.
at least Bill Gates has the sense to feign regret. what is anyone supposed to read this as other than mealy mouthed defensiveness?
Chomksy goes on to say that “[Epstein] had been convicted of a crime and had served his sentence. According to U.S. laws and norms, that yields a clean slate.” bro. dawg. homie. this is a joke, right? the “anarcho-syndicalist” who made his name outside linguistics on (barely) criticizing the laws and norms of the Amerikkkan Empire says “the justice system works” when it’s about a pedophile rapist receiving a slap on the wrist because he was friends with Bill Clinton? to say nothing of how U.S. norms generally cast sex offenders as social pariahs in perpetuity. just a totally nihilistic hand wave. I’m not even going to address him weaseling out of the question of whether he met Woody Allen with Epstein by saying “I’m unaware of the principle that requires that I inform you about an evening spent with a great artist.” Woody Allen fucking sucks dude, shut the fuck up.
oh, and if people worse than Epstein donated to MIT, THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU WORK THERE YOU if I use the epithet I wanted to use people will think I’m being anti-Semitic.
“Non-Sequitur” Coda
The entire technique of the “secret” societies is to conduct their controversies as if the terms of reference were historical. Historical scholarship and criticism (in the arts) is as much their field of present battle as the news, poem, play, novel, painting or musical composition.
what’re you trying to say that it’s only possible to achieve greatness if you cast off the inhibitions imposed by sanity who cares if Freud was a cocaine addicted cigar puffing basket case what does saying Jung was psychotic mean for the ways he shifted the world Joyce may or may not have been manic depressive but there’s no disputing his broad knowledge of language history politics literature art science you’re just trying to box me in what if I want to be insane what if I want to pursue every last ambition with the doggedness of a heat seeking missile what do you mean heat seeking missiles explode what do you mean que es la significa amiga maybe sanity is a prison and the only way to get out of this situation is to lose it a little huh huh how about that don’t tell me to calm down who’s paying who here huh watch me brandish my piercing intellect like a disgruntled postal worker driven the end of his lonely patience and forced into drastic measures to see the effect of his existence on the world I will swallow the world like a serpent with unhinged jaw (get it? unhinged??) I can do it all I can do it all and you’re one of those agents sent to check me when my ambitions get too high they don’t want me to win [dj khaled voice:] DJ KHALED! because if I win they lose and they can’t lose they always win what am I going to do what am I going to do the guards are closing in lashing whips like Inquisitors burning witches like Puritans killing heretics like Templars blackmailing radicals like the FBI but I’m not a witch heretic radical I’m just a boring nobody whining in his therapist’s office
détournement is an artistic practice, first developed by the Letterist International and adopted by the Situationists, that utilizes preexisting cultural artifacts and repurposes them into something intended to draw attention to the contradictions of the original production’s milieu. it is a form of artistic propaganda that turns the language of bourgeois society against itself. to even contemplate détournement as a viable artistic project in 2023 is a little quaint: a common example mentioned as counterargument is how graphic designers at AdBusters often wound up working for the very advertising agencies they lampooned.
I’m not someone who wants to give up the game so easily. the oscillation between subversion and reification is just that: an oscillation. anyone who thinks that avenues of refusal, rebellion, and resistance have been permanently sealed by the coronation of neoliberal capitalism is only spinning Francis Fukuyama’s End of History into a scolding leftist critique.
that being said, I’m also not someone who believes art ought to be propaganda. this is the position held by Debord and Wolman in their essay “A User’s Guide to Détournement”. as I often like to say to myself, I’m not an activist, I’m an artist: think what you will of that. nonetheless, I reserve more disdain for nihilist aesthetes than I do for anyone who views art as a vehicle for ideology, so I’m interested in methods for artistic production that are engaged in some kind of political or moral struggle. but I reserve the right to leave you guessing what exactly I believe. my sympathies should be obvious enough.
anyway, revisiting the Debord/Wolman essay, I got some ideas for my own projects, but more interestingly, I was reminded of one of the few “content creators” I truly admire: jinx.
he repurposes clips from films, news footage, pop songs, wikipedia articles, and internet ephemera–the cultural material of networked capitalism–into provocative political education of an alternate history, with the intention of estranging the viewer from preconceived notions. he’s also very funny, if sometimes offensive.
my original thought was to talk more about this, but I’m not that interested in doing, idk, critical theory or art analysis or whatever. then I wanted to post the Tim Russert edit but trying to find specific jinx edits is nearly impossible.
Détournement is less effective the more it approaches a rational reply
before we get started here, obligatory “of course I’m procrastinating on writing by writing about writing”
my ambitions are in excess of my abilities at present. I want to write the kind of novel that swallows the whole world up and spits it back out so that the reader sees it anew, with a sharpened understanding of where we’ve been, where we are, where we’re going. some of you know what specific model I have in mind when I say that, and we’ll get to it, don’t you worry. but first, it’s worth asking myself, what does a novel do?
for a long time, I’ve been dissatisfied with what a lot of my generation thinks a novel does: distill personal experience into simple language that eschews grand narratives or high modernist ambitions in favor of “direct” communication that verges on reportage. memoir-as-novel, autofiction, alt-lit and its offshoots all exemplify this strain of literature.
I have been known to express distaste, if not outright disdain, for this approach to literature. it strikes me as intellectually lazy, narcissistic in the excess, even irresponsible, given the “state of the world.” a certain writer who sometimes serves as metonym for all these ideas, let’s call him Towel N, goes so far as to claim he prefers autofiction because “the closer to reality it is, the more I like it. The next level of autofiction is nonfiction.” leaving aside the confused categories (what would it even mean for nonfiction to be the “next level” of autofiction? like, there’s a hierarchy? does one somehow graduate from the lower, fictional levels of literature into the higher, nonfictional levels? what exactly marks the difference then?), I fundamentally disagree with Towel N’s faith in the ability to document “reality” in a “literal/concrete” way. a maxim I prefer is that all writing is lying. a less cynical version is that we create the world through our attempts at describing it; there’s no “objective” reality to uncover. the map may not be the territory, but it does shape what borders we allow ourselves to be governed by.
however, it’s dishonest of me to say I don’t at all enjoy literature that’s more or less a representation in close facsimile to events as they’re experienced by the author. Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac, Anais Nin, Marguerite Duras, Jean Rhys, even Towel N, have all written books I hold in high esteem. I have friends whose writing might be called “alt-lit” or adjacent. so clearly it’s not really “narcissism” that bothers me. and even if I don’t exactly agree with what Emerson said about how novels will be supplanted by autobiography once writers know how to carefully select and describe their experience, I sniff what he’s stepping in.
as an aside, it’s also not really apathy about the “state of the world” that bothers me either: cringey attempts at social commentary in something like Fake Accounts by Lauren Oyler drive me insane, largely because they merely parrot poorly thought out punditry that seems to almost conscientiously skirt actually discussing any of what makes the modern world the way it is. this is what keeps me from reading something like The Topeka School or the Jenny Offill book about climate change. Dept. of Speculation was….fine. so, even granting that I don’t need literature to be a vehicle for social commentary, a neo-Victorian overreliance on sentimental personal narrative that obfuscates the violence lurking beneath life in the developed world is the primary mode of contemporary letters, and it pisses me off, so my instinct is to run in the opposite direction, avoiding overtly personal meditations on “trauma” or whatever the fuck, in favor of fabulist swashbuckling, absurdist black humor, modernist tectonics, and social satire.
but alas, it is probably not prudent for me to make reaches for something “epoch-defining” in my first attempt at writing a novel, and the secret is that it’s actually a lack of confidence in my life being interesting that prevents me from writing some sort of quasi memoir. so let’s add a corrective maxim, trite as it is true: write from experience, dumbass, with the caveat that, as Henry James mentions, “experience” is the web of consciousness that collects impressions, interactions, personages, and ideas, not literal “experiences” as in “events you were present for.”
now that I’ve admitted that, I still don’t think my aesthetic project is anything like autofiction. I believe in stories too much to feel content with limp “meditations” on grief/trauma/blahblahblah, filtered through boring personal anecdotes. so what are some novels I like that appear to be divorced from the author’s biography, and what makes them work?
Djuna Barnes’s Nightwood: obviously this novella draws on the author’s own relationships and life among the demimonde, but no one is confusing any of the characters with Barnes herself. propelling the narrative is the cascade of language: hypnotic, bewitching, seductive, decadent. what transpires between the covers is like a half-remembered dream, which makes it hard for me to explain exactly what happens even after having read it twice.
but one lesson to draw from Nightwood is its careful treatment of character. less important than the plot is the sense that things happen to these figures beyond the scope of the page. they all seem some strange mixture of archetype and urchin, not-quite-but-all-too human, and they’re all deeply embedded in the world Barnes conjures. so another maxim: make characters, then place them in situations.
Samuel Beckett’s Murphy: Beckett’s characters, as a counterpoint, don’t often feel like people you could encounter in the world. they are much more transparently constructs of language, mere semiotic referents. this is also true of Nightwood, but in Beckett’s novels it’s drawn to the extreme: these aren’t people so much as puppets, representatives, allegories-but-not-exactly.
more than maybe any writer other than the next one on this list, Beckett focuses on the interplay of signs, the relationship between phonemes, meaning, sound, and context. several of his stories, and perhaps the Trilogy, might better demonstrate this tendency (like “Ping,” which Adam and I discussed here) but I chose Murphy for two reasons:
Murphy’s horoscope operates in the plot as something Murphy uses to make sense of the world and also as a source of anxiety for him, which mimics how words function in the book overall, and in life generally. so one thing to learn here is how to use elements in a novel as holographic particles containing the whole; every object, character, symbol, action, and phrase participates in the greater structure. the microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
similarly, the chess game towards the end of the book is a distillation, a comedic one, of how pieces move around the board of the text to strategically direct the reader towards certain ideas. now, that’s sort of just an explanation of how chess might be used symbolically in literature, but by including the game’s notation, rather than narrating moves, Beckett further develops the novel’s examination of language as a set of signs that only mean anything in context to someone who understands the rules of the game. chess notation is a metonym for language.
well. three. it’s the one I most recently read.
Vladmir Nabokov’s Pale Fire: like Beckett, Nabokov loved chess, and was known to practice chess problems. of chess, he said that it, like any artform, required “originality, invention, conciseness, harmony, complexity, and splendid insincerity.” I don’t really play chess, to be clear. I sometimes attempt to pick it up, and quickly find myself out of my element.
Pale Fire includes another of Nabokov’s past times, those idle linguistic puzzles he calls “word golf,” where you must find the fewest steps possible between two words of the same length, changing just one letter at a time. HATE – HAVE – HOVE – LOVE, for example. admittedly, I haven’t read that much Nabokov, but I get the impression that these puzzles are included in Pale Fire because this novel is the one most obviously involved in word play, even among the work of the arch word player Nabokov. the creeping sensation of there being some scheme afoot between Shade and Kinbote, that maybe Kinbote isn’t even real, arises out of Nabokov’s careful deployment of language, drawing attention to details via seemingly cast off puns, coincidental phrasings, etc. had I read this book more than once I’d be better equipped with examples, but I’m riding on my memory right now. the possibility that the characters are figments of one another’s psychosis, or that maybe an apparently minor character is the actual narrator, and using conscientious diction choices to tip that off, is very intriguing as a technique.
as an amusing aside, there are only three steps between WORD play and FOUL play.
Ishmael Reed’s Mumbo Jumbo: Reed likes to dress the things he’s preoccupied with—the ways artistic creation is coopted by the structures it criticizes, the cynicism that promotes “Black voices” while denying Black people actual power, the impotence of the liberal intelligenstia—in farcical garb and quasi-historical settings, putting the subjects at a remove from the immediate context he’s responding to. this approach manages to shed light both on the period that serves as the setting of the novel and on the time Reed is living in: many writers in the Harlem Renaissance, due to their commercial aspirations, allowed themselves to be manipulated into legitimizing bourgeois publishers, which is not all that different from the way writers in the 60s and 70s became mouthpieces for the United State’s cultural imperial propaganda. the satire in Mumbo Jumbo ranges the spectrum from burlesque to deadpan, and formalistically it assumes the methods of crank conspiracy theorists, going so far as to include an extensive “bibliography” that lists Helena Blavatsky and Erich von Däniken, which provokes the reader into wondering how much Reed buys into the alternate history he offers. to this point, I’ve encountered many later “conspiracy theory” works that earnestly quote, from Mumbo Jumbo, that “beneath or behind all political and cultural warfare lies a struggle between secret societies,” which conveniently leaves out the prefacing “Someone said” that Reed tempers the claim with.
though I suspect that Reed does believe that, justifiably.
Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow: in the final accounting, my neurosis about this book stems from what David Graeber says, offhand, in Debt, about how sometimes, at the emergence of a new historical era, there’s an artist who, as though gifted with supernatural foresight, captures the full implications of the new world being born, even more astutely than later generations fully enmeshed could understand. the example he offers is Rabelais, with reference to a passage about debt in Gargantua and Pantagruel. the final era that Debt covers has as its starting point 1971, and it runs through the present; we now are still discovering the implications of the neoliberal revolution; Pynchon started work on Gravity’s Rainbow in 1966 and published it in 1973; I do not know that the historical conditions have changed enough for the ideas expressed in GR to be surpassed. refined maybe, elaborated on sure, but extended into something new? I don’t know, but that’s what I want to do, what I think all artists should really strive for: to be epoch defining.
it’s not exactly that I feel there’s nothing left to say. there’s some Gordon Lish quote about how every artist has to overcome that feeling and realize that their forebears ain’t shit. his point I think involves believing yourself capable of “pissing with the big dogs” or something. I don’t hold my literary idols in such high esteem that I think I could never surpass them. not even the super genius Thomas Pynchon. I can understand rocket science if I make the effort. Pinecone ain’t shit. but when I find myself thinking through the implications of some arrangement in society, some ideological strain, some type of person I might want to treat in my fiction, it’s pretty often that I think “oh that’s already in Gravity’s Rainbow.” or otherwise I do the stupid thing of modeling my approach too tightly on Pynchon’s.
but maybe that’s not such a stupid thing. in an interview with Rick Rubin that’s frankly kind of bland, John Frusciante does make a few interesting points about art making. one thing he talks about is how all art creation is a process of drawing on influences, that being able to tackle some aesthetic problem depends on having a large catalogue of approaches. ripping other artists off is what everyone does, Emerson be damned. Frusciante mentions how he knows musicians with a lot of anxiety over making sure they aren’t copying anyone, who will unconsciously reproduce melodies, rhythms, or riffs, lifting them almost exactly, but that he and the Chili Peppers deliberately model their songwriting after things that inspire them, which gives them more control and allows them to not merely ape something.
so rather than resist how strongly something influences me, it’s better to cultivate a wider range of influences and blend them into something new.
also important to remember what most people overlook, that even with its puzzles, puppet-characters, textual games, symbolic orders, technical pyrotechnics, and the alibi of historical fiction, Gravity’s Rainbow is ultimately drawn from a human’s lived experience. and the fact is I’m not living through the turmoil of the 60s, and that’s fine. countercultures come and go.
besides, it’s not like the world right now is a very stable place, so I may just get my wish for a shakeout.
compiling quotes from this wonderful book. they certainly don’t make cultural study like this any more, folx
Listless and simple, [the Yankee] might be drawn into a conversation with a stranger, and would tell a ridiculous story without apparent knowledge of its point.
[The Yankee] seemed cautious and solitary. Asked a question, he was likely to counter with another….But this reluctance was only another form of masquerade. These bits of indirection were social; direct replies would end many a colloquy: questions or evasions prolonged the talk and might open the way for more.
[Humor] bears the closest relation to emotion, either bubbling up as from a deep and happy wellspring, or in an opposite fashion rising like a re-birth from dead levels after turmoil. An emotional man may possess no humor, but a humorous man usually has deep pockets of emotion, sometimes tucked away or forgotten.
Yankee speech with its slow-running rhythms and high pitch—as if an inner voice were speaking below the audible one—was well adapted to the monologue. Its sound was subtly varied; the cautious drawl served to feel a way among listeners. As Lowell pointed out some years later, Yankee speech was not so much a dialect as a lingo: that is, its oddities were consciously assumed. It was another form of masquerade.
This lawless satire was engaged in a pursuit which had occupied comedy in the native vein elsewhere. As if it were willful and human, the comic spirit in America had maintained the purpose—or so it seemed—to fulfill the biblical cry running through much of the revivalism of the time: to “make all things new.” It was a leveling agent. The distant must go, the past must be forgotten, lofty notions deflated. Comedy was conspiring toward the removal of all alien traditions, out of delight in pure destruction or as preparation for new growth.
The orgiastic forest revivals with their pagan spirit and savage manifestations bore a not altogether distant resemblance to the Eleusinian mysteries out of which the Greek drama had developed.
Far from having no childhood, the American nation was having a prolonged childhood, extended as the conditions for young and uncertain development were extended and spatially widened by the opening of wilderness after wilderness, the breaking down of frontier after frontier. The whole movement westward had a youthful illusory character, like one of those blind migrations of other people over the older continents.
To look upon the comedy of this time was to conclude that the Americans were a nation of wild and careless myth-makers, aloof from the burdens of pioneer life, bent upon proving a triumphant spirit.
[Inevitably] genius embraces popular moods and formulations even when it seems to range furthest afield. From them literature gains immensely; without them it can hardly be said to exist at all. The primitive base may be full of coarse and fragmentary elements, full of grotesquerie or brutality; it may seem remote from the wide and tranquil concepts of a great art: but it proved materials and even the impulse for fresh life and continuance.
Humor has been a fashioning instrument in America, cleaving its way through the national life, holding tenaciously to the spread elements of that life. Its mode has often been swift and coarse and ruthless, beyond art and beyond established civilization. It has engaged in warfare against the established heritage, against the bonds of pioneer existence. Its objective–the unconscious objective of a disunited people—has seemed to be that of creating fresh bonds, a new unity, the semblance of society and the rounded completion of an American type. But a society has not been palpably defined either in life or in literature.
For the creative writer the major problem seems to be to know the patternings of the grain; and these can hardly be discovered in rich color without understanding the many sequences of the American tradition on the popular side as well as on purely literary levels. The writer must know, as Eliot has said, “the mind of his own country—a mind which he learns in time to be much more important than his own private mind.”
there were others that I didn’t mark down but as I get farther away from this the less inclined I am to find them
now almost a week into the clusterfuck of financial collapse incited by Silicon Valley Bank’s failure, some salient points should be outlined:
when Yellen and Biden are careful to reassure the rightfully skeptical and angry public that the federal government’s swift response towards “making depositors whole” is “not a bailout,” and it “won’t come at the expense of the taxpayer,” they are lying. by removing the FDIC’s deposit insurance threshold, they make clear that no, the suffering of everyday people is not important to them, but yes, the risk that VCs won’t get their money is important to them. it’s so important to them that they open the possibility of the Treasury itself backstopping FDIC reimbursement claims, which does come at the expense of the taxpayer. your student loan debt? your life ruining medical bills? that takes time, politics doesn’t happen in a day. some shithead VC with a yacht and tackily decorated homes all over the world? his problems need to be addressed immediately.
the governance at SVB deserves careful examination, because something suspicious was going on there. there are practices that allow for deposits over the traditional $250K FDIC threshold to be protected in the case of bank failures; these involve breaking the cash into packages of <250K and depositing those bundles into other banks in the participating network, diluting risk for the depositor. SVB required that depositors keep all their funds with the bank. VCs should understand why this would leave them vulnerable to exactly what happened last Friday. so that opens three options as to why this common practice wasn’t followed at SVB.
the bankers were somehow unaware that this was a common practice for large corporate deposits; unlikely.
the tech bro VCs and the bankers thought they were doing something clever for some obscure reason; possible, given the hubristic faith in “disruption” that is the hallmark of the tech industry.
or, they knew this was going to happen, and in fact wanted it to happen; disturbingly plausible.
if you open the possibility of all deposits ultimately being insured by the federal government not long after the Fed implements a new policy that allows for collateral to be valued at par, meaning according to present market value rather than at a lesser value that reduces risk, what you are paving the way for is making all financial transactions and deposits the responsibility of the Fed. previously the Fed dictated monetary policy by adjusting interest rates, which tightens or loosens the amount of circulating money. admittedly this places a lot of power in the hands of a cabal of bankers without democratic oversight, but their power was mediated by the ways payments processing is done. now, with all deposits potentially the responsibility of the federal government through no limit FDIC insurance, and with commercial banks becoming essentially channels for money to run through the Fed itself because the Fed’s balance sheet is, well, unbalanced, then we’ve arrived at the prelude to that bugbear of many a paranoid: CBDCs.
and worse, this is happening in several countries, notably Switzerland, where the Swiss National Bank has had to come to the rescue of the failing Credit Suisse. the Swiss National Bank, the US Fed, and 61 other central banks are clients of the Bank for International Settlements, BIS, the central bank for central banks. the BIS has been working for over a year on implementing CBDCs internationally. CBDCs allow the central bank to determine what can and can’t be purchased with the currency, where the currency can be spent, when the currency must be spent by. kinda makes you wish currency were backed by some physical asset rather than valued according to the whims of international elites! but before the goldbugs get too smug, remember that for years the price of gold was fixed twice daily in an office at the New Court headquarters of Rothschild & Co.
So central banks underpinning everything. Total corruption & top down control, concentrated wealth, decisions made in closed door rooms with no citizen input and it’s all disguised as the capitalist, free-market west fighting authoritarianism & communism in wars no one voted for pic.twitter.com/e84d8oSzBR
