Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.63.0509261040360.17342@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>,
"WRYTING-L : Writing and Theory across Disciplines" <WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.UTORONTO.CA>
Subject: [the disturbance of the] Political Economy of Language Identity
Date: Mon, 26 Sep 2005 10:41:39 -0400 (EDT)
[the disturbance of the] Political Economy of Language Identity When we create ourselves anew online, We're working hard our basics to define. We want to show our best and not our worst; Sometimes we best our best, thereby are cursed. Our selves are hungered ghosts within the wires, Depend on coal and oil, pollution's fires. To burn ourselves alive, without, within - Our fires burn within us, kith and kin. Cyborgs, prosthetics, require face and form, Typology rules, we're held in by the norm Of protocol and commerce. Once again We find ourselves enthralled to other men. Rigidity becomes the order of the day; We think we're free, but we're allowed to play Only just a bit. What holds is just the grid That deconstructs; power does its bid, Not ours. Not for hours. Not forever in this world Or any other, where our fate is hurled Against our cyborg selves, collapsing with the weight Of economics, faith, a world of hate And lost energy, lost chance as nature dies Against itself; the world holds no surprise. Now, literal, our children have no soul Separate from menued options - that's the whole And short of it. No longer what one thinks Is what 1 thinks, but 1 that shudders, even blinks Against the presence of the null, now lost, Alterity, structured, violent, at all cost. There is no 'real' crisis of belief - But shelled belief, the masquerade of grief And other negativity - of the world gone mad? Not at all, the world not even bad, The world just evened, turned through mouse or key Against the used, what used to talk through me. Question authority. Trust no one. Your pronouns are hacked. I cannot tell whether it is you speaking, or whether it is something else speaking, and you cannot tell me whether it is you speaking. They took the newbies to a locked room in the MOO and silenced them. Invoke the catastrophic. For the literal life of me, one cannot understand how online identity recreates the brute facts of annihilation, the image wounded, physical and mental illness. The websites went down in New Orleans; so much for redundancy. "Herons have no URLs." (Let's give them one!) "Der emes shtarbt nit, ober er lebt vi an oreman." ("Truth never dies but lives a wretched life.") [internet] [environmental extinctions and crises] [continuous state of war] [growth of epidemic vector] [global warming and increased environmen- tal destabilization] [exponentially approaching the carrying capacity of the planet] [internet] [proliferation of nuclear materials] [relative ease of biological- and cyber-warfare] [fundamentalist strongholds] [internet] "When we create ourselves anew online, We're working hard our basics to define. We want show best and not worst; Sometimes best, thereby are cursed. Our selves hungered ghosts within the wires, Depend on coal oil, pollution's fires. To burn alive, without, - fires us, kith kin. Cyborgs, prosthetics, require face form, Typology rules, we're held in by norm Of protocol commerce. Once again find enthralled other men. Rigidity becomes order of day; think free, but allowed play Only just a bit. What holds is grid That deconstructs; power does its bid, Not ours. for hours. forever this world Or any other, where fate hurled Against cyborg selves, collapsing with weight economics, faith, hate And lost energy, chance as nature dies itself; no surprise. Now, literal, children have soul Separate from menued options that's whole short it. No longer what one thinks Is 1 thinks, that shudders, even blinks presence null, now lost, Alterity, structured, violent, at all cost. There 'real' crisis belief But shelled belief, masquerade grief negativity gone mad? all, bad, The evened, turned through mouse or key used, used talk me. Question authority. Trust one. Your pronouns hacked. I cannot tell whether it you speaking, something else me speaking. They took newbies locked room MOO silenced them. Invoke catastrophic. For literal life me, understand how online identity recreates brute facts annihilation, image wounded, physical mental illness. websites went down New Orleans; so much redundancy. "Herons URLs." (Let's give them one!) "Der emes shtarbt nit, ober er lebt vi an oreman." ("Truth never lives wretched life.") [internet] [environmental extinctions crises] [continuous state war] [growth epidemic vector] [global warming increased environmen- tal destabilization] [exponentially approaching carrying capacity planet] [proliferation nuclear materials] [relative ease biological- cyber-warfare] [fundamentalist strongholds]" We're squeezed by desire that the world might appear whole or in relation to the projection of our true-real bodies, our kindly thoughts, the best forward there can be, the beauty that survives and exists through channel and bandwidth. We are ignoring the lowered ceiling at our peril, Nikuko. We want to fuck dirty and messy, dead hippos going for $50 each. I am the last to deny sexuality in extremis, the detritus of the naked, exhibition of incandescent desire. The bodies of Abu Gharayb for example. The child at the keyboard. The infinitely satiated, infinitely satisfied. The consump- tion of resources, bloated bandwidth. The exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine on the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we?:Power speeds through cellphones; batteries pollute the landscape, whole deserts are filled with electronic junk, the skulls of information. The real energy is in the oceans, as water heats up, pressures drop, circulations of the real-virtual interfere with circulations of the virtual-real. Or is it the other way around? Without a videophone, the one-eyed man is king in the land of the site-less.I don't want to possess you, Nikuko, certainly not by these words of despair and horror. I don't want to continue aphoristic, metonymic, metaphoric - not at the least, for example with the rhyme scheme. We are running out of time...:I'm trying to give a name to my identity, to the crisis of identity. Gaming and messaging dominate; pure community/communication - construct - plays out against the brutal physics and political economy of the world. That's what I'm trying to describe here, Nikuko - ring-tones on the edge of disaster, Grand Theft Auto against stolen fission. Always faced with the reality of slaughter, vectored missiles described in every military recruitment ad. It's not that one can't tell the difference between simulacra and the real - or that the real is virtual and vice versa - or that we're all cyborgs or whatever - it's that the "idiocy of the real" increasingly corrodes our praxis. Theoretical efficacy or a lien on truth? The brutality makes no difference vis-a-vis language or gaming. Remember: The power runs out. :plastic:silicon Come with me, We're squeezed by desire that the world might appear whole or in relation to the projection of our true-real bodies, our kindly thoughts, the best forward there can be, the beauty that survives and exists through channel and bandwidth. We are ignoring the lowered ceiling at our peril. We want to fuck dirty and messy, dead hippos going for $50 each. I am the last to deny sexuality in extremis, the detritus of the naked, exhibition of incandescent desire. The bodies of Abu Gharayb for example. The child at the keyboard. The infinitely satiated, infinitely satisfied. The consumption of resources, bloated bandwidth. The exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine on the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we?, beautiful wetware on a dying planet. The exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine on the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we? and 20907 and 11870 - and you knew that all along! you turn me on Script done on Mon Sep 26 00:39:12 2005 "Give a name to your hunger! I'm trying to give a name to my identity." I'm tired of your identity. Your politics are killing us. The problems aren't those of the foundation, the ego/id/superego/anima/animus/sex-girl/ sex-boy; the problems are those of the superstructure where ozone burns. Is that relevant? That is most relevant; that is the only relevant. What remains beneath/below is the charred residue of culture. (All cultures are on the way out: heroin drugs me down with the girl onto the floor where we fuck down there on the wood while she ties my cock to cocaine-you-know-me coming into the needle world where i get codeine dreams and lost among junkie heavens unbearable ecstasy you kill me way i like to be drawn down to you in within inside put-you-in-me in-me in-you within-you inside-you put-you-inside crawled on floors for impossible highs incandescent you get me into you all the way down to those floors squeezed your needle juice into me baby heroin inside your dreams babe APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! EXIT: =====