Sex & the Corporation

I had the misfortune last night of being sucked into the film 'Working Girl' with Melanie Griffith and Harrison Ford. I attempted to change the channel but was transfixed by the abominable haircuts (really, what on earth went on in the 80s to induce such atrocious hair) and the absolute hyperbutch mascufemininity. Women dressing like men, acting like men... attempting to be men rather than affirming their own feminine difference. but I guess that was the age of a skewed notion of equal rights in the yuppie workplace. (I wouldn't know, for me that was the age of clothing aversion and guinness).

If St. Teresa of Avila is religious porn then 'Working Girl' is corporate porn. Sultry looks are passed as the characters discuss the apparently hostile takeover of a family owned company, Melanie Griffith getting wet over closing deals and the constant sexual tension between a man and a becoming-man. (I wonder if Working Girl is a gay cult classic). Sex in the Corporation, sex over photocopiers and desks, flirtatious glances passed in front of the coffee machine, wild hedonism at the inevitable 'Christmas party' that seems to be the symbol for infidelity.

I spoke to a good friend of mine who works for an advertising company a few weeks back. He tells me of his multiple fucks, the pursuit of pleasure for narcissistic pleasure; there seems to be little of love or romance... instant gratification.. fuck fuck fuck. But the tragedy of my friend's situation is that he wants to be in love, to get married. His problem is that he is so entrenched in the corporation that he believes that he will have at least three wives. He told me that at his first wedding he would be thinking "Well, this is my first wife." I think he's being cynical. He's lush and I love him to bits and anyone who marries him will be incredibly lucky.

But anyway, 3 things become apparent about corporate sex: 1) sex for short term gratification for me, not for you, 2) sex to get one step higher on that corporate ladder, 3) marriage as brief encounters rather than lifetime commitments. Maybe I have it wrong, my experience of corporations is fairly narrow but since the corporation is an intrinsic part of capitalism would it be surprising that it must be dynamic, must always change and, exactly like capitalism, works at its best when it breaks down?

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Back from SEP in a fairly inebriated state..... interesting papers. Will maybe have more to say on them. Thought I would note that Nina and I were caught on camera. The security guard came out of his office and asked if we were alright. He had seen me lying on the ground twitching with Nina standing over me. I was actually breakdancing and Nina was laughing at me 'cause I was too drunk and wearing a skirt. Strange what CCTV can do to reality.

Note: It is impossible to run up the escalator the wrong way after smoking too many Benson and Hedges.

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Comments boxes.... I'm quite bad with them. I like to have them yet am terrible at replying. And even worse at commenting on other. Must apologise for this, or for anyone who I've left waiting for a reply. I do the same with emails, I leave them for months without replying. perhaps something to do with suspension of events....

football... have been reading football message boards for work recently. I find it strange that when a player is a member of a certain team the fans love him and when he leaves they no longer care. It seems that the people do not exist, just the signifier of the team name with transient bodies moving in and out. The driving force behind the movement of players is shifts in capital... 'I have more money so I will buy the better players,' little to do with the actual home city of the team. All the emotion of it comes from the fans... their emotion driven by the capital that shifts the transient bodies between different signifiers. Is football real? I think maybe not.

SEP tomorrow... may be inspired to write something about that.

Infinite Thought has lent me her Preacher comics. I was never really into comics until a friend lent me one of the Preacher ones last year and I absolutely loved it. He didn't have the rest and they're pretty expensive so I didn't get to finish them. Now that I can I am happily engrossed in a world of a preacher who can use the word of god, an irish vampire who fought during 1916 (nice touch, I think), crazy s&m fuckos, gratuitous violence and blaspheming.... excellent. I definately recommend it to anyone who likes stuff in general.

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Under sufferance

When I was a child I was tormented by one Acacious Raat. The said tormentor would by my partner in crime yet the bane of my existence. On one particularly memorable evening ( I was about 6 I believe), we hid behind a the thick confines of some serviable curtains and he proceeded to shear the locks from my innocent head while I giggled insanely. The mother Raat found us there and suitably scolded Acacious but I believe that he must have lain a curse upon my youthful self for a lock of hair that he stole from my head has never grown back and there remains a curl that sprouts defiant from the centre of my forhead.

Amongst the adventures that myself and Acacious used to amuse ourselves with (trips to China, camping in dark places and conversations with 'spirits' (not to mention my inevitable introduction to my main addiction)) he used to torment me with fruit. I have never been a healthy girl; it has gone down in the family tomes that I was reared on a healthy diet of guinness with a dash of whiskey and have always had an aversion to anything that has seeds on the inside. Damn you peppers for tricking me into believing that you are vegtables!!!! Acacious Raat would grasp the offending fruit (fruit, fruit, I am loath to write the word... how much more pleasant to write Benson and Hedges and Blackbush) and chase me to my hiding hole where the scene of the aforesaid crime took place. He would rub a myriad of tree growing filth in my face and laugh at my as I would cry for the mother raat to save me from his tauntings. Little me, curled up in a ball behind emerald curtains, tears streaming and roughly cut hair trembling at the absolute outrage of the situation.

Acacious Raat now lives on a far off moutain, frolicing with Kiwis and throwing himself down mountains (it is whispered that one day he shall finally complete his metamophosis). Sometimes I think of our many adventures and always when I see f&^*t I shudder. Never will it pass my lips! Filth!!!!!

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Today thresholds have been crossed..... I spilt my coke into my packet of tabs and created a monster. Camel Light / coke mania.... it's filthy but I'm working and can't go to the shop.

Ah.. the highs and lows of addiction.

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I have been sucked into watching The Blue Planet today, despite all promises to myself that I would do some reading. I have set myself the task of copying them onto VCD for Nina which has turned out to be a very long process( 1hr 20mins per CD!!!). I decided to check if the first one was working and ended up watching all of it.

The Blue Planet was an excellent series, I love things about the sea. I'd like to know more about the sea but unfortunately have never had the chance to fully investigate (insane jealousy directed towards flatmates who have come back from Scuba diving in Malaysia). Anyway, I do plan on doing some diving when I finish my MA, probably in Malaysia 'cause it's so cheap. There's something about the sea that is intensely alluring. It's depth seems vast and infinite (easy to lose oneself when encompassed by such immensity), it contains wonders that few people have ever seen and even more are there to be uncovered. On one of the episodes of The Blue Planet they show a lake on the ocean floor. This may seem completely ridiculous but a layer of brine lies over the surface of the lake so that it is indeed a body of water contained within the expanse of the ocean!

The creatures of the sea are so variable and strange that I find them quite fascinating. Often they appear like alien creatures, nothing that could be imagined by the mind of a human being. Their habits and rituals are wierd and wonderful: deep sea environments lit only by the bioluminesence of various fish, tiny male angler fish that attach themselves to the female so that they are little more than a bag of sperm stuck to the female. And octopuses! I've always been afraid of octopuses, they're very very creepy and they become even more creepy the further into the ocean you go. In the museum near my school when I was a child there was a replica of a giant octopus attached to the roof and I used to peer at it around the corner with a mixture of revulsion and fascination.


I must learn more about the sea, I love things that are hidden and unknown, creatures that appear alien and inconceivable to our human minds. When I finally get to explore the sea bed I might never leave... I'd like to turn into a fish... preferably a fish with lungs and wings so that I could be a bird too.

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skyrats

After feeling rank all day yesterday for no real reason I decided that it would be good to get out of the house and go for lunch with some friends so that I wasn't sitting around dwelling on nothing. We ate very nice sandwiches on a little square on Tottenham Court Road.... I had chorizo, sundried tomatos and mozzarella which was good. Then a skyrat shat on my head. Bastard skyrat!!!! For anyone who has seen my hair you will know how much of it there is and this was a HUGE skyrat shit. I made Fay give me her scarf that she was going to use as an accessory for her casting and she attempted to remove the offending material but it was all over my hair.... therefore my foul mood has not been alleviated (despite assurances that it is meant to be good luck) and I am considering heading down to trafalger square to feed some skyrats rice and refresher bars.

Reading in this mood is impossible and I've read the same four pages of 1000 Plateaus 5 times without taking any of it in. I shall probably say little at upcoming reading group but may appear with a necklace of skyrat skulls draped about my neck.

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Discomfort

There's lots of Turkish women fighting outside my window. They are very shrill... I'm not sure what they're fighting about but it has been very entertaining.

I was glad to see Mark's response to the 'Fluffy Deleuze' post (too lazy to add hyperlinks). It also got me thinking about fluffy philosophy in general. When I read Deleuze in particular I always find something joyful about his work, it makes me smile, I like it when philosophy makes me smile...... but then that isn't the point of philosophy, the smiling is only secondary to what is so important about it. If philosophy were all about warm hearted hugs and hearts then what would be the point in it? Do we really want to make a (very off the mark) reading of Deleuze, Foucault et al that simply upholds our (very much) Western position of comfort and commodities?

For me, Philosophy is not about warmth and kindness, it is about opening a space for thought that is often extremely uncomfortable. What brings one into a mind of questioning is not happy happy joy joy love but a feeling of anxiety, pain, suffering. Happiness is great for people who want to live a lifestyle in which they want to be comfortable in whatever manner they like best (I am not condemning such a lifestyle, I often think that it would be a lush way to live) but for those who wish to think, or to set themselves to the task of thinking, one must look behind happiness to those things that lie at the very core of the human condition. This is not to say, a la Alyosha Karamazov, that we should desire to suffer; but that we have an understanding that more people suffer than are encased in happiness and that this is something that philosophy must attest to.

We are discontinuous beings, very much aware of our own mortality though we in the west are able to expertly shy away from that fact. Despite being the only certainty we have, death is rarely discussed, it becomes clinical and sanitized. Deprived of the certainty that Christ died for our sins so that we might go to heaven we become silent about that which is certain. We prefer to remain silent also while we exist in our comfort zone about the blatant fact there are people who suffer. Philosophy is not meant to be about hiding but about uncovering, unconcealing. For us to champion philosophy as the discourse of comfort and happiness is to strip it of all real meaning and hide what should not remain hid.

So, although Deleuze might make me chuckle occasionally, or I might go into ecstasy over a line written by Bataille, I find little that is warm or comfortable about philosophy. There may be times when words are written in joyful cadences or enraptured tones but I will always approach it with sobriety for when I look at the world and try to uncover what lies hidden I find little that is 'fluffy.'

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New blogs & fragments

I have been unable to venture outside this afternoon; morning visit to the bank left me anxious and drained; so I've been trawling the internet for new blogs for me to add and read.

The Pinnochio Theory and Lutheran Surrealism (via loveecstacycrime who is excellent at discovering new blogs)

Gay Librarian - filthy library stories & other library tales (found on random websearch)

Wood s Lot, A Gauche & The Weblog ( via Infinte Thought)

Also, Charlotte Steet (UK Academic who found me first (hello!))

I'm sure you've all read them but I thought I'd mention them anyway because they're interesting.


Don't have much to say today (or think) beyond fragments.....

I smoke too much; I only have 4 cigarettes left and 13p. If the bastard power company hasn't put the money they took (stole really) from my account by tomorrow I'll be one angry, nicotine deprived girl.

I hate books.... I can't read today.. I've read a paragraph of Deleuze, one of Bataille and stared mournfully at Kant.


Phoebe from Friends is a ridiculous masseuse; I've never seen a job so badly acted on television.


The Atkins diet may be a good idea.


If I'm going to exercise I need to leave the house to do it. Need to find something that involves punching and kicking.


Why won't anyone translate more of Simondon's work? If they do I'll be their friend (which should be more of an incentive than allowing his work to be read in English).


Have been offered my accomodation in Warwick... living in Leamington Spa in a big house with 26 other postgrads... should be interesting.


That's all really.........


I should really think some more about what I am going to stick on this thing.

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Start something and it shall grow

After a day of total lethargy and general annoyance I was pleased to see on a random websearch that Newcastle University Philosophy Society remains! And in a much better state than I left it in. Originally I started the society as I was getting frustrated with the lack of any sort of philosophical community in Newcastle and since our department was growing so fast I thought it might be a good idea. It only really comprised of organizing various seminars, arguing about philosophy and getting drunk. Anyway, it was fun.... though I ran out of steam towards the end of the year due to having to write so damned much. When I left I wasn't too sure whether it would continue or if it would vanish along with me. Good news anyway, it has cheered me up alot!

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broken

I have decided that since my new job involves a lot of sitting about on my ass that I should start being a little more energetic. With said decision made I realised yesterday that if I clear all the stuff in my living room to one side I have enough room to practise breakdancing which is one of my favourite ways of getting fit as well as a great way to hurt myself.

Side note: I was amazed to discover just how many breakdancing moves are possible with a cigarette in hand. This may make all thoughts of fitness null but its great being jazzy with a tab.

Anyway, it's been a long time since I did any dancing I had to spend so much time reading philosophy (it may be possible to smoke and breakdance but it is definately impossible to read 'Being and Time' whilst attempting to spin on one's back). Needless to say I am not quite so bendy anymore and after a bit of tossing myself about I bent my back in the wrong way and now it fucking hurts. This is why I abstain from all such activities in public, not only do I look like an idiot but after a few drinks I lose all sense of pain and tend to wake up the next morning feeling very sore.

Unfortunately my current penchent for fitness does not extend to diet and I intend to maintain my staple diet of coke and Mayfair lights (until the money diminishes to the point of smoking Drum again).

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Rationality and the 'War on Terror'

I was going to post some of this in response to Radar Anomalous's post on Badiou but it goes a little off topic and may be a little long so I thought I'd post it here (especially since I've not posted much of late). In any case, I have spent a very pleasan weekend reading Infinite Thought (Badiou, not Nina) and find that I am enjoying Badiou's line of thinking, especially his optimism in relation to the future of philosophy which is really a breath of fresh air compared to so many contemporary philosophers.

So anyway, the 'War on Terror' (quotation marks being entirely operative for how can their ever be a war on terror?). As Badiou points out, after the overwhelming affect of the 9/11 attacks and the subsequent events there is a very real possibilty of rationality collapsing. This seems to have happened with the current world hegemony of America and it's allies. The use of the expression 'war on terror' directly implicates this loss of raionality. The word terrorism originaly designated a group that utilized terror in resistance to State control. The resistance in France during Nazi Occupation were known as 'terrorists,' 'terrorist' designates those freedom fighters in 1916 Ireland who fought against British Imperalism. Terrorist has now come to designate anyone who attacks America, hence it is an empty term one used by propagandaists and coupled with the predicative 'islamic' to ascribe it meaning. Terrorism becomes the word of propagandaists who use it to promote fear; a fear that is essentially irrational.

The use of the word 'war' and the justifications for war are themselves also compounded by irrationaity. The word 'war' tends to designate all out fighting between factions (arguably the Cold War did not include all out fighting between Russia and the US but th usage of the word 'Cold' allows it it's meaning). Badiou asserts that war is the means that the US uses to assert it's hegemony, evident in the consistent build up of military and the wars they have entangled themselves with since the genocide of the Native Americans. Their justifications for the 'war on terror' are themselves irrational. It would have been more rational to say that they wanted control of the Iraqi oilfields than to base their attacks on the fictitious existence of the infamous WMD. Even if the governments were rational in perpetrating the lie to justify their war, were the majority of the American public rational in believing such an obvious falsehood?

Since Badiou gave his paper in October 2001 the 'war on terror' has rapidly progressed, arguably irrational as opposed to rational. Who could say that the torture of prisoners is a rational act made by a rational mind? Is it rational that a weapons inspector should commit suicide due to media pressure? Where is the rationality in attacking a country that made no attack, and threatened no attack, on America and it's allies?

In the end it comes down to power and capital, both abstract enough in themselves to be an astounding reason for any sort of action. But then capitalism itself is so inherently irrational that such a state of affairs can not be so surprising.

There are of course all the arguments against rationalism (I've made them myself on a number of occasions) but if capitalism is irrational then sure we must use some form of rationality to resist it. Rationality allows us to carve out an argument against unreason and delerium, it gives us the tools for resistance and really, what use are all the flows of we aren't able to use some form of rationality to harness their creative potential?

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I was rather upset to discover that there is no way of accessing blogger sites from China. I wanted to show my sister my blog as I thought it would be a good idea for her to get one so she could do some writing while she's away. She's always got a lot to say about political injustice and music so it would have made for some interesting ready. However, no such luck. Perhaps I'll be able to set her up with one when I buy some webspace.

In any case, I'm very jealous that she's in China and I'm in London. She seems to be having a bit of a hard time but ultimately she's enjoying herself since she's staying for another year. With one sibling in New Zealand and another in China, Warwick is beginning to look less and less appealing.

Also Hello to Radar Anomalous (courtesy of kpunk) who has been writing on Badiou, D&G and becomings. Seems like it shall be a welcome addition to the spuriously philosophical "muddy tuber".

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A different side to London

Spent a very pleasant afternoon with Mark k-punk & Luke Heronbone wandering about what seemed like London's back yard. It reminded me of when I was a child living in the city. I used to love exploring the city, running about abandoned warehouses, clambering along narrow paths beside sludge filled streams and generally relishing in the delapidation of disused buildings that have been attacked by pseudo-nature. Such places also provided excellent locations for street drinking. Unfortunately when we moved to the country I lost my easy access to slow destruction and instead my walks had to take on the more delicate tone of the country which rarely offers as much scope for exploration and discoveries.

My knowledge of London is fairly blinkered; probably because on visits all one ever sees is places like Oxford Street (or the extreme abyss of hell), Picadilly Circus and the like. It was therefore fairly idyllic to stroll along overgrown paths alongside a filthy canal and get stung by militant nettles (I hate nettles.. bastards). The canals themselves are something of a sight. I've never seen such a heavy layer of green slime in my life.... I was fairly astounded to see things that should have sunk floating on the top of the canal as if they merely lay upon grass. Even as a barge floated along the river it seemed that it had to plough its way through all the sludge. I'm glad that I didn't fall in, I'm sure that I would have emerged as a greem monster instead of a glueboot.

We watched birds for a long while in a very sweet bird watching hut. It's very peaceful watching birds, they seem quite content to peck at the water and catch things. If I were an animal I imagine that a bird would be a good animal to be. Eat, peck, spread your wings occasionally in a threatening way. We saw lots of seagulls and a strange bird that we were unable to name... and (very aptly) a heron. It got surprisingly cold in the bird hut so we left and walked to stoke newington. I was surprised at how far we had walked..... I'm sure Stratford to Stoke Newington is a fairly long distance.

It was good though to be away from the hoards and the cars and to delve behind the frantic facade that London seems to have.

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Infinite glue

There is a very complimentary review of my flirtation with cinema over at Infinite Thought that has put my in mind of creating another piece of film. The only problem being that I don't have any filming equipment or editing suite so I would have to wait until I got to Warwick to do it. This is yet another reason for doing my MA and the pros at the moment seem to be far outweighing the cons.

Although making a film had a purely academic thrust behind it I found that it was something that I particularly enjoyed. I like to play with concepts and the various workshops and sessions that ran up to the actual filming meant that we had time to actually play surrealist games and create random situations by introducing some random & dreamlike aspects in public places. I also like film as a medium as it allows one to include visual images and sound. Images can be layered upon images layered with sound layered with prose; I like the multiplicity of it.

Maybe Nina shall endeavour to create something with me... perhaps on the much alluded to but never posted about theme of religious porn? I'm sure we could put that church in the cemetary to some use.

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Disclaimer

Previous post was made by various drunkboots. Normal service will continue shortly.

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glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue glue. Glueboot is Cakeboot. Her dissertation contains picures of her wearing sunglasses - blinded by the sun? We have been mostly listening to The Orb and Guns and Roses - Siobhan danced like a monkey deprived of other monkeys. It is weird writing a blog on a Tv, for the most part because I can't read what I'm writing.....chucking the alphabet into the abyss. And what else is there? Does Siobhan have lots of porn on her computer? If she did, I imagine it would involve vinegar strokes...like turning Japanese,,,apparently we think this is because your eyes become squint, like if someone threw vinegar in your eyes.......maybe Siobhan will get 119 comments at some point, like k-punk.

So, Siobhan, what do you think about our status betweeen bonobo and chimp? would you prefer to assert your humanity aside from both? and if so, what would it look like?

The other night, I imagined that the capacity to read coffee-table books about bonobos was perhaps the only indication of our separation from other primates.... but it seems a little cheap (like a bonobo baby for sale on ebay.nkorea)

Just a quick note to pay tribute to Siobhan's fondue and chocolate cake - mmmmmmwoaahw.



Thirsty bunnies hanker after the cuddly attentions of a passing otter, empowered by the exorbitant requirements of a heroic and futurtist vision of late capitalism: Max and Teddy frolicking in the gardens of negative critique whilst Justin thrusts his stuff before the girth of Hugh Hefner and his army of rebel rodents: how prone are you to immersion in the viscous mechanisms of contemporary exploitation? Can you mortgage your biological implemements to the furthering of the gratuitous cycle of conspicous accumulation, you listless wastrel? I didn't think so.

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