Revolution
I was at a party yesterday and spent some time looking through one of the hosts' library, which is one hell of a personal infoshop of radical literature. This person's a theory connoisseur, and seemed to really be dedicated to reading and writing and critiquing. He mentioned a couple of times the revolution, semi-earnestly, I think.
I felt really frustrated and kind of sorry for the folks there, though, because it seems to me that there is nothing that they're doing which is going to make much difference. At the risk of being condescending, I felt like I had been the same way and moved past that immature valorization of 'struggle' and resistance to capital. Now, this host was incredibly smart and well informed, but he seemed to me to be so wrapped up in a bubble, more so than I am. I kept thinking about the fact that the world seemed so much an abstraction, even when it may be embodied by struggle (often someone else's far away or at least unrelated to oneself). The world cannot be grappled with in an abstract arena in which rationality is the only currency. Ideas are not the purpose of life, not the only one anyway, and life needs to be embodied.
I'm reminded of Derrick Jensen's quote about violence: "I don't believe the question of whether to use violence is the right one. Instead, the question should be: Do you sufficiently feel the loss? So long as we discuss this in the abstract, we still have much to lose." If you feel it deeply and personally, you'll know how to act. In other words, when dealing with 'violence' or 'no violence,' you're operating primarily in the world of ideas and abstractions, instead of living embodiment. That we are operating in abstractions still probably facilitates the continued destruction.
We have to feel the effects of the onslaught of this world. If you can't cry over it, if you can only think about it in terms of tons of topsoil depleted, or number of species driven to extinction, or square miles of oceanic dead zone, you are not alive. If the death of our homes is not worth crying over, what is?
I'm beginning to suspect that words are pretty hollow for the most important things. They're road posts, maybe, but empty in themselves. Maybe it is about all about deceit. The idea of unspeakability allures me, even though it is horrific. It allures me because it points in the direction of what I'm getting at, what I'm feeling, that there can be actions and events so grievous and monumental that we cannot put words to them. Nothing can describe it, nothing can encapsulate it- it deifies our grasp and reminds us of the task ahead of us, and more optimistically to the other side of unspeakable that may just be waiting for us when we go home.
I felt really frustrated and kind of sorry for the folks there, though, because it seems to me that there is nothing that they're doing which is going to make much difference. At the risk of being condescending, I felt like I had been the same way and moved past that immature valorization of 'struggle' and resistance to capital. Now, this host was incredibly smart and well informed, but he seemed to me to be so wrapped up in a bubble, more so than I am. I kept thinking about the fact that the world seemed so much an abstraction, even when it may be embodied by struggle (often someone else's far away or at least unrelated to oneself). The world cannot be grappled with in an abstract arena in which rationality is the only currency. Ideas are not the purpose of life, not the only one anyway, and life needs to be embodied.
I'm reminded of Derrick Jensen's quote about violence: "I don't believe the question of whether to use violence is the right one. Instead, the question should be: Do you sufficiently feel the loss? So long as we discuss this in the abstract, we still have much to lose." If you feel it deeply and personally, you'll know how to act. In other words, when dealing with 'violence' or 'no violence,' you're operating primarily in the world of ideas and abstractions, instead of living embodiment. That we are operating in abstractions still probably facilitates the continued destruction.
We have to feel the effects of the onslaught of this world. If you can't cry over it, if you can only think about it in terms of tons of topsoil depleted, or number of species driven to extinction, or square miles of oceanic dead zone, you are not alive. If the death of our homes is not worth crying over, what is?
I'm beginning to suspect that words are pretty hollow for the most important things. They're road posts, maybe, but empty in themselves. Maybe it is about all about deceit. The idea of unspeakability allures me, even though it is horrific. It allures me because it points in the direction of what I'm getting at, what I'm feeling, that there can be actions and events so grievous and monumental that we cannot put words to them. Nothing can describe it, nothing can encapsulate it- it deifies our grasp and reminds us of the task ahead of us, and more optimistically to the other side of unspeakable that may just be waiting for us when we go home.
posted by Archangel at 11:28 AM
4 Comments:
I'm glad Casemeau linked to you. I just read through a number of your posts, and was pleased to see how well-read you were in all of this. Ultimately though, as you say, theory puts us into abstraction. Words will always be inadequate, particularly words with no face or sound. I'm currently in the process of extricating myself from both the city and the internet, but the latter has been far more difficult (and is currently unrealistic). I find myself craving solidarity, and I get a "quick fix" from reading the words of like-minded thinkers on the internet. I say "quick fix" because even though I'm in the presence of a few like-minded people fairly continually here at the Teaching Drum, there are still many hurdles and barriers to communication to overcome. Internet communication is rather bizarre in that it is simultaneously easier and more difficult. It is easier to talk because of the distance but difficult for the same reason -- there is a built-in impediment to being able to feel what is spoken.
For these reasons and others, I'm looking into performance poetry and in-person storytelling as ways to communicate what I have to say, rather than starting a blog. But it's interesting -- when I get into telling my story to anyone, whether it's written or spoken, I often find myself unable to speak. There is too much there for me to say in words. I feel a need to yell, to scream, to break down in tears, to hug someone, to sing, to blow something up. This is my poetry, I feel. Anything less is just not powerful enough.
At any rate, I look forward to continuing to read your posts.
- Devin
I, too, want the revolution. So much so that on the same day you wrote this, I logged an entry on the same subject. Granted, our focus was a bit different, but the core was the same. I think I type the word "violence" once, but when the subject is revolution, it can never be far from the conversation. But you are quite correct, words are becoming wearisome.
Devin,
Good luck with the performance poetry! I've tried more artistic venues of expression, namely spoken word/ hip hop verse, but it feels really forced for me. I certainly know what you mean, though, about words feeling inadequate and needing to scream, move, embrace BE! when expressing oneself. When Zerzan talks about language being inadequate and allusion-oriented, only able to hint at reality, that's a perfect example.
Frank!
Thanks for visiting! I'll be checking out your journal soon.
And that's awesome- chalk it up to the collective unconscious, I say. I think we all know what's up, and if we listen to ourselves well, we'll know best what to do.
So I started a blog after all. Interesting.
I don't think it changes anything I said, though.
- Devin
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