Sunday, June 26, 2005

Chaosmos - The Aesthetics of Grace

Beauty is always wild, untamed; a Dionysian frenzy pursued in form, a pure gift of exuberance, a rarity not a commodity…

Spiritual singularities that break the matter of the linear world are the eternal hypocrisies of all times…

Amongst the tones of flesh and curves that one chooses, it’s important to remember that they are signs of ones own transcendental instinct, that such "attunements" have to be trained towards an intense "microscopic messianisms": to pierce the modern life-chains, and reveal all around us the infinity of nuances and gains of imaginative graces…

You can buy women’s finite bodies and simulations but you can’t buy their infinite ecstasies. Whether poor or rich, one is either lacking in matter or completely imprisoned by matter. One hopes for more. Isn’t this why we say, spirit, love or Eros rule the world, yet, simultaneously hypocritically, we always fail to hear those calls, the calls of the sirens…

Chaosmos - Life is all about floating selections in a sea of inconsequentials; yet, this savage intensive sea, this web related background of undifferentiated heterogeneity, is the necessary backdrop, for the extremes of the peaks and the singularities of selection to emerge…out of the mass of undifferentiated relations…

Art is what life is all about…

A summer night falls on our cities and ourselves, in the gentle breeze of the shimmering lights they lusted in their sweaty golden reflected light, two oily undulating reptiles from another Eden…

Rituals of pain and pleasure took place in dark rooms of velvet hues, ivory breasts were plunged into pressing hands. Lips of luscious red kissed over legs of divine proportion tied in black streams of silk…finalizing an invisible contract with an ebony angel…

Her body reflected the dark underside of a strange spirituality…

She stopped dancing as if exhausted, moved nearby to those eyes that she could not help enticing, or even resist...if only she could yield a bit more, without fear…

Lust of love - They began walking through the dancing crowd into the dark streets outside, through the electronic sounds of the beating hearts he followed her, with the white light moon above and the city’s amber fire ahead, in tune with the hollow rhythms of her high-heels clicking on the pavement. Arriving at the outskirts of the city, amongst the broken down factories and empty iron barracks casting heavy shadows he turned to her as she pouted out her luscious lips...they both embraced under twisted steel, bathing in the sun of an oblique moon...and he languidly whispered “I lust you…I want to fuck you…“

What is the sea? a chaos of translucent droplets within drops…

Sunday, June 19, 2005

I love you I love you – Pretty Vacant

Eerie, eerie….

The denizens of the spectacle have reached such levels of celluloid awareness that they are unable to stop the filming, even when the outside-filming has allegedly stopped. This desperate “strange-loop” logic of the spectacle is fully illustrated by the infamous Pamela Anderson’ “sex” video, where Tommy Lee cannot stop filming, even though he seems to be fucking for “real” the most beautiful woman in the world; yet, he still wants to film, so that he can masturbate to the recorded digits….so=- even when you get the most ejaculated woman in the world you still film…eerie…it seems there is no escape from the “strange-loop” infinite regress levels of the spectacle, no absolute meta or outside exit…Tom and Pam between their cocks and cunts scenes shout: I love you, I love you, I love you… they are not quite sure, hence, they have to repeat the sacred words innumerable times throughout the video…one can’t help perceiving an eerie glow emanating from the video’s recorded action, on the side of the living-dead maybe, “pretty vacant” as the spectacular sex-pistols:

Oh we’re so pretty oh so pretty vacant
But now and we don’t care
Don’t ask us to attend cos we’re not all there
Oh don’t pretend cos I don’t care
I don’t believe illusions cos too much is real
So stop your cheap comment
Cos we know what we feel
We’re pretty pretty vacant
We’re pretty pretty vay-cunt
And we don’t care

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Barely Legal - From Botticelli to Bacon

…our high/low “cultural” representations are the most violent in a world that compared to the past is the least violent in actuality (at least in the happy go lucky West): enframing all media representations to the auto-logic of capitalism, which effects the automatic permutations of/to the extreme: hard rock becomes heavy-metal, then trash, etc…porn, gonzo porn etc…horror, gore, hip hop rap, gangster rap…the faster they go, the sicker they go…on and on..:from Botticelli to Francis Bacon; courtly love to hardcore-porn, gothic sublimity to slasher gore etc…

And yet, this has not always been the universal case. One only has to contemplate the art of the middle-ages, to see that it is a pure and positive inverted heavenly mirror of the real violent negatives: deaths, plagues, miseries etc…of daily life. Our culture is the exact opposite, what Nietzsche and many others called a decadent age, enthralled and fascinated by the very antithesis of their boring fat lives…like domesticated animals grinding against their cages entranced by the wilderness beyond…hence, the violent representations circling around the mediasphere…

And the people who consume the violence of representation, are the fat classes of suburbia who have never stared death or Eros in the face: the bored teenagers with their dead eyes on weed, the dads who slip the gonzo videos to ejaculate to “barely legal” pony-haired girls taking it up into their cum dripping carnivorous voids …the mums who dream of male seducers from the outskirts…

This is the classic Freudian “condemnation” of culture and civilization, but with a big difference; all the diverted repressed materials of sublimation are now out in the open: the unconscious as a libidinous screen, not a dark theater. This is what Freud could not predict: the libidinous botany and flora of the dark continent of our collective unconscious, would literarily exteriorize itself out onto the digital celluloid.

Freud underestimated the power of sublimation, because he was not exposed to the media medium of high-technology; he could not imagine that capital/technology could take over and colonize the unconscious, to externalize by objectify it: glossy print, celluloid, digital, silicon…

Yet, this media mediated exteriorization is severely different from the surrealists who attempted to do the same through aesthetics: capitalism hijacked the unconscious and determined to make a profit out of it; as everything else, another standing reserve to exploit. And who says exploitation (i.e. business), upholds the values of the common, the blandest and homogenous: the unconscious is reduced to a stereotype of form, within stereotypes of content.

Capitalism can take anything except instability, and will not tolerate lacks of identity (how //ever temporary and ambiguous) of any kind (the fashions of authentic belonging reigns supreme) whether conscious or unconscious.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Cinderella and the Big-Other

Things to do on “reality-TV” (as there is.,- fuck all else to do): read aloud the collected works of Baudrillard and Debord (or better just show the covers); discuss with your baboon inmates an complex hybrid of Berkeley’s and Anselm ontological proof of the existence of God and reality: how a bunch of morons can watch a bunch morons and still know that they exist if God is not watching, hence, God exists, since he is too busy watching himself...Peruse the collected works of Marx and Marcuse, by quoting abundantly from their works, focusing on the one-dimensionality and commodity fetishism of the capitalistic mode of production…proclaim no-logo Naomi Klein the pinup of the decade and that you want to see her naked in Playboy (or better still, Hustler) for didactic purposes7of course!: isn’t this the perfect illustration of Bataille’s eroticism, the non-logo queen in the logoliest of all brands? Well you get the drift…. and it's bound to happen; either because an automatic permutation of the spectacle is missing, or because of those unemployable PhD philosophers (of the continental variety) roaming around the streets likee packs of eye sunken wolves - intellectual expenditure without economic return (or is that suicide?) …would make Bataille proud ….

One could say it has already happened. Germaine Greer a “radical” feminist, always ready to criticize the phallic idiocy of the male species, happily Zooing in Big-Brother’s spectacular animalism…Who is next? Judith Butler?, Julia Kristeva? Luce Irigaray?, Helen Cixous?.

Do not all feminist secretly want their MTV, to erotically succumb back to their animal seductive simulating origins? Isn’t this what feminine “jouissance” is all about, the secret yearning for the porn dominance of the Lacanian “Big other”?...the spectacular slut within at last!!!...there goes Bataille again….and I’m off to dream about cute poststructuralist feminists engaging in somewhat / unorthodox theorizing in the boudoir