“the sex which is not one is not impressed. ‘consider this principle of constancy which is so dear to you: what ‘does it mean’? the avoidance of excessive inflow/outflow-excitement? coming from the other? the search, at any price, for homeostasis? for self-regulation? the reduction, then, in the machine, of the effects of movements from/toward its outside? which implies reversible transformation in a closed circuit, while discounting the variable of time, except in the mode of repetition as a state of equilibrium.’ she is dying to run away.
—sadie plant, zeros and ones: digital women and the new technoculture (quoting luce irigaray, this sex which is not one)
There are certain things that force your hand. You find yourself incontrovertibly obligated: something occurs prior to owing, and more fundamental still than that of which any trace of empirical guilt can give an account. This relation—to whom? to what?—is no more and no less than your liability—what you owe before you think, understand, or give; that is, what you owe from the very fact that you exist, before you can properly owe. You do not have to do anything about your liability, and most finitudes don’t. Still, it copilots your every move, planning your every flight, and it remains the place shadowed by the infinite singularity of your finitude.
From what I’m reading today: Avital Ronell’s Crack Wars: Addiction Literature Mania, p. 57
marc ordered “a proper bottle” of champagne for the show, so i don’t remember if i said “britney feminism is the only feminism i care about” or just something similar.
he also dropped out of tisch after like a week? his parents didn’t even know except some girl he went to high school with finally called them and narced on him. then he convinced them that he had to attend uc boulder, which is pretty amazing, given that he grew up in texas. if you can get your parents to pay for you to go to a state school that’s not even in your state, well: good for you.
i feel like the most important personal information that i have been keeping off the internet is that of my two good, long-term, adult romantic relationships, one was with a deadhead and one was with a phish head.
“all hysterics, wrote freud, give accounts of themselves which ‘may be compared to an unnavigable river.’ its streams dip in and out of consciousness, ‘at one moment choked by masses of rock and at another divided and lost among shallows and sandbanks. i cannot help wondering how it is that the authorities can produce such smooth and precise histories in cases of hysteria,’ he continues, when even ‘the patients are incapable of giving such reports about themselves.’ there is so much they forget or fabricate. ‘the connections—even the ostensible ones—are for the most part incoherent, and the sequence of different events is uncertain.’ if they can ‘give the physician plenty of coherent information about this or that period of their lives…it is sure to be followed by another period as to which their communications run dry, leaving gaps unfilled, and riddles unanswered.’
and it has functioned as a paralyzing pathology of the sex that is not one, 'in hysteria there is at the same time the possibility of another mode of 'production'…maintained in latency. perhaps as a cultural reserve yet to come?'
by the end of twentieth century, only the most one track, fixated, single-minded individuals continued to think that focus and concentration worked. as one commentator writes: ‘determinateness, direct logical analysis and/or exposition, and direct confrontation of any sort are simply out of order.’…high-resolution, high-definition minds are anathema to the parallel processors, intuitive programs, nonlinearities, interactivities, simulation systems, and virtualities of the late twentieth century. a strong sense of identity and direction gets one nowhere in cyberspace.
plans and determination had not merely become economically and socially counterproductive. as it turned out, paying too much attention to anything was brain damaging. overused cells died of boredom.”
—sadie plant, zeros + ones: digital women and the new technoculture (quoting freud’s “case histories 1,” irigaray’s “this sex which is not one”), and daniel mcneil and paul friedberger’s fuzzy logic)
i know marc’s nephew is only turning six, or seven, but i really think marc’s brother is right and we should buy him a phone, even though i hate to talk on the phone.