Tag: gaps
The possibility of confessio […] opens when the utopia (I no longer
have place for myself, I no longer give a place to myself, and I do not know
from where the place of my desire comes over me) is no longer fixed in
itself, no longer closed on itself, no longer withdrawn as aporia, but itself
becomes the response: when the not-here appears as an other place, or
rather an otherplace, an alteration that displaces the place outside itself,
outside even the self, in such a way as to open the over-there as my place.
“Sed ubi manes in memoria mea, Domine, ubi illic manes?” (But where
do you reside in this memory that is called mine, O Lord, where do you
reside over there?) – Jean-Luc Marion, In the Self’s Place
Jorie Graham from Hybrids of Plants and Ghosts
Emily Dickinson, from one of her Master letters
The End by Emily Berry
I believed death was a flat plain spectacular endlessly
Can you distort my voice when I say this?
My scared ghost peeling off me
Distortion, she says, as if she has just made it up
And then she is quoting a line from a poem
Or is it a whole poem, I wish I could remember
My voice opens and calls you in
I don’t know if you can hear me
I said, I carry inside me the trace of a threat that I cannot discharge
I said, I want to ask you things you can’t ask a person who doesn’t exist
She said, Why can’t you ask them
If we can’t have everything what is the closest amount to everything we can have?
She said, Why can’t you have everything
Well, you know, when you’re looking for a person, sometimes they appear
And a light goes on and off in the opposite window, twice
Yes, you say, that was a sign
Strange love for the living, strange love for the dead
Listen. I don’t know who you are but you remind me of —
I wish you would put some kind of distortion on my voice, I tell her
So people don’t know it’s me
They know what they know, she said
I told a story about my shame
It got cold when the air touched it
Then it got hot, throbbed, wept, attracted fragments with which it eventually glittered
Till I couldn’t stop looking at it
Exactly, she says
And then she is quoting a line from a poem, I don’t know which one
In my dream she reached out to touch me as if to say, It’s all right
How I began to believe in something
Are you there?
The wind called to the trees
And then it happened
And they said, How do you feel?
And I said, Like a fountain
Night falls from my neck like silver arrows
Very gently
The problem is no longer getting people to express themselves, but providing little gaps of solitude and silence in which they might eventually find something to say. Repressive forces don’t stop people from expressing themselves, but rather, force them to express themselves. What a relief to have nothing to say, the right to say nothing, because only then is there a chance of framing the rare, or ever rarer, the thing that might be worth saying.
Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations (via socialclaustrophobia)
Outsider at the Heart of Things: Essays
by Richard P. Blackmur
chris kraus from i love dick
Notes on Glitch
29. Glitch art does not “dirty up” a text, but instead undermines its basic structure. Glitch damage is integral, even when its effects manifest at the surface.
30. Code is built in layers, each with a metaphor constructed by the programmers building it, to enact and describe its behavior. The tech blogger Joel Spolsky has described these abstractions as “leaky.”10 They are perched on hidden metaphors beneath—those used by the programmers who created the libraries, other software components, the operating system, etc. Each metaphor tries to be completely descriptive of the code’s behavior but the lower levels, with their foreign and seemingly primitive logic, cannot be contained—they leak. The details that are obscured at the lower levels—such as using a two-digit number to store a year which is displayed in four digits—can potentially play havoc with higher level systems, as many feared would happen with the so-called Y2K bug. These hidden layers spill logic upward, sometimes slowly, but often in sudden bursts: a glitch.
Bodies and machines are defined by function: as long as they operate correctly, they remain imperceptible; they become a part of the process of perception, as the extension of the action that engages the Self with the world.[1]In a world defined by efficiency, the infallible performance of bodies and systems is often taken for granted. So, what happens when failure occurs?Then the transparency (of the body, of the object) is being removed and we can finally see and sense what it actually is. A broken pencil goes back to being wood and lead –rather than a tool that inscribes our thoughts on paper; a crashed computer becomes arrays of code, software and coloured light on the screen, rather than an interface that imitates reality.The true nature of the machine –and the wilderness hidden underneath the orderly surface- suddenly makes itself evident through a glitch.[2] A glitch is a rupture in information flow, which forces the digital file out of its flawless hyperrealistic design to a reality of randomness and imperfection.
Little Bristling Soul 