Zeitgeist Spam

In the House of the Hangman 1333

Somebody stood on a nail or on to the pillow over the nail I lay my sleeping head so the hiss in the airlock is just the muzak stimulus to echo; the last speck of SucraSEED glints on the vinyl, in fact, you care for the dog, or in the Chicago of the Kogelo of Elysium, la verité flambée cloaked in blue cheese, it’s cancelled. The hall of crumpled Chamberlains is, however, filled with windows, and from inside you can look out and see bright pink flowers. They’re attached to the trees in the museum’s west garden, which is a nice place to take a break from all the Very Serious Art — not just because it’s lovely, but because if you sit for a while, you’ll hear something: an installation by Louise Lawler, titled “Birdcalls.” Julian Schnabel’s last name becomes the warbly, guttural “Schnaaaaabel.” Joseph Kosuth’s last name takes on a light, airy tone, as if Lawler were launching the word like a balloon into the sky. “Aarrrt, aarrrt, A-a-aaartschwager!” she cries, the W of wine looking so much like UR that I did think it said come in and try our urine. Time for a joke: A tourist wanders into City Lights and asks Shig Murao if he is Chinese. “No, I’m not a Chinese American,” he tells the tourist. “I’m an American Eskimo.” He pulls out a wooden eggbeater he bought in Chinatown, twirls it between his palms, and explains to the tourist that it’s a Buddhist prayer wheel. I don’t find this funny and am heartened but I don’t speak Russian and what look like Emergency Exits are feasting wedges of antimatter like in that famous book of early postmodern theory Learning From Los Alamos. Tonight you will text me with something like “Intense solitude becomes unbearable only when there’s nothing one wishes to say to another." You’ll text me again before I answer and tell me that the quote is from ‘Americana’ by Don DeLillo. I will look at my iPhone light up then check my Gmail. While I’m going through my spam inbox, trying to figure out how to get off all of these subscription lists (Macy’s, PETA, Sierra Club, ModCloth, Urban Outfitters) that I thought were a good idea to sign up for at some point, you’ll text me a third time and say something like, “I just finished a margarita. I am dining at alone at Plaza Azteca.” The mighty T. Rex may have thrashed its massive head from side to side to dismember prey, but a new study shows that its smaller cousin Allosaurus was a more dexterous hunter and tugged at prey more like a modern falcon. One event occurs, a distraction, something else, a lull (the nap), then that initial event comes back (the second phone call), the response being similar, but slightly modified (the answer ‘maybe’ turns to ‘no’): that transition noted by Messrs. Olewnick and Pinnell, from the more fervently questing, noisier moments of the second disc to the … let’s call it ‘emptying out’, of the third disc: “that bleak and beautiful plateau.” Time passes, then – how could it not? and not be felt. Four hours is a long time – an investment, if you will. So here, minimal events occur in overlapping waves and blocks, difference felt or sensed in slow transition rather than obvious signalled cut (as, too, in Eliane Radigue’s infinitesimally-shifting drones). Press play. Ambient sound, the distant echo of piped music a là shopping-mall. Footsteps, the unnatural echo of cold, large spaces – bunkers, the underground; or the hum of machines in nuclear bunkers, technological support after the technology above ground (progress-making bombs, the motion of history) has had its say. OK. Is it 1 minute 25 seconds before the music starts or are we 1 25 in? Sine wave, Sachiko, Rowe coming in underneath almost straight away to adorn, to complement, his buzzing suddenly switched off before the drone becomes too comfortable. Jolts, clangs – electronic, acoustic, hard to tell, both merging into indeterminate similarity in the echoing space – the drone building, louder, lower swellings, volume building, simultaneous ephemerality and enormity of the edifice (all it takes is one of the musicians to twist a knob, flick a switch, pull out a cable, and the thing will collapse – like removing one of the foundations from a building and then building again from the collapsed structure, the ruined edifice, a new building in itself). The dull buzz of an exposed cable-end, the inscrutable ‘om’, still that sine wave, slowed-down shamanic wail, taped voices, manipulated groans, nothing? You HATE SPEECH? Voice as halo, tho (and?) ‘words don’t go there’, as Fred Moten says of Cecil Taylor’s poems.

[Note: Sources: Keston Sutherland, Stress Position; Jillian Steinhauer, “Skewering the Egos of Male Artists at Dia:Beacon”, at Hyperallergic, 21 May 013; JBR; Giles Goodland, FB post, 21 May 013; Richard Reynolds, as quoted in “City Lights at 60: Shig Murao”, at Abandon All Despair Ye Who Enter Here, 21 May 013; Kevin Davies, “Karnal Bunt”, in Comp. (must be one of the best poems of the last few decades); like in that famous … theory: JBR; Tonight you will text … Plaza Azteca”: Gabby Gabby (Gabby Bess), “Dining Alone At Plaza Azteca”, at Banango Street 1; “Allosaurus Fed More Like a Falcon Than a Crocodile: Engineering, Anatomy Work Reveals Differences in Dinosaur Feeding Styles”, at Science Daily, 21 May 013; David Grundy, “Listening to Sachiko M”, at Eartrip 7 (re Keith Rowe / Otomo Yoshihide / Toshimaru Nakamura / Sachiko M – Erstlive 005 (Erstwhile, 2005)); JBR (w/ a ref to an ancient writing by Robert Grenier)]

In the House of the Hangman 1332

Grant summarizes the importance of such a geology in the following way: “If geology, or the ‘mining process,’ opens onto an ungroundedness at the core of any object, this is precisely because there is no ‘primal layer of the world’, no ‘ultimate substrate’ or substance on which everything ultimately rests.” I mean, the stitches that melted from my ripped open cunt tasted like mint and changed color when I peed. I peed with the door open because this is bounty. The universe has a fat lip. “Bewray the repricon, outstent the naze.” Occupy Our Homes reports, “All enterances blocked, we have taken the streets, arrests have begun.” 17 as of late afternoon, May 20th. The village fortune-teller is a middle-aged woman with two gold teeth and a diamond ring — status symbols earned by her supernatural perceptions. Grabbing a deck of playing cards, she arranged them on a thin blanket in front of her. I immediately drew an ace of spades. She screwed up her face and made a noise like she’d just seen a horse kick a man in the nuts. Apparently my pick meant I wouldn’t find my lost camera. I asked her how she got her powers; “I was very sick when I was 18,” she told me through a translator, “then three spirits took pity on me and cured me of the disease. They have stayed with me ever since and help me tell fortunes.” The city is a mammal vision / Jack Pumpkinhead laughs with the Tin Man / The city is a mammal vision / in peaks of fog / Jack Pumpkinhead is laughing with the Tin Man / and / an AXE / chops through it all / innocent as the smile of a cougar / clean as the smile of a snake / I’m the hand of the squid / there’s a planet of thieves in a nerve cell / there’s a planet of fiends in a nerve cell / every pebble sings and raves / I / / AM / / THIS THING / / / OF / / SPIRIT, peace out Ray w/ Jim, Jean Harlow & Billy the Kid but please let it not be that utopia with doves and waterfalls and soft white clothes and doors that open as soon as they are approached and please let it not be that utopia with all in harmony and accord and please not that utopia of agrarian fantasy, with all of us in touch with or at peace with the land, working the land together or weaving together in some endlessly temperate and agreeable climate, caught in simple pleasures, eating simple wholesome food and please – just as strongly, please – not that techno utopia where no one works at all since the machines – ever more clever, resourceful and skilled – are doing everything, hidden in basements, miniaturized or concealed behind the walls and not that utopia the flattening of creeds, races, genders and all that into one single humanity and not that utopia of original ignorance, Adam and Eve, the nakedness that is not nakedness no thank you and not that utopia of free love or boundless and open desire or that hallucinatory psychedelic utopia of the human dissolved into the universe and not that utopia of the virtual, with its useless pretended transcendence of flesh and biology and again please, not the satisfaction of all desires and not the exhaustion of all need and please no to the utopia determined by sense no to the utopia determined by utility no to the utopias of knowledge, understanding, and progress please not the uniformity of consent or that of placidity no to the erasure of anger please not the utopic reduction of human space to that of a prison in which all needs have been anticipated, prescribed, provided for please not the reduction of everything to the realm of the solvable please not some banality cotton-woolled and perpetuated ad nauseam not either theocratic order or rationalist decency not some medicalised or genetically modified utopia in which all personalities and physicalities have been balanced, remixed and extended forever in a calculation of chemicals and genes please not the utopia of the old and wise and please not that utopia of the young and the carefree not for us that which can be dreamed or imagined, described or spoken of and not for us anything that can be caught in the noose of the 26 letters (called an alphabet).

[Note: Sources: Ben Woodard, quoting Iain Hamilton Grant, “Mining Conditions,” in The Speculative Turn: Continental Materialism and Realism (eds. Levi Bryant, Nick Srnicek and Graham Harman), in On an Ungrounded Earth: Towards a New Geophilosophy, at punctum books; JBR; “The Last Five Centuries Were Uneventful”, as quoted in Melissa Broder, “Sunday Service: Jenny Zhang Poem”, at HTMLGIANT, 16 Dec 012; TS Eliot, as quoted in Hugh MacDiarmid, “In Memoriam James Joyce, from A Vision of World Language”, as quoted in “Epeolators All”, at Languagehat, 20 May 013 (“I have no idea where Eliot wrote ‘Bewray the repricon, outstent the naze,’ if in fact he did.”); JBR, but see Jodi Dean, “Occupy Our Homes: 17 arrested”, at I cite, 20 May 013; Nathan A Thompson, “I Tested Out Three Cambodian Spiritual Practices”, at Vice, 20 May 013; Ray Manzarek Michael McClure and Big Mix 2011-08-10, DOLPHIN SKULL, “The Last Waltz”, at YouTube (JBR “transcription”, typing on the fly while listening, combined with the printed text); JBR (RIP Ray Manzarek); Michael McClure; JBR; Tim Etchells, “A utopia of dispute might be better”, at NOWHEREISLAND, 10 Mar 012]

In the House of the Hangman 1331

This is how molestation works. It’s like being strangled by invisible hands that exert the softest, most irritating pressure. A silk glove covered in cut diamonds. But I grew up. We all grow up. We survive even if we don’t survive that well. There are levels. Some people develop eating disorders or drug problems. Some people become frigid or are addicted to sex. Some people can have sex but not love; some people can’t hold down jobs because they cry when people don’t smile at them or they are scolded for missing a deadline. Some people can’t stand the sound of other people breathing or chewing. Some people can’t listen to the radio, because disembodied voices is the same as having the lights out and all your senses dispersed. Some people can’t smell certain brands of lotion. I can’t drive on the highway. I have a phobia. I believe the laws of physics don’t apply to me and that my brakes won’t work and that when I try to make them work my car will crash into the car in front of me and I will eject out the roof and explode into a billion particles. “Ages pass slowly, like a load of hay / … / The color once known as ‘ashes of roses – ’/ How many snakes and lizards shed their skins / For time to be passing on like this, / … / As a change is voiced, sharp / As a fishhook in the throat.” Do not lie or lean on me. Stranger, to tell the truth, in dog years I am up there. Equally problematic are the terms of the loans. Unlike almost every other kind of debt, student debt is nondischargeable through bankruptcy, and collection agencies are granted extraordinary powers to extract payments, including the right to garnish wages, tax returns, and Social Security. The market in securitized loans known as SLABS (Student Loans Asset-Backed Securities) accounts for more than a quarter of the aggregate $1 trillion student debt. As with the subprime racket, SLABS are often bundled with other kinds of loans and traded on secondary markets. As for federal loans, they are offered at unjustifiably high interest rates — far above those at which the government borrows money. Maybe this is why William Keckler says, “When I try to figure humans out, I am miserable. When I clean a wall, I am happy.” Or why Conrad notes and quotes: “Frank Samperi would have been 80 today ... ‘Hapless, I shall take / my little bag of necessities and move closer / toward the ivory gate —.’ My voice comes out of me as a begonia, in spite of the world’s pain. It’s not a big deal, I guess, or at least it’s nothing I can change. It’s a begonia. My swan puddles a toss we plump and my voice finds its tongue in writing. The world divides into facts. My tongue divides into fingers. Any one can either be the case or not be the case, and everything else remain the same. And the train arrives amusing the rain and asparagus by quoting a garden of earthly delights. The fact is, we travel over oboes to get at a humor clarinet. Let us examine Bach. Let us examine our constructions of reality. There is knowledge that I love, knowledge that I hate, knowledge that I love and hate, knowledge that resembles coal, knowledge that resembles treasure, knowledge that resembles nothing, if I plug a cord of knowledge into a wall, I see that it becomes electricity. I remember hearing a story that might not be true: Isak Dinesen eating nothing but white grapes, oysters, and Chardonnay until she died, presumably in a fur coat. The Apartment of Tragic Appliances is a literal place in which a hapless, portable dishwasher “heats residue only to reimagine cleanliness as an art project.” I saw a book the other day but didn’t open it. It was called, Is God Happy? I assume it was some kind of weird science fiction, but, as Guy put it, “Perhaps the system carrying the database has the capacity to create meaning as a form of homeostatic buffering.”

[Note: Sources: Jennifer S Levin, “Walking in the Light”, at Jennifer S Levin, 16 May 013; John Ashbery, “Vetiver”, at Intertwingled, via Susan M Schultz, FB comment, 19 May 013; CD Wright, “Personals”, at Intertwingled; Andrew Ross, “NYU Professor: Are Student Loans Immoral?”, at The Daily Beast, 27 Sept 012, via Ned Stuckey-French, FB comment, 19 May 013; JBR, but see following; William Keckler, “(My) (Philosophy)”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 19 May 013; Conrad DiDiodato, “Happy Birthday, Frank (for Claudia)”, at Wod-Dreamer: poetics, 19 May 013; John Olson, “Tractatus Tarantella”, at Tillalala Chronicles (cancelled post); JBR; Lucy Corin, and punctum books blurb for Michael D. Snediker, The Apartment of Tragic Appliances; JBR (Is God Happy? is by Leszek Kolakowski); JBR, but see next; Guy Taylor, FB comment, 19 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1330

& as for           we who love to be abused / wearing white lipstick in markets & knowing the prices of the grapes & the melons / holding black orange pale blue & pink plastic products made in Hong Kong & not failing in conversation / reading Marx in the park & touching his cock / ice creaks & the water level rises / they still pretend to stand outside the world / by mental epidemics of the right / in the Perpendicular Gothic style / next week when we’ll be interviewing our / last universal common ancestor / asking if roses are red in the dark / I wonder if the hardware comes with Love / my heart is a park of albino deer. THEIR FOOTSTEPS DECREASE IN THE DISTANCE, THEY ARE RUNNING; AS THEIR STEPS FADE, THE PLANE BLOWS UP … WHEN THE EXPLOSION SLOWLY DIES AWAY, WE START HEARING THE USUAL NOISES OF AN ANIMATED NIGHTCLUB, VEGAS STYLE, COMNG IN ON THE OTHER SPEAKER, TILL IT FILLS ALL THE STEREOCHANNELS; if you’re going to give him the drugs / you should give everyone in the courtroom the drugs / and the first world could not have been the first to feel the Predator watching Tremors. As The Book of Barely Imagined Beings has it, “The four horses regurgitated the French horns, which played nocturnes at our wedding.” “It was a Monoprix special,” he’d explained, planting a moist kiss on her desiccated forehead. Studies show the wind alone / rarely courses the gorges and scours / the gulches of the western desert, / our desiccated inland sea, / home to Atomic City, / poor Shoshone. OK. [With reference to Jabès’s The Book of Questions] A host of imaginary rabbis. They have names (‘names of listening’), but are not individualized, They are not characters. Not even the shadowy kind of character that Yukel is (‘you are a shape moving in the fog …You are the toneless utterance among anecdotal lies’). Most of them do not speak more than once, though a few are allowed to dispute for several pages. Even then they do not really become persons. What they say is not necessarily consistent. They do not represent a position. They are not authorities. Gabriel Bounoure calls them ‘candidates for presence, but hesitant to quit their status of shadows’. Voices, rather. A chorus. Of commentary and interpretation. Of exchange. a chorus that points to the phenomenon of voice as such or, rather, to the phenomenon of changing voice, changing pespective. In a rhythm of voice – absence of voice – voice. This is why, in his later books, the rabbis, privileged interpreters though they are, disappear. They become absorbed into the white space between paragraphs, between aphorisms. The piece received media coverage due to a lawsuit in the mid-1990s, when an art museum in Randers, Denmark was accused by collector John Hunov of causing leakage of a shit can that had been on display at the museum in 1994, when collector John Hunov of causing leakage of a shit can that had been on display at the museum in 1994 accused an art museum in Randers, Denmark. Allegedly, the museum had stored the can at irresponsibly warm temperatures. But enough of that. I want to be friends with whoever created John Rawls’ A THEORY OF JUSTICE: THE MUSICAL! I like collecting fallen vowels, aaaaaa aaaaaaa aaaaaaaa aaaaaaaah aaaaaaauugh aaaaaagh aaaaaaahhhh aaaaaaugh aaaaagh aaaaah, the day went from flute to flute, BLACK EYEBROWS, a fragment of a _________________, and witness the witness the witness the ______: Is that the merda, or what!? ^____________________— I love ... » Top Picks · » ________ · » {=merka} X: Witness also the Colossus, ..... two been out of true. Ụ Ụ Ụ Ụ Ụ: _________________________________ dayindayout dayindayout. The next page is “a little time to accept it.” The next page is “a little time.” “I must lose it to ___________”,  ___________________ akimbo hymnal ______________ || || | || ||| || || || Insects and frogs grind their own songs from the surrounding forest. Like ______________, it seems so long ago, Like Lo, ____________________ embraced by a multitude of imperceptible moons, God’s credit card, Satan’s expense account, eight of the bones, “_____________ “um”, “ah”, “um”, “ah”, “um”, “ah”, “um”, “ah”, “ums”, “ah”, “ums”, “ah”, “um”, “ah”, _________________________, SMALL BLUE. Here is a 3D printed doll, cloned from a real human’s head, that you can never unsee. Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact … Oh you already did? Because this is what happens … Just kidding! These are just some recently printed 3D heads on a stick drying off or something …

[Note: Sources: Petrarch, “191”, “325”, in Petrarch (tr. Tim Atkins); Petrarch, “101”, “106”, “107”, “109”, “112” (tr. Peter Hughes), at Litter; Pierre Joris, “The Entropy Caper / Or The Return Of Jerry Cornelius”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); Justin Katko, “What We’re Gonna Eat, E.G., The Golf Courses, Etc”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); JBR (The Book of Barely Imagined Beings is by Caspar Henderson); Carol Novack, “Eating Habits of the Poor”, at http://carolnovack.com/ Carol Novack, and “A Perfect Day for Pamplemousse”, at Mad Hatter’s Review 13; William D Waltz, “Brian’s Brain”, at jubilat 15; JBR; Lars Iyer, and Rosmarie Waldrop, Lavish Absence, as quoted in Iyer’s “[With reference to Jabès’s …”, at Spurious, 16 May 013; Wikipedia, “Artist’s Shit” (the 1961 piece by Pierre Manzoni); MS Word’s recommended reorganization of the previous; JBR; David Winters, “I want to be friends with whoever created John Rawls’ …”, at Hugging the Horse, 18 May 013; JBR, 50, more or less as prepared for My Sadness collab with Anne Gorrick, 18 May 013; “Human Doll Cloning is So Hot right now in Japan”, at Messy Nessy Chic, 17 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1329

Now this next bit is reblogged from Rhizome (Hat tip to Sam): To mark the launch of McKenzie Wark’s new book The Spectacle of Disintegration, Verso Books have offered Rhizome readers in the UK a chance to win a 3D printed Guy Debord action figure. The figure is part of a limited edition run of 200 made by Wark, who was inspired to delve into maker culture because of Debord's own investment in craft as evidenced in the twelve handcrafted issues of Internationale Situationniste. (You can read more about this in Brendan Byrne’s recent interview with Wark on Rhizome). It’s important to note that you can also make your own Debord figure based on Wark's 3D model, which will be released under a Creative Commons license. The prize will go to first person with all correct answers to the quiz below. Two runners up will receive a complimentary copy of the book. The competition is open to UK residents only; entrants must email [enquiries AT verso.co.uk]. Please put SPECTACLE COMPETITION in the subject line or your entry may not be counted

1.The Critique of Everyday Life is a seminal book that opened up a whole line of critical thinking about the small, everyday situations outside of the factory walls and beyond the official political sphere. Who wrote it, and in what year was it first published?

2. McKenzie Wark calls the experience of the everyday in our time the disintegrating spectacle. He is adding a fourth kind of spectacle to the three described by Guy Debord. Writing in the 60s, Debord thought both sides of the cold war were just variants of spectacle. Later, he thought that states such as France and Italy had combined elements of both into a third kind. What were the names Debord gave to these three variants?

3. The Surrealist leader André Breton wrote a poem, published after World War II, dedicated to the famous utopian writer Charles Fourier. Breton’s poem starts out with the narrator noticing a flower placed beneath his statue. During the Occupation, the Germans melted it down to use the copper for munitions. On which Paris street was that statue?

4. Debord’s comrade Raoul Vaneigem was rather more influenced by Surrealism, and via Surrealism by Charles Fourier, than some other Situationists. He even edited a paperback edition of Fourier’s ‘queer theory’ manuscript, The New Amorous World. What was the name of the Fourier-inspired utopia Vaneigem wrote about in 2005?

5. The great art historian T. J. Clark, who was briefly a member of the Situationist International, once recalled a demonstration in London which found him on the steps of the National Gallery in London. He and his friend debated there which painting within they would feel obliged to consign to the flames should the people ever storm through those illustrious portals. The masterpiece that Clark would have chosen was painted by whom?

6. The Situationist Gianfranco Sanguinetti pulled off a stunning prank in Italy, by publishing The Real Report on the Last Chance to Save Capitalism in Italy. Purporting to be from some insider to ruling circles or someone cognizant of ruling opinion, it argued that there was no harm in admitting Communists into government, as the Communists were not a revolutionary party, but were already acting in the interests of power in keeping workers in line. Under what name was the& Real Report issued?

7. Next to Guy Debord, René Viénet is the best known Situationist film maker. His détourned films have a lightness and charm all of their own. His film Can Dialectics Break Bricks? uses a martial arts film as its raw material, and by gently moving a few minutes of film around and dubbing the actor’s voices into French, Viénet turns it into a critique of the Stalinization of the left during ’68. Who directed the film on which Can Dialectics Break Bricks? is based?

8. Debord’s ‘70s films Society of the Spectacle and Refutation of All Judgmentswere a quantum leap forward in complexity over his earlier cinema work, in part due to the resources of his new patron, Gerard Lebovici. Who was the film editor with whom Debord worked on these films, and who was the other famous French director with whom she worked?

9. Besides being Guy Debord’s second wife, Alice Becker-Ho wrote some very interesting books on the influence of Romani language on the ‘jargon’ of the dangerous classes, and as an important source for words not only in French but in other European languages. According to her glossary of jargon, what is the meaning of the word ‘baron’?

10. Besides his many accomplishments in the arts of writing, editing, cinema, and revolution, Guy Debord was also a game designer. On the writings of which military theorist did he claim to have based The Game of War?

11. Who was the member of the Situationist International who thought the SI should attempt détournements of porn and comics? Who praised Latin American militants for taking over an electronic BBS system? Who advocated fake issues of well-known periodicals? Who thought any militant thinker should be as capable of making a film as writing an article?

12. The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale had the holograph manuscript of Guy Debord’s Society of the Spectacle on display for a while. Did that manuscript and other items from Debord’s papers end up being sold by Alice Becker-Ho to the Beinecke, or somewhere else?

[Note: Sources: JBR; Michael Connor, “Guy Debord Limited Edition Action Figure Giveaway”, at Rhizome, 17 May 013. When I originally posted this at ZS, I rec'd (via a link) the following comment:

Stunted Publicity

“If a rock falls on your head it does positive harm, but shame, disgrace, reproaches and insults are damaging only in so far as you’re conscious of them. If you’re not, you feel no hurt at all. What’s the harm in the whole audience hissing [at] you if you clap [for] yourself? And Folly alone makes this possible.” Erasmus, Praise of Folly

It seems to us that a response is necessary to this impudent and silly provocation. Silence on the part of people like us – who have spent many years and a great deal of effort trying to understand, enrich and act in accordance with what remains vital and relevant in the situationist critique of spectacular society – would only allow those unfamiliar with, newly informed of or hostile to the legacy of Guy Debord and the other members of the Situationist International to think that impudent and silly provocateurs such as McKenzie Wark are the only ones who are interested in this legacy today.

But what kind of response is called for in this instance? Let’s look at two of them: one might respond seriously, and denounce it sincerely and violently; or one might respond facetiously, and pretend not to be outraged by it (one might even pretend to find it amusing). There are advantages to both approaches: the first would have the merit of showing that not everyone in this world is a silly twat who thinks that life is but a joke; while the second would have the merit of being easier on the writer (there are so many outrages these days and it can be hard to be outraged by all of them all the time). And of course there are disadvantages to each of these approaches: the first one carries the risks of being dismissed as evidence that one doesn’t “have a sense of humor” or that one sees oneself as the exclusive holder of the “the truth” about Debord and the situs, and thus a kind of authoritarian; while the second one might very well encourage the perpetration of other, even more impudent and silly provocations.

So we have chosen a response that allows us to both laugh and tell the truth about this stunted publicity for Wark’s newest book. The class-consciousness of our era has made sufficient progress to demand, using its own means, an accounting from the pseudo-specialists of its history who continue to eke out a living by exploiting its practice.

19 May 2013

Brendan Boehning (Danish Society for Comparative Vandalism, Denmark)
Bill Brown (NOT BORED! USA)
Anthony Hayes (Notes From the Sinister Quarter, Australia)
Alastair Hemmens (Marblepunk, England)
Grant McDonagh (Ultrazine, New Zealand)

To Contact NOT BORED! Info@notbored.org]

In the House of the Hangman 1328

In any case, I will not be swimming in Lake Washington this year. I don’t want to get sick like I did last summer and spend an entire day in the hospital having antibiotics drip. Is there anything more explicit than a human leg? Yesterday I saw a fire engine on fire. Black smoke billowed out of the cab. The fire engine was parked right in front of the station, a temporary station, which is a large white tent. When a hedge of wild lilac loses its petals the sidewalk gets a thick coating of deep blue petals. Removing a hinge pin and coating it with olive oil will quiet a squeaky door. There is a latent pterodactyl in all of us. The flame does its thing reflected in our table’s drinking jars here at The Others Club. You imagine the flame at the heart of the beverage, and indeed the beverage believes itself a brother to the flame, does its best to burn. There are plenty things, yeah, you’ve learned to enjoy. A scuba dive like this one, desire, says Blanchot, his feet up on the table. Who in their right mind would want that …? Tho at times it’s unavoidable, getting swept into currents obscure, the pull of a body toward a body as tho against one’s will. Game of magnetic chess played in the backseat of a car you don’t remember climbing into, have no idea where it’s going. You’re under a blanket with a flashlight, murmuring. You move your pieces, having no notion of the rules, and are surprised when the white ones slide or repel in response. “‘Bartholomew came saying he was a priest of old time. That’s how he caught the fancy of the people. He promised them an old sacrifice, of which there has not been one for thirty years. We have offered the white cock and the red cock to the Great Serpent. But Bartholomew promised them the goat-without-horns.’” He genetically modified his own race, adding head ridges, but it seems to me he was only avoiding puberty, or its Ferengi equivalent, a razortoothed grubworm to reduce bulbous nasal tip and wide nose in the females, who perform oo-mox in public. [The Ferengi are space-Jews, of course, and not in any positive sense] Starlight nearly parts to flesh to make a whir of the small sizes of the snow took a track further on to the earth. Am I blue, what to say, brimming up on, from today what to do. Thinking how to say, blue, triple-domed Hopi rain. And past the farm, the orts too please, true to form. Down as the sun doesn’t ever seem quite likely to. I started with some simple questions:

            What does it mean when Louise Michel spaces out?
            Where and what is this space she is going to?
            How is she returning in it, and in what forms?
            What is the precise nature of these returns, their slight variations?

What kind of living is this dying which enlivens the corpses in our temporal morgue? A favorite ninja shows up with fresh flowers. Yes, mountains of flammable nasturtiums and a ski mask – the perfect end to a perfect evening. We determined the frontier of our thought where [or was it when?] not even another little finger would fit in the trash compactor. Can the title be like that, smallish dopamine extension, worried like a star on acid and is basically some lips with kisses coming out, is called the Luna-Gazer with your lips applying human patches to the song: music is the soundtrack to my life ok make it so but do not set to stun. You’re so much like UDFy38135539! You are the last blinking epoch! You fell to earth from a universe not yet fully transparent / did it hurt? [if yes] they can arrange for you to be seen by one of their doctors. I have six in-boxes, four physical and two virtual. Cumulatively, they measure over one thousand, one hundred and one inches tall.

[Note: Sources: JBR; John Olson, “To Drive, or Not to Drive”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 16 May 013; Garrett Strickland, “Limitary”, at HTMLGIANT, 16 May 013; Robert E Howard, Fangs of Gold, as quoted in Darren Bauler, ““‘Bartholomew came saying …”, at Theater of Diminished Faculties, 16 May 013; Benjamin Friedlander, “What are the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); JBR, but see Patrick Pritchett, “Against the Prime Directive As Such”, at Writing the Messianic, 22 May 013, and Don Frew, “How About that Anti-Semitism in Star Trek?”, at Crank 6; Clark Coolidge, A Book Beginning What And Ending Away; Anne Boyer, “The Eternal Return of Louise Michel”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); Jo Crot, “Letter on the Sun”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); JBR; Joe Luna, “Interior Facepalm”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); Samantha Walton, “Two Poems (you’re so much like …”)”, in Romulan Soup Woman (Damn the Caesars Suspended); Anna Moschovakis, “Anna Moschovakis Responds to Mina Pam Dick’s ‘First Person of Truth’”, at Futurepost, 15 Sept 010]

In the House of the Hangman 1327

Yes, you’ve become new / Yes, you delete / How text and image confront each other / To see and think acquire byproducts / You say here / A pause in flora / The detachable head / I am here now / A pause with fauna / Pulverized / With and without safety / Awake / … / This little pill dissolves and distributes itself … / Nothing is costly when money isn’t applicable / / You know what that means / You are sparkly sparkly / … / The sound of a rotary phone / Then its downloaded ringtone / … / / (Hyphenated for your pleasure) / One cycle includes all the content you’ll ever need / A scarf in a box / A tongue in the mouth / You corrupt the billboard by paying it no mind / But the font remains a seduction / I’ll steer away from the sentence and off the storyline altogether / There’s enough furniture to let you know you’re in a room / … / The balding of an empire approaches / Proceed with undauntitude. It’s the Hegel age – you know it and I know it. It’s been the Hegel age for the past 200 hundred years, but only recently have we come to realize that in all the recent attempts to “overcome Kant” there is no overcoming Kant like the Hegelian overcoming of Kant. Thus Hegel is back (because he never left). But the problem with Hegel is, well, he’s too Hegelian –I mean, when Carmen Electra sings “I’ve got a bigger dick than you,” she’s not speaking literally, right? (Someone asked her, and she said, “No”). This is a story that won’t get lasting attention because of the small number of dead workers, but the roof collapsed in a Cambodian shoe factory, killing 2 workers and injuring at least 9 others. As Jalal Al-I Ahmad put it, about 50 years ago, “I speak of ‘occidentosis’ as of tuberculosis. But perhaps it more closely resembles an infestation of weevils. Have you seen how they attack wheat? From the inside. The bran remains intact, but it is just a shell, like a cocoon left behind on a tree. At any rate, I am speaking of a disease: an accident from without, spreading in an environment rendered susceptible to it. Let us seek a diagnosis or this complaint and its causes – and, if possible, its cure.” There is sometimes a miniscule playing card on the floor, it is facedown & blue with stars and you will never turn it over. To complain of money will ruin your conversation; if you do not complain of money there is probably something wrong with your life. Perhaps you should call money “green zinnias.” “For a few hundred more green zinnias …” You sap. If we imagine the facts otherwise than as they are, certain language games lose some of their importance, while others become more important. Deer polish their antlers on fruit trees, like a human polishing apples on hir hair. Human hair hung from the lowest limb will keep out the deer. And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept. To hell with it anyway. Where was I … and the river ripe with messages in corked vials (an old one of mine for Kansas still kicking — hope it makes it through the dam), veer along that hacksaw ridge, through a floppy pack of crows, and up into the vedas, the agrapha and jive, huh’s and sleeptalk, stupid questions, wrong directions, goodbyes at the stations, over slang slicks, past the Cellini cluster (the well-oiled flurry in a dark alley that paralyzed thieves), suitcases and silos full, hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo stirring gravel in kames, burps after passenger pigeon, sounds only Mavis Staples makes, last words, casual dismissals, calling dogs, summing ups (the hairball got ’em).

[Note: Sources: Niko Vassilakis, “deceive yourself further”, FB post, 16 May 013; JBR, but see Geof Huth, FB post, 16 May 013 (“The word ‘dauntitude’ has just been used. — at Society of American Archivists” (Geof tells me it was used [by Jackie Dooley] in a moment of goofiness …)); : Mikhail Emelianov, “How to Fake Your Way Through Hegel”, at Perverse Egalitarianism, 9 Jun 012, via Aindriu Macfehin, FB post, 16 May 013; JBR, but see next; Sarah Kurchak, and Carmen Electra, as quoted in Kurchak’s “Carmen Electra’s Got a Bigger Dick Than You”, at Noisey/Vice, 16 May 013; Erik Loomis, “Cambodian Shoe Factory Collapse”, at Lawyers, Guns & Money, 16 May 013; JBR, but see next; Jalal Al-I Ahmad, OCCIDENTOSIS: A Plague From the West (tr. R. Campbell), at Multiworld; Alice Notley, “The Prophet”, Ron Silliman, Ketjak, Mary Ruefle, “The Beautiful Is Negative”, Samuel Beckett, Molloy, Merrill Gilfillan, “Mouth of the Whosis”, as quoted in John Latta, “Wrong”, at Isola di Rifiuti, 16 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1326

I suspect that Latour himself didn’t think this is what the principle of irreduction means. After all, all of his actual analyses speak against this as he perpetually carries out reductions. What does Latour actually say? He says, “[n]othing is, by itself, either reducible or irreducible to anything else” (The Pasteurization of France, 158). It’s the second part of the proposition that’s important. When he refuses reduction he’s challenging bad sociology. Like the mathematician, he’s saying you have to show your work. Somewhere or other he gives Freudian dream interpretation as an example of virtuous reduction. What’s good about a Freudian dream interpretation? It shows all the transformations (the dream-work) that lead from the dream-thought to the manifest content of the dream. It doesn’t just say “dream x means y”, but shows how the thought or repressed desire gets elaborated into y. Similarly, in the domain of Marxist social theory, it’s not enough to say “capitalism causes r”. You have to show all the mediations and mechanisms by which we get from the dynamics of capitalism to a particular social phenomenon. We have to show our work. As you gaze at the flowers its molecules yawn. You flick away the cigarette, take out a flask, swig, hand it to Blanchot. Still have a key to this place? you ask. Whiskey sprays from Blanchot’s nose, he guffawing, doubled-over choked. Klein was an artist and an expert in Judo, another variety of falling. He stated to have once claimed the Earth’s atmosphere by signing his autograph on the sky. In 1960, Klein leapt out of a window. Most admirable is the individual bicycling along obliviously in the background of the famous photograph, potentially an allusion to Breughel’s (if it’s Breughel’s) “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”; you know the Auden poem. Once, while vomiting repeatedly, McCarthy stuck a Barbie doll up his own rectum, and so on, until the audience had reached its threshold. They all left. (Grad students had to clean up the room, BTW, which must have been grand.) But we pick up the thread again and find that Solito, the former Anuncio, was “oh to Anuncia’s ah.” Or, as Petrarch had it, in 27, I worked in a museum   but got the sack           for writing poems       about Iraq / & reprimanded on trains / I – a harper in a harp trio from Harpenden – / All the outrage that can be mustered          worked up       then wiped off / & abundant                     in town planners & waxed lemons … [a thousands-year old Mayan pyramid was just bulldozed in Belize because a developer wanted gravel for a road …] He did, Graham, but later he came to a slightly different position: “Perennial suffering has as much right to expression as a tortured man has to scream; hence it may have been wrong to say that after Auschwitz you could no longer write poems. But it is not wrong to raise the less cultural question whether after Auschwitz you can go on living -- especially whether one who escaped by accident, one who by rights should have been killed, may go on living. His mere survival calls for the coldness, the basic principle of bourgeois subjectivity, without which there could have been no Auschwitz; this is the drastic guilt of him who was spared. By way of atonement he will be plagued by dreams such as that he is no longer living at all, that he was sent to the ovens in 1944 and his whole existence since has been imaginary, an emanation of the insane wish of a man killed twenty years earlier.” I mean, “In Star Trek: Enterprise, a 4th season 3-episode arc dealt with Dr. Arik Soong and his augmented test tube children that were remnants from the 1990s Eugenics War. An augment named Udar was shunned by his siblings because he didn’t possess all of the same superior abilities that the rest were engineered with. He was nicknamed Smike by because of his perceived shortcomings and was eventually killed by his ‘brother’ Malik in the episode “Cold Station 12”. Udar was played by actor Kaj-Erik Eriksen, and Dr. Arik Soong was played by Special Guest Star Brent Spiner.”

[Note: Sources: Levi R Bryant, “Latour’s Principle of Irreduction”, at Larval Subjects, 15 May 013; Garrett Strickland, “Limitary”, at HTMLGIANT, 15 May 013; Sean Lovelace, “The Art of Falling”, as quoted in Christopher Higgs, “Authors on Artists: Sean Lovelace on Falling”, at Bright Stupid Confetti, 15 May 013; JBR; Paul E Nelson, and Nathaniel Mackey, Anuncio’s Last Love Song, as quoted in Nelson’s “Notes on Anuncio’s Last Love Song (Nate Mackey)”, at Paul E Nelson, 15 May 013; JBR, but see next; Petrarch, “27” (tr. Tim Atkins), in Petrarch; JBR (I saw this numerous places but didn’t note them …); JBR, but see next; Theodor Adorno, Negative Dialectics (tr. EB Ashton); JBR, but see next; Wikipedia entry for Nicholas Nickleby (hat tip to Graham Jefcoate, to whom I was also speaking about Adorno)]

In the House of the Hangman 1325

Itzok you are not making me dizzy you are making me a dangerous / light bulb there are two octosyllabics but don’t disperse yourself / over the language don’t disperse yourself with such a force / that the language actually disperses itself / the language here is a very ANCIENT clay / you’re skidding the brakes you’re a hat but I need no hat / because I’m directly in this bright hallway this ought to be / the description of the situation but that’s not what this is all about / and yet it is exactly what this is all about / The tense is uncertain: the changes that occur in the dream are like the flushes of color that pass through the skin of a dying fish or over the face of an enraged person / No matter whom we asked, no one could tell us the composition of dirt. We were the sum of mirror splashes, running water, clay silt, and heavy nocturnal words (we are you) on whose spherical surfaces the crystalline sweat of a file of moons stood out like an August wind marching through gardens / But doesn’t visibility block our view? / A cloud hurries as it calms the speed of mountains / I will begin walking through your body soon / It is a long walk, I promise / I will be quiet / as a Discovery Channel gladiator / slave awarded wooden freedom sword / refusing it to plunge / back into sex star status / How does sand feel about insects / as companions? / [She] / revealed to me / her bliss / by the blue fluid / that fell from her mouth / Looking at the sea / you always say: / Kanchenjunga / You observe birds for hours, I even caught you / working out their nervous / birdy hops (you explained to me later that it is / good for a stiff spine) / Something like the calm rush / of a slow winter descent into Keflavik / after a rough flight, when the night / turns to night but the sun is a sliver / on the lip of the horizon. When the city / is the base for what looks to be / the crabbed face of the Sea of Tranquility / “You’re not stagnating,” “it’s for a purpose,” “they spelled your name right,” “rut,” “hell,” “middle of nowhere,” “best friend,” “strumpet,” “poser,” “should I stay or should I go,” “do you ever fucking think of me at all,” “sez who,” “is there a GOD,” “sex” (Player 1) and “you haven’t given up,” “there is a roof over your head,” “this”, “pet,” “couch,” “lookout point,” “do I think too much,” “did I look stupid,” “did anyone notice,” “did anyone notice,” “did I look stupid,” “why do I think so much,” “are we there yet,” “space” (Player 2) / Our skin melts, so anyone can look into anyone’s intestines. Toilets also overflow in dreams … Now, I throw salt at you — what little is left of you — / map, blowback, direction, matches, viscosity, molten, liquid, rings, rays, salt, coal, flowers, copper, earth, brick, chart, pressure, tissues, volcanic, feathers, hair, permabuilt, sun, buckle, built (the story in her ear), north, magnetic seas, clay sand and silt, sediment, fractures, cave formation, orogeny, plate tectonics / They, singing, dancing, wind. Words / Dust, sky. Dream. She. Threads / necklace clamp. Waist, neck, an hour, / air, time leaves, the lake, tree / bark, her left hand, blue, belly, bosom / A halo, the master, hats, things, / tasks, foreheads, smugglers, highway / face, hand, footsteps, a stone, the earth, / the gold boxcar / Lenin on a bench beside a lake disturbed / Adrenaline-drenched on a bench at Waikiki calls in airstrike on imaginary phone. The youngish man in Bob Marley shirt at Zippy’s carries a cane; a scar runs below his right ear down to his shoulder. (Lyndon Johnson’s appendectomy.) But for the tourists, no low-tech genocide museum. The bucolic field that once was Dachau, before Dachau became the local industry. The first symptom of PTSD is often a TRO / The woman on the 30-year pile of refuse was naked, surrounded by cat corpses / This past is sampled and is again / The right one, the one they choose for you at amazon.com, given your history of commodity fetishism / What remains is husk; there are vats of it in the markets, promising a cure to the disease that sits atop your tongue / But now you can talk back / A man with a lantern buried the tail of a gored ox in reddened wool / Now, 34 is presented as [a copyrighted] “instinctive scribble.” It wasn’t the copyright, it was the technology, that stopped me from cutnpasting it in to this poem.

[Note: Sources: Tomaž Šalamun, “World Touch Venice” in “Good Day, Itzok”, in On the Tracks of Wild Game, Barbara Einzig, Distance Without Distance, Arkadii Dragomoschenko, Chinese Sun (tr. Evgeny Pavlov), Lyn Hejinian, the book of a thousand eyes, as quoted in TC Marshall, “CATS IN THEIR HATS: a review of six books”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Sandy Macintosh, “On the Shinnecock Canal”, as quoted in Neal de la Flor, “Cemetery Chess: Selected and New Poems by Sandy McIntosh”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; JBR; Discovery Channel … sex star status and Stephanie Strickland, Zone : Zero, Elizabeth Robinson, Counterpart, as quoted in Djelloul Marbrook, “Ahsahta, rising to the challenges”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; JBR; Gregor Wroblewski , “KANCHENJUNGA”, “IF SHE WAS STILL SIPPING WINE WITH YOU”, as quoted in EE Nobbs, “A Marzipan Factory – new and selected poems by Gregor Wroblewski, translated from the Polish by Adam Zdrodowski”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Richard Lopez, “Reykjavik”, as quoted in Eileen Tabios, “THE GRAPEVINE by Richard Lopez”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Genevieve Kaplan and Marjorie Tesser, as quoted in Kaplan’s “The Important Thing is...Card Game by Marjorie Tesser”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Kim Hyesoon, “When the Plug Gets Unplugged”, in Mommy Must Be a Fountain of Feathers, as quoted in Judith Roitman, “THREE BOOKS by KIM HYESOON, Trans. by Don Mee Choi”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Carrie Hunter, “the precipice of jupiter by erica lewis & mark stephen finein”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Carrie Hunter, “The Recitation of Forgetting by Franck André Jamme”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Susan M Schultz, as quoted in Eileen Tabios, “Memory Cards by Susan M. Schultz”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Eric Baus, “Gored Ox”, as quoted in rob mclennan, “Scared Text by Eric Baus”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; Eileen Tabios, “ITEMS by Tom Jenks”, at Galatea Resurrects 20; JBR]

In the House of the Hangman 1324

A lot of my contemporaries have complained about the phantom product code. It simply disappeared. You can't even TOUCH those parts anymore. It feels as though I’m ‘slowly read[ing] all the notes on my coding notice’ but what it feels even more like is an element of uncanny sobriety in the face of it, which HAS to be that DOT from the previous book doesn’t it really. Trouble is right, the whole thing keeps changing. Every time I get my hands on a copy of this book I can feel him moving the lodged spoon in the door, which obviously doesn’t close. # I’m guessing you’ll want one. Everyone wants one. The documentary includes interviews with cooks, sociologists, nutritionists and educators who all seem to agree, Bolivians are not against hamburgers per se. Fast food represents the complete opposite of what Bolivians consider a meal should be. The crowd of a few hundred people mostly looked on in silence; the RCYB (Really Confused Young Bourgeoisie, a Maoist grouplet) chanted, “Talk softly and privately (which also means publicly) by using the hands, as opposed to (or instead of) machines.” They called this beast Simon, or Sidoh; also they called it Alice in Chechnya, which I think was a reference to Alice in Chains, And it was in this way that I began to see the downside of having only one trick. You open up a lemonade stand and say, “I hear a crunch. It's our Honda bumping into the neighbors’ Honda.” You blow in, arms full of bags, inserted in place of a couple of feet of spaghetti, or like a shepherd for whom Troy still grieves. What they think about, waiting at the barriers, is the re-tinted movie, the one where the Ape Man knifes a rubber rhinoceros to the sound of his overdubbed war-cry. When they inspect the matrix they find a spider – black speck with shriveled bent legs – minted onto the emperor’s face a thousand times. Everyone knows air behooves a fire / where are my breakfast radishes / lazeabout who ‘society’ disparages – NUTS!! / sparrow pecking at begrimed gum / / some say an army of horsepeople / some say soon the handle wull fly right off / … / only the particulate matter / the very follicles / yeh / … / some say an army of horsepeople / but I say it’s [insert appropriate Sappho translation here]. Last Spring, members of the Cascadian School gathered for a discussion on abattoirs, illumination, and misanthropy. Our findings tended not to reveal anything we didn’t already suspect, which is as good an excuse as any for reconvening, one year later. And so Daniel, Nicola, Alex, and I have gathered here for four nights, to talk about mysticism. Our take-off point is a short text by Laruelle entitled “Du Noir univers”, published in 1988 in the journal La Décision philosophique. The text has four parts, and each of us have decided to speak alongside each of those four parts, on four consecutive nights, as if we were characters in a Sade comedy. Because the moral arc may be long, but its interruptions are constant. No need for a scuba suit now that it all floats on the surface, beginning with an apology and ending with a full shopping cart in front of Wal-Mart. We ate eggs in the hole for breakfast, then sweated them out later while trying to pitch a tent on the sidewalk outside the nail salon, saying, Fuck the prestige of elite institutions, this block is like a village. We didn’t really say that, and I didn’t really say this. The lion stores gold in its mouth and yawns at the sun.

[Note: Sources: Vytrvv Spiders, Amazon review of Keston Sutherland, Ode to TL61P; anonymous, and El Polvorin (blog), as quoted in “McDonald’s Closes All Their Restaurants in Bolivia”, at Worldtruth.tv, 24 Apr 013, via Gene Tanta, FB post, 14 May 013; “Celebrating Asian Pacific Heritage Month: Remembering the I-Hotel”, at Abandon All Despair Ye Who Enter Here, 14 May 013; Anne Gorrick, “The Poem by Oppen, McPhee-ed”; JBR; Aaron Belz, “A Horse, Oh Gross”, “Badly Drawn Poet”, at esque 2; Tim Atkins, “Petrarch 225”, at Sunfish 3; Robert Sheppard, “from Fictional Poems: the work of René Van Valckenborch, supposedly translated from the Flemish by Martin Krol: ‘In the Complex’”, at Sunfish 3; Julian T Brolaski, “western fashion”, “some say an army of horsepeople”, at esque 2; JBR; Eugene Thacker, Amazon blurb for Dark Night of the Universe (Novo Pan Klub); JBR; Alan Gilbert, “The Carnivore’s Dilemma”, “The Alchemy of Morning”, at Esque 2]