We have returned to funny cat pictures, in this case digitally manipulated, in this cycle of The Invisible Truth.
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We have returned to funny cat pictures, in this case digitally manipulated, in this cycle of The Invisible Truth.
E-stim
helmets
bear the grim news that we win
every
single time we play
the
grim reaper’s anthem unto the day
four
horses meet up and draw-and-quarter
the
dead-eyed dog of a reporter
barking
into the assimilated mortar;
shells
are shot into the Mariana trench
while
we’re on social media judging from them benches.
and
we find that no matter the dopamine trigger
scatter
those picket fences in the diagonals
uprooted
and re-booted until the narrative
world
vanishes, tarnishing a record comparative
of
three oddly off-centre orthogonals
clashing
in the daylight wearing Sheraton™
paraphernalia.
A sprig of Queen Anne’s lace,
An
evening of saturnalia without disgrace
I’ll
be there when the wind blows and the earth quakes
Before
all the other times that my senses shake
With
ripples like a pebble, thrown in a pond
Whatever
those feelings bode, they come from beyond
The
bounds of your skin, as soon as light creeps in
We
become evacuated of all yonder qualms
Under
homilies with unexpected invective; receipts dim –
The
sublime art of ink fading, collecting alms
Afterwards
and being grateful for the jeremiad,
Talking
to the people in the crowd, jeering mad
With
the Athabasca lustre,
An
icy morning to beat around the bush with bluster
Burghers
by the boat-load, some of whom will usher
In
a new age of overloaded senses with crop duster
Chem
trails, crop circles outside the temple
The
paranoia is familiar, an all-seeing eye in the sky,
Isn’t
that what a satellite is like? Or is it all mental?
When
was the last time a child asked you why
The
sea in pencil sounds like an es, and we use utensils?
The bible is a powerful text that has shaped a large portion of humanity's understanding of both itself and the world. The emergence of monotheism in humanity's history has been a force matched perhaps only by the influence of technology and its uses. I am not, however, a technological determinist in the tradition of Marshall McLuhan and others. I much prefer the network theory of Bruno Latour. McLuhan has a point about the subconscious influence of technological innovation; however, his scope is too narrow and leaves little room for role conscious, creative innovation plays in the relationship between technology and humans. For McLuhan, television and electricity changed human consciousness irrevocably, thus giving objects power over the subject (the human). For Latour, humans interact with both the environment, non-human organisms, and objects in mutually productive ways. Monotheism itself was a kind of technology in human history. It was an understanding of the world that shaped, and continues to shape human behavior and endeavor. It encompassed a way of making that influenced art. The religious taboos against idolatry was a proscription of a certain kind of representation. In Islam, the taboo against representation has shaped its arts; that's why geometric and other non-figurative forms play such a large role in its arts and systems of representation.
We do not necessarily have access to the first text of monotheism, as it is axiomatic that our knowledge of the past is incomplete, relying on documentation, which in turn relies on the technology of writing or inscription. Despite that, we generally credit Akhenaten, an ancient Egyptian king, with presiding over the earliest known instance. The people of his kingdom worshipped Aten, a sun-god. The Jews, enslaved in ancient Egypt, were liberated by Moses, and another instance of Monotheism began, although this chronology is not necessarily this linear. Their Torah, which in Christianity became the "Old Testament" began, as most epic poetic traditions do, as a repertoire of oral poems, told and retold by specialists in their communities. This group of texts is among the most fascinating I have ever read. As a sidenote, another fascinating book that explores the beginning of Judaism from a quasi-anthropological perspective, is Sigmund Freud's Moses and Monotheism.
Let's first be clear: I'm agnostic. However, I have some esoteric interpretations of Genesis in particular that clearly support the book's claims as prophecy. It seems to me that the general philosophical maxim of "Know Thyself," attributed to Socrates, has always been more about the journey than the destination. Genesis encapsulates a kind of profound, but ultimately unconscious, self-knowledge of the human species such that it embodies the past, the present, and even the future.
In the beginning was the word, and it was good. The seed of language became the source of fruitfulness. No argument here. Over seven days, God makes everything. There have been fascinating critiques of this creation story coming from Indigenous North American communities with regards to the absurdity of attributing all of creation to one entity, and their creation stories tend to reflect this with much more collaborative practices. It was the creation of humans that I find particularly prophetic, despite that very valid critique. God makes us from dust, dirt, mud. In the historical process of coming to know the world through science in the last few hundred years, humans have "decoded" material reality to enable them greater and greater control of that reality. One of the things we've learned is that silicon is the second most abundant element in the earth's crust, and that 90% of this crust, the part of earth we inhabit, is made of silicate minerals. This includes the aforementioned dust, dirt, and mud. We were made from silicate minerals.
Do you know what else is made from silicate minerals, especially in the last seventy years? Circuit boards, computers, artificial intelligence. Hell, the global hub of computers, their software, and artificial intelligence, until recently, is called "Silicon Valley." We were made by God of silicate minerals (not precisely chemically accurate, but bear with me); we made artificial intelligence out of silicate minerals. Is there not an uncanny resemblance between these stories, one from the Torah, and the other the human history of technology? This story has perhaps always lived in our unconscious. The implications of this interpretation for time as a phenomenon itself are immense, but I don't have the time or the will to explore that right now.
Another part of Genesis I have a heterodox and esoteric interpretation of is the fall. God gives us one rule in the garden of Eden, by this account a paradise of plenty. One rule. Compare this to contemporary situation of nation-states where only a small group of powerful people use jargon to hoard their knowledge of labyrinthine legal systems and wield power in the form of wealth derived from this specialist knowledge. We have thousands of rules now, and even different interpretations of those rules as they have been written, because of course, consciousness changes over time, and so does language. One rule: don't eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
But of course, Lucifer, that fallen angel whose English name has etymological origins in the Latin word for "light," takes the form of a snake in the tree, to convince Eve to eat the fruit. The anthropological analog to Lucifer in some Indigenous North American creation stories is Coyote, who is always throwing some kinks into creation. However, these stories are not nearly as catastrophic as the fall in Genesis: going from plenty to scarcity, ease to difficulty, innocence to shame. Rick Roderick has claimed that Lucifer's conversation with Eve represents a turn to interpretation, away from the "word" as transparent, direct communication. Lucifer eggs Eve on to interpret God's rule, and introduces doubt into her mind. Thus begins the hermeneutics of suspicion, which we still are struggling with today.
If you take a step back, however, and consider what the Torah is as a whole, is it not a handbook of moral conduct? What is moral conduct if not a consideration of what counts as good and evil? Does this not make the Torah itself analogous to the fruit of the tree (it's written on paper, the skin of trees) of good and evil? Could this episode be a hidden message of God's to humans to ultimately disregard his messages? Or, in my agnostic interpretation, a message from our own collective unconscious to go, in Nietzsche's words, beyond good and evil?
Round pebbles can be skipped
over
the surface of water
whether
a lake or a river
is
not really the question. Rather,
we
should be asking the rate
at
which the pebble sinks
when
it does,
after
skipping.
Question
the pebble
surface
when water
sinks,
it does, skipping
after
asking a certain record
river
of round when rather
than
whether or not weather
co-operates, the bee
can
fly over the water’s surface;
it
slides down into the riverbed.
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How can we reconcile the anthropological concept of cultural diffusion with the arising critique of the practice of cultural appropriation? I will never argue against the idea that systematic oppression exists, or that it marks with trauma wherever it goes, but the instinct to always protect against hurt -- a noble one surely -- is it always in our best interests? When I was hurt, I knew where my cards lay, where others' cards lay, so I could best play the hand I'd been dealt. The asymmetrical power of a host and a minority culture makes the profiteering off the minority culture certainly odious in a Marxist framework of understanding.
Critiques of cultural appropriation tend to be morally consequentialist. That is, they focus more on the outcomes of actions and behaviour, rather than on the motivations and intents of the actors in such actions and behaviour. They argue that the harm done to those traumatized by oppression by these images, by the act of appropriating culture, often rooted in rude parody, taken up by the host culture renders them morally suspect at best and simply morally wrong at worst. They tend to discount the intent of any member of the host culture as insignificant to their moral calculus, to use a term of William Vollmann's. Certainly the appropriation of cultural practices can come out of a place of respect, admiration, and love. But by sacralizing the trauma of the oppressed's experience, by prioritizing theoretical future pain against any notion of beneficial intent, they reify it and make it harder to overcome. I tend to lean consequentialist, but I must admit outright eliminating considerations of intent makes me uncomfortable. But who knows. . .perhaps this is white fragility, and perhaps they are right.
We cannot be killed with even a thousand paper cuts. On the other hand, pain is an obstacle to pragmatic organizing in anti-oppression work. Humans have always learned from each other; learning is always an appropriation. How am I, as a white guy, supposed to engage this great "shut-up and listen" exercise, without being somehow influenced by what I hear, by taking it to heart (too much, some will whisper to each other behind their backs). And hasn't this "taking it to heart" affected me, consciously and unconsciously, such that I might not appropriate that culture without any conscious intent at all, but simply through the processes of psychological sublimation and Freudian slips? Does this not produce a cyclical relationship between host and minority, where I listen, learn, appropriate, then lose the cultural war? Nobody likes losing all the time. Cultural diffusion: contact produces sharing, whether you like it or not.
One thing that irks me about cultural appropriation debates is how inconsistently they are applied. A straight, white man writing through the voice of a black woman is a no-no, but a Korean family in Toronto opening a Sushi shop is a-ok. Again, here is where the asymmetrical power card comes in handy, because we can aver that the Korean family is making a peer-to-peer cultural appropriation, whereas the white man, even if he is "raising awareness" of issues faced by black women, is making a downward appropriation. No Korean family is going to chastise a white guy eating in their restaurant, no matter how blatant a downward appropriation it is because you don't bite the hand that feeds you. The irony cuts both ways. That Korean family could not give a flying $^$# about cultural theorists' arguments about appropriation, or they might have a college-going child who does, at most.