October 2012

link to Mez Breeze on trolling, creepshots, gore porn and doxing



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empathetic machinism – to soft_skinned_space

Antonio Damasio (Looking for Spinoza) shows, to simplify, the material neuronal causes of such feelings as empathy in the brain. Catherine Malabou goes further. She invents in The New Wounded, self-consciously, the philosophical concept of “cerebrality” to provide an aetiology for psychic events. She cites the argument of Bruno Bettelheim implying a shared causality of psychological symptoms in autists and mussulmen – the 1000 yard stare and – the indifference.

From Malabou’s preamble: “this book is a belated reaction to the ordeal of depersonalisation to which my grandmother was subjected as Alzheimer’s disease operated upon her. I say “operated” because it seemed to me that my grandmother, or, at least, the new and ultimate version of her, was the work of the disease, its opus, its own sculpture. Indeed, this was not a diminished person in front of me, the same woman weaker than she used to be, lessened, spoiled. No, this was a stranger who didn’t recognise me, who didn’t recognise herself because she had undoubtedly never met her before.”

And: “I was perfectly aware – along with everyone who must endure the same spectacle in their own lives – that this absence, this disaffection, this strangeness to oneself were, without any possible doubt, the paradoxical signs of profound pain. Later, I learned that Alzheimer’s disease is a cerebral pathology. Could it be that the brain suffers? Could it be that this suffering manifests itself in the form of indifference to suffering? In the form of the inability to experience suffering as one’s own? Could it be that there is a type of suffering that creates a new identity, the unknown identity of an unknown person who suffers? Could it be that cerebral suffering is precisely such suffering?”

I’d like to ask the opposite: if it could be that an as yet for us unknown person, an identity in the process of creation, can be equal to cerebral suffering, in the sense in which Deleuze issues the Stoic challenge of being equal to the wound which afflicts us? or in other words, acting?

theatrum philosophicum
thigein & conatus

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a better translation of Alona Kimhi’s song for her husband Yizhar Ashdot – source cited below

Learning to kill
Is a matter of momentum
It starts small
And then it comes

Patrols every night
In the casbah of Nablus
Hey, what here is ours
And what is yours

At first just a drill
A rifle’s butt bangs on the door
Children in shock
A family terrified

Later – closure*
There’s danger already
Death is lurking
Behind every corner

Cocking the weapon
Arm shaking
Finger is firm
Against the trigger

The heart goes wild
Beats, terrified
It knows – next time
It will be easier

They are not a man, not a woman
They are just an object, just a shadow
Learning to kill
Is a matter of habit

Learning to fear
Is a matter of momentum
You start small
And then it comes

The news from above
Reaches the street
There’s no hope of living
The end is so near

Prophecies of terror
Like the crow of a raven
Close the shutters
Close up in the homes

We’re just a few
And they are so many
A tiny country
Devoured by enemies

They have only hate in their hearts
Evil, dark urges
Learning to fear
Is a matter of habit

Learning cruelty
Is a matter of momentum
It starts small
And then it comes

Every boy is a man
Craving victory
Hands behind the head
Legs spread

It’s a time of danger
It’s a time of destruction
Soldier, toughen up
There’s no good in compassion

The cousin like an animal
Used to blood
Doesn’t feel suffering
Is not human

Field uniform and chafing
Exhaustion and routine
From stupidity to evil
The route is short

All ours, all ours
Israel’s land
Learning cruely
Is a matter of habit

Son, son– stop
Son, son – come back
Come to me, sweetheart
Come to me, my baby

The sky is so gloomy
Outside, already dark
Tin soldiers still
Under the bed

Come home, son
Come home

Learning to love
Is a matter of tenderness
A careful step
In a cloud of gentleness

We will hesitate, we will come apart
We will soften, we will round out
Learning to love
Is a matter of habit

Being human
Is a matter of momentum
It grows like an unborn child
And then it comes

For just one minute
Just now, just today
To be on the other side
Of that same checkpoint

But our heart has hardened
And our skin is thick
Deaf and blind
In the bubble of the present

We will observe in amazement
The falling angel
Being human
Is a matter of habit

*”Closure” is a military term referring to a situation in which inhabitants of a village or town are prevented from traveling outside it.

– from here


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Izhar Ashdot’s “A Matter of Habit” written by Alona Kimche banned by Israeli armed forces

– via Alan Sondheim, posted by Richard Silverstein here

וידאו קליפ חדש לשיר הנושא מתוך האלבום של יזהר אשדות, “עניין של הרגל”.

מילים: אלונה קמחי, לחן: יזהר אשדות, עיבוד: יזהר אשדות ומשה לוי
עיצוב ובימוי: יזהר אשדות ויהודה דרי

Press the red button on the screen for English subtitles

English translation below

ללמוד להרוג
זה עניין של תנופה
מתחיל בקטן
ואחר כך זה בא
מפטרל כל הלילה
בקסבה של שכם
היי, מה כאן שלנו
ומה שלכם
תחילה רק תרגיל
כת הולמת בדלת
ילדים המומים
משפחה מבוהלת
אחר כך – הסגר
זו כבר סכנה
המוות אורב
מאחורי כל פינה

דורך את הנשק
הזרוע רועדת
אצבע נוקשה
צמודה אל ההדק
הלב מתפרע
פועם מבוהל
הוא יודע – להבא
זה יהיה יותר קל

הם לא איש, לא אשה,
הם רק חפץ, רק צל
ללמוד להרוג
זה עניין של הרגל

ללמוד לפחד
זה עניין של תנופה
מתחילים בקטן
ואחר כך זה בא
הבשורות מלמעלה
יורדות לרחוב
אין סיכוי לחיות הלאה
הסוף כה קרוב
נבואות האימה
כקרקור העורבים
תגיפו תריסים
הסתגרו בבתים
אנחנו רק קומץ
והם כה רבים
מדינה קטנטנה
אכולת אויבים
בליבם רק שנאה
יצר רע ואפל
כן ללמוד לפחד
זה עניין של הרגל

ללמוד אכזריות
זה עניין של תנופה
זה מתחיל בקטן
ואחר כך זה בא
כל ילד הוא גבר
תאב נצחונות
ידיים לעורף
רגליים פסוקות

זה זמן סכנה
זה זמן חבלה
חייל תתחשל
אין סגולה לחמלה

הבן דוד כמו חיה
כבר רגיל לראות דם
אינו חש בסבל
אינו בן אדם
מדי ב’ ושפשפת
תשישות ושגרה
מטמטום עד הרוע
הדרך קצרה
רק לנו רק לנו
אדמת ישראל
ללמוד אכזריות
זה עניין של הרגל

ילד ילד תעצור
ילד ילד בוא תחזור
בוא אלי, מחמל לבי
בוא אלי, תינוק שלי
כה קודרים הם השמיים
ובחוץ כבר עלטה
חיילי הבדיל עדיין כאן,
מתחת למיטה
בוא הביתה ילד
בוא הביתה

ללמוד לאהוב
זה עניין של רכות
בצעד זהיר
בענן עדינות
נהסס, נתמוסס
נתרכך, נתעגל
ללמוד לאהוב
זה עניין של הרגל
להיות בן אדם
זה עניין של תנופה
זה נובט כמו עובר
ואחר כך זה בא
להיות לדקה
רק עכשיו, רק היום
בצידו השני
של אותו המחסום
אך ליבנו כבר גס
והעור כה עבה
חרשים ועיוורים
בבועת ההווה
בפליאה נתבונן
במלאך הנופל
להיות בן אדם

זה עניין של הרגל

Learning to kill is a matter of a push
It begins with something small, then it comes easier

Patrolling all night in the Nablus casbah
Hey, what here is ours and what’s yours
The beginning is an experiment
A rifle butt banging on the door
Fearful children, a terrified family
Then a closure, there’s already danger
Death lies in wait around every corner
You cock your weapon and your arm trembles
Your finger tightens around the trigger
Your heart goes crazy, beats in fright
It knows that the next one will be a lot easier.
They aren’t men or women
They’re only things and shadow
Learning to kill is a matter of routine.

Portents from heaven fall upon the streets
There’s no chance of life going on
The end is near
Prophecies of terror
Like the cries of ravens
Lock the shutters
Seal yourself in your homes
We’re but a handful
And they are so many
A tiny country consumed by enemies
In their hearts there’s only hatred, evil intent and darkness
Learning to fear is a matter of habit.

Learning cruelty is a matter of a push
It begins with something small, and then gets easier
Every boy is a man thirsting for conquests
Hands behind the head, feet spread apart
It’s a time of danger, a time of terror
A solder who weakens isn’t worthy of mercy
Your cousin is like an animal
He’s used to seeing blood.
He doesn’t feel any pain
He’s not a human being.
A field uniform, a jock itch, fragility and routine.
The distance between stupidity and evil is short.
The land of Israel is ours and ours alone
Learning cruelty is a matter of habit.

Little boy, little boy stop
Little boy, little boy come back
Come to me sweetheart
Come to me my baby
The skies are threatening and it’s gloomy outside
Your tin soldiers are still here under your bed
Come on home little boy
Come home
Come home.

Learning to love is a matter of tenderness
With a careful step
And a gentle cloud
We hesitate and melt
Become soft and round
Learning to love is a matter of habit.

Being a human being is a matter of a push
Conceived like a fetus and then it’s delivered
For a moment to be only here, only today
And to be on the other side of the checkpoint
But our heart’s already become coarsened
Our skin thickened
Deaf and blind in a bubble of this existence
In wonder we’ll watch the falling angel
To be a human being is a matter of habit.


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0.2 a note on aparts

relations are irreducible to their terms

pure relationality as the infinitely small (machine or combine) which tends to irreducibility – the infinite within the finite – where there is no same only difference

beauty as the pure transmissability of the beautiful presents the machinic workings of the schematism – the absolute is in actual things by virtue of their virtual or machinic part

-ing & -icipation

why parting? because occupying the empty form of time

why participation? because self-relational or engaging plasticity as phase, embryonic, inchoate, larval, participating in by difference from self




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the history of the temperature of new zealand music & surroundings


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“Let’s Take The Road” by Glass Owls, video directed by Dominic and Simon Taylor


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God is dead

Man is dead

the Other is dead

but they leave us with responsibilities


like faces withdrawing to the edge

of living

yet not quite disappearing

ever watchful

BEASTS………………………………………………….or pure bestiality

which is to say



participate in me.


network critical

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speaking to the machinic value of online sociality: Alexis Madrigal in the Atlantic

his conclusion:

the tradeoffs we make on social networks is not the one that we’re told we’re making. We’re not giving our personal data in exchange for the ability to share links with friends. Massive numbers of people — a larger set than exists on any social network — already do that outside the social networks. Rather, we’re exchanging our personal data in exchange for the ability to publish and archive a record of our sharing. That may be a transaction you want to make, but it might not be the one you’ve been told you made.

– from here


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~David Cecchetto~ on Ted Hiebert’s _In Praise of Nonsense: Aesthetics, Uncertainty, and Postmodern Identity_

Hiebert argues that the
postmodern self is technologized along a combination of three
vectors. The first of these are technologies of disappearance, which
Hiebert describes as “intellectual and psychological devices that one
can use to construct a plausible picture of not-being, progressively
writing out the residual elements of self and identity in such a way
as to re-open the questions of possibility.” [10] Included in this
category — this aesthetics of living — are the technologies of
reflection, perception, and autopoiesis, all of which are implicated
in subject-formation and each of which occasion engagement by Hiebert
with prominent theorists. [11] Crucially, Hiebert’s understanding of
disappearance in general recalls McLuhan’s notion of obsolescence:
just as an obsolesced technology doesn’t cease to exist but rather
persists in new forms — and hence obsolescence is “the beginning of
aesthetics, the cradle of taste, of art, of eloquence, and of slang”
[12] — the disappearance of knowledge is not an absence but a mode
of living, a “lived disappearance.” [13] Thus, “what remains when
knowledge disappears is an experience without knowledge [that]
nevertheless takes form, […] paradoxical though it might be” [14]

– from here


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