Posts
by n splendorr
September 05, 2020

"...then you can become an accomplice, in effect, because the world is made up of con men and marks and that way at least you’ll be on the winning team"

David Graeber, in conversation with Lenart J. Kučić, earlier this year on a site I've never heard of called Disenz. This is a long excerpt, but I found the whole interview very interesting!

But why are China, South Korea, and Singapore so often presented as role models? Are they not supposed to have the best results in stopping the pandemic? Doesn’t that have something to do with social discipline?

I recently read a very interesting study comparing how authoritarian and non-authoritarian regimes have handled the pandemic. The authors concluded that more or less authoritarianism was irrelevant as a factor. What was important was people’s faith in government’s pronouncements: how much they trusted public institutions, the media, the scientific establishment.

There simply no systematic relation between what they are calling “democracy” and that sort of trust in institutions. Here in the UK we have one of the world’s oldest parliamentary democracies but the politicians and the press lie to us so systematically, and so flagrantly, that we have, I think, the lowest trust in the media in Europe—next to Italy, then Spain, if I remember.

In the US, the right has figured out a way to turn that justifiable suspicion to their advantage. Everything is “fake news.” We’re in a hall of mirrors. Might as well vote for the guy (Donald Trump, Boris Johnson) who at least is honest enough to admit he’s lying; then you can become an accomplice, in effect, because the world is made up of con men and marks and that way at least you’ll be on the winning team.

But there’s something deeper. I think what we really need is a proper analysis of what’s called “centrism” which is in many ways a startlingly perverse political ideology.

Centrism?

What did middle class people—basically, members of the professional-managerial class, who are the core constituency of centrism—actually mean in the ’80s and ’90s when they started describing themselves as “life-style liberals, fiscal conservatives”?

It means they accepted a social order where the moderate left would be left in charge of the production of people, as it were, they’d run the hospitals and universities, while the moderate right would be left in charge of producing oil and clothes and highways. So just as leftist social movements attack CEOs and trade agreements, right wing social movements attack the authority of the people running the educational or the health system: teachers and scientists. Just think of creationism, global warming, or abortion.

But really it’s a hopeless war of position, as a Gramscian might say, neither side is going to win; the radical right is no more likely to put evangelical churches in charge of social reproduction than the radical left is of turning Bechtel or Microsoft or Monsanto into a self-managed collective. What the radical right can do is undermine faith in experts, and of course, the more they get into power, the more they can do that by placing actual incompetents in positions of authority. So the whole thing feeds off itself.

The result is an endless hall of mirrors where everything is or might be a lie. These are the places where the bodies are now piling up. Because they’ve gone furthest from Saint Simon’s fantasy. And you can’t exactly blame people for being suspicious when you have a country like the UK where we’re not supposed to know the names of the scientists on the board advising the government on what to do in a medical crisis, but somehow, we do know that two of the members of the board are Tory propagandists with no scientific training. It’s almost as if they want you to know they’re entirely unreliable.

And if unreliable governments also become more authoritarian…?

The idea is that it feeds off itself. There is a paradox here. People confuse anti-authoritarian politics with an opposition to any sort of intellectual authority, even, to any shared notion of truth, justice, even physical reality. As if insisting on any form of truth is tantamount to fascism. But of course if there’s no truth, why is fascism even a problem? What is your grounds for objecting to fascism, other than that you personally don’t like it, which doesn’t mean much if other people do. Well, that kind of absolute relativism is now fading on the left just as it’s being taken up aggressively on the right.

But if that’s the case, authoritarianism—at least of the populist variety—just took a major hit. It really is, as some people are saying, a death cult, a form of mass suicide.

For that very reason, though, I don’t think we should be limiting ourselves to debates on the nature of the future government – will it become more authoritarian, socialist, nationalist, emancipatory? What’s really striking is the degree to which people are self-organising like never before. The first thing that happened in the UK when the pandemic began was that every neighborhood began setting up its own mutual aid group identifying vulnerable people: individuals with no relatives or help, older people… They call them that, “mutual aid” groups, using the old anarchist expression. There are hundreds of them in London alone.

Does this prove the old saying that everybody becomes a socialist – or an anarchist – during the crisis?

In my neighborhood, and I live just a few away from Grenfell Tower, people are already aware that the government is basically useless in a crisis. When the fire happened two years ago, they completely dropped the ball. You’d imagine the government of a country with the world’s fifth largest economies wouldn’t have found it that difficult to find a place to live for a few hundred survivors, but in fact, church groups and spontaneous community groups operating out of squatted spaces ended up having to do everything.

So despite the more common perception that anarchism would push order into chaos it can actually help bring chaos into order?

I always find it slightly amusing that people always say “oh my God, we can’t get rid of the police, because if we get rid of police, everybody will just start killing each other!” Notice they never say “I would start killing people.” “Hmm, no police? I think I’ll get a gun and shoot someone.” Everyone assumes someone else will.

Actually as an anthropologist I know what happens when police disappear. I even lived in a place in rural Madagascar where the police had, effectively, disappeared some years before I arrived. It made almost no difference whatsoever. Well, property crime did increase, if people were very rich, they sometimes got pilfered. Murder if anything decreased. When police vanish in the middle of a big city, where property differences are much more extremely, burglary increases, definitely, but violent crime is entirely unaffected.

But when it comes to organization – well, what we need to ask ourselves is why we think it’s necessary to threaten to hit people over the head, or shoot them, or lock them in a dingy room for years, in order to maintain any form of organization. People who think that really don’t have much faith in organization, do they?

September 05, 2020

"I can’t wrap my head around how so many people got tricked into thinking that there’s anything you can gain from not loving each other."

Interview with musician (and author of my proposed new national anthem) Jeff Rosenstock on Last Donut of the Night:

I feel like the grieving process is starting to kick in for me with everything.
Which fucking grieving process? [Laughs] There’s, like, five terrible things happening right now.

Life on earth as I knew it? The things I want to see change? Some days I forget there’s a pandemic because there’s so many things happening lately.
I said out loud to my wife last night for the first time, “It’s not ever gonna go back to how it was.” That’s some scary shit. It’s very weird as a musician—and I don’t mean this in any spiritual way—but as musicians, our purposes on this fucking world are gone now. That communication between people, even if it’s five people in a basement, is something we’ve all based our lives on.

It’s really strange to not really have any end in sight right now. You can play a fuckin’ Zoom show and record stuff at home, but it’s not the same thing. It’s devastating, and I don’t know how to come to terms with it beyond knowing that spiralling down into the depths of how dark that is won’t help anything. I try to push the thought back down into the ocean until it washes up again.

You’ve always been politically outspoken. What’s your mindset lately?
It’s not incredibly positive, to be honest with you. I’m not trying to say this in a condescending way, because I want everyone to be on the right team—but anyone who’s just opening their eyes over the last four or five months to police brutality against Black people or BIPOC, it’s fucking crazy that they haven’t been paying attention. This isn’t new. We put out Worry before Trump got elected, and afterwards people were like, “Wow, it predicted the future!” No, that album was about the present. This is something that’s been happening.

Maybe this is my own ignorance, but I don’t think we’ve ever been witness to the truth that the police are actually a gang, and that there are no repercussion—as we have watching an endless feed of videos where the police violently retaliate against demonstrators. There’s wide-scale protests across the country where police have been given a free license to try and hurt and kill people. Seeing footage of protesters a few months ago of protestors getting kettled and tear gassed on the Manhattan Bridge—that’s evil shit. It’s good that more people are opening their eyes to it, but [the police] are saying, “We’ll still fucking kill you. There is no Constitution, you don’t have rights. Whaddya gonna do about it?”

I’m not a violent person. The thought that they are going to push it to that level really, really scares me. While I’m not a violent person, I’ll fuckin’ fight for my fellow human beings, you know? I really wish they would just stop killing unarmed Black people and shooting people in the back in front of their children. And when it happens, all they have to do is hold the cops accountable as you would any other murderer! That would be something. But not only are they not willing to give us anything like that, they’re doubling down so hard. “We’re gonna fucking brutalize you. Fuck you.” It’s scary shit. I don’t know what’s gonna come of it.

Right now has been another big wave of how enormously fucked up everything is, after that Blue Lives Matter kid killed those two protestors with an AR-15. Protesters who just care about their fellow humans! I can’t wrap my head around how so many people got tricked into thinking that there’s anything you can gain from not loving each other.

Let's say it again:

"Protesters who just care about their fellow humans! I can’t wrap my head around how so many people got tricked into thinking that there’s anything you can gain from not loving each other."

Neither can I, Jeff!!!!!!!!

September 04, 2020

Good albums to buy or hear!!

Since it's Bandcamp Friday and all money spent goes to the artists, here are some great albums I've been listening to lately. They're all really different, so fuck around and find out (which songs are for you)!!!

Thank you!!!!!!!

September 04, 2020

NOPE

The premise is simple: FUCK NOPE

September 02, 2020

Two album kickstarters that are gonna be good

Five Iron Frenzy's last album, Engine of a Million Plots, (Spotify) is an extremely good, mature rock album, the best yet after a 10-year hiatus. Their singer has one of my favorite voices. It feels like it came out last week, and I've listened to it hundreds of times. They're making another album, and here's the kickstarter.

I've also returned again and again to Lo Tom's first album (Spotify); it moves steadily forward the whole time, unassuming but intent, and loops easily. They're also kickstarting their next album.

I try to link to Bandcamp when I can, but neither of these earlier records is on there. Oh well!

September 01, 2020

OHHHHH SHIT YALL A NEW DANIELEWSKI SHORT STORRYYYYYYY

New story from one of my all-time favorite authors! YEAH HE DOES GRAPHICAL STUFF; THAT DOESN'T MEAN HIS STORIES ARE "JUST GIMMICKS". The Familiar is deeply beautiful, and I still have detailed plans to write a hell of a thing about the relationship between House of Leaves and Only Revolutions because these stories have had a tremendous effect on me over the last almost-twenty years! I always feel defensive about this but I refuse to be defensive! Even though I'm still being defensive! They rule!

At the start of this year, I wrote a short story called “There’s a Place for You.” I designed it for The New Yorker. The New Yorker passed. As I’m now in the midst of a new novel, rather than redesign the story for another publication — something I’m not entirely convinced is possible — I’ve decided to release it online.

So here’s that New Yorker story you’ll never read in The New Yorker.

Find your columns, grow your hair, the light you sought was never in your eyes.

Tear your temples down.

GET THAT SHIIIIIIT

And if you've read House of Leaves but missed the very interesting teleplays from last year, get those, too!

August 26, 2020

"I'm still wired to want these things"

Nilüfer Yanya — Heavyweight Champion of the Year

August 25, 2020

"just from the heat"

Heat Rises — Nilüfer Yanya

August 25, 2020

"How did you learn to type so fast?"

I don't know. People have asked me this hundreds of times. I type very quickly; I haven't clocked my words per minute in years because I don't like numerical assessments of my value. Too many bad things in life relate to a numerical assessment. But I'm fast. And I've been able to type quickly on a standard English keyboard for about as long as I can remember. I've probably typed something on a computer keyboard more than 95% of the days I've lived since 1993.

I have the copy of Goodnight Moon that my mom read to me as a baby. She wrote on the inside cover that it was the first book I could "read" out loud, at 18 months. I think it's more likely I had memorized the sounds of the words; I think she said once that she stopped turning the pages, and I was able to keep reciting it word for word. But I did learn to read it, at a very early age. It's one of the things I'm grateful my mother did, reading to me and Ryan almost every night well into our pre-teens. Eventually I read my own books while she read to Ryan in the twin bed a few feet away from mine, one part of my mind on my book, one on theirs. In middle school we had a competition to see who could read the most self-reported pages over the course of many months; I won, in a tight race with my friend Lucas and a couple of other kids, though the books I was reading were adult-sized fantasy novels and some of the other kids were reading much lower-density kids' books. The pages were counted just the same.

Several conflicts with authority in middle school presaged my eventual deconstruction. Realizing that, not only was the "Pledge of Allegiance" weird — even though I had been raised to be a good nationalist conservative and hadn't broken out of that fully yet — but I could see that people were reciting it without meaning anything by it. Why bother? Each day before school I showed up at my desk and continued reading the novel I'd been reading on the bus, which I had been reading while eating cereal at breakfast, which I had fallen asleep reading the night before. So when it came time to say the pledge, I just decided to stay seated and keep reading. This became a massive deal, including confrontations with the Vice Principal, my parents being called, and me having to write an essay explaining my justification for not wanting to say the Pledge. The VP called my mom that afternoon and apparently said, "We were very surprised by how thoughtful Nicholas's essay is. While he does raise interesting points, we would like to avoid disruption in the classroom. So, as a compromise, while he doesn't have to say the Pledge if he doesn't want to, we do need him to at least stand respectfully."

Thinking this was stupid, but having dealt with over a week of kerfuffle because I'd rather read than mindlessly recite the nationalist creed, I agreed. I never said the Pledge again; instead I just stood up and kept reading my book. That's the short version of that story, which brought me a lot more grief over the following weeks.

Despite all that, I still maintained a general sense that the system was good. It could be addressed. Power could bend. The event that I attribute to really putting the first crucial crack in my perception of school and its value came during an elective computer class. For a couple of periods a day, we would be shuffled around into classes based on our interests, which was a nice thing for a school to do. That's how I learned to play viola, took art, and so on. In the 7th grade one of the options was Computers, which seemed like a no-brainer because I'd already been using a computer at home since I was maybe 5 or 6. I knew I could complete the assignments quickly, and covertly play Oregon Trail on the Apple IIe more days than not.

This seemed especially true when it came to learn Typing. I learned to type intuitively, through repetition, starting with the dos prompt, moving through AOL mad libs and text adventures, into the Nintendo Power and Tamagotchi chatrooms, well into text-based chat in games like Ultimate Online and Quake / Team Fortress. Thing is, I didn't learn to type with the home row. Nobody taught me! I don't even remember figuring it out; it just happened, over time, as an outgrowth of my interest in putting text into the computer. So, presumably my initial pecking turned into placing more fingers on the keys, turned into typing so naturally that I didn't even really have to think about the keyboard itself at all; I think the words and they appear on the screen at about the same time, fingers handling their own business, not necessarily using the same finger to type the same letters each time, just going where they know the words lie waiting to appear.

This didn't turn out to be an asset in the class. I still... don't understand what was wrong with this teacher. I remember her face, her voice, but not her name. She seemed all right a lot of the time. However, when it was time to take an initial test of our typing speeds, I just typed my way through the exercises quickly and accurately, finished, and started poking around the games on the machine. A few minutes later, she came over and whispered that I needed to be doing the typing test. I already finished, I said. She didn't believe me. I showed her the results. She asked me to start again, and watched me type. With something that sounded like vindication, she told me that I may have completed the exercise, but I wasn't doing it right. I was supposed to use the home row; if I didn't use the home row, the test was invalid.

............. Can you believe this shit? My little brain broke. I wanted to do things right, but how could typing what was on the screen be wrong, regardless of how I did it? So, I tried to adhere to home row rules, and found it excruciating; it was like learning to type for the first time, and my words per minute plummeted. The teacher said this was how I needed to do the rest of the exercises. The rest of the day is a blur; I was deeply upset, but held onto it until I got home. I burst into tears, explaining to my mom what had happened, asking what sense this made, and why I could be punished for already knowing how to do something better than anyone else in the class, even if I did it in a weird way?

I don't remember what my mom said. I don't remember what I did for the rest of the typing module. I remember being in the class, and feeling the sweltering panic of being inside the classroom box, subject to judgmental eyes, unable to make real use of the relevant skills I had already developed, drop-kicked from the top of the class to the bottom, an experience that became all too familiar over my next decade in school.

Later that year, my dad very generously "borrowed" a chunky older laptop from work, so that I could have a device to write stories on. I typed furiously on it for months, writing Earthbound fanfiction, Crichton pastiche sci-fi stories for extra science class credit, and starting on a larger fantasy story intended to be a novel. I was driven, full of words, stories pouring out of me. I took it in the car, writing on the way to the grocery store, to restaurants, wherever we went as a family in that old van. I started staying up later, after my parents had gone to bed, listening to CDs on my Walkman and churning out pages at my little green and tan Rooms to Go Kids desk. Eventually, one night blissfully writing, my mom came in and hissed at me to be quiet. "I can hear you typing! You need to go to bed, but at the very least you need to be quiet." I was so ashamed; most of the mistakes in my life were made because I genuinely wanted my parents to be happy with me. So instead of finding another way to sneak it, I just... stopped typing as much. There was additional shaming around how much I was writing; I got stuck on the plot of the novel, honestly never having heard that you could write a book non-linearly, and not quite sure what should happen in this scene even though I knew what was going to happen after that; and, over the next year, I shifted away from trying to write fiction and eventually joined a band, switching to writing lyrics and songs with all of that compulsive creative energy.

Packing my stuff last week, Christina asked me why I wanted to keep an entire shelf of notebooks, from when I was 15 until today. Notebooks full of lyrics, dreams, journals, stories, and ideas of all kinds. I don't like to open them most of the time; but they exist, and they're part of me. Destroying them wouldn't feel liberating; I'm already free of them. But they're one of the few indicators I have of what it looks and feels like to be engaged in something, uninhibited, joyfully motivated simply to turn my time and breath and thought into something material, a feeling that's gotten harder and harder to access and maintain over the years. I respect the effort that kid put into those notebooks. I have to honor myself, in some way.

And there are reams more text that I've carried digitally along the way. But they don't look like anything, don't have weight, are easy to forget ever even existed. They spray out at type speed, pile up, and vanish into the filesystem. But I've kept those, too. They belong to the unsorted pile, and show vast amounts of time spent thinking, and more importantly, thinking it might be important to me that I record them. Dragging the pen across paper takes time; more time than it used to, messier, after shattering my wrist and re-learning to do everything halfway through my twenties. And that time matters, it matters to me, it is a beautiful and terrible graveyard of the little prodigy repeatedly burning up on reentry from unappreciated adventures outside their birth-constrained planetoid.

--

(This post coalesced around various seeds, including: I've read a lot of posts by Tom MacWright in the last few days. He gathers his thoughts nicely. He linked to various note-taking applications, including The Archive, which looks like a nice replacement for the outdated nvAlt I've been using for a decade. Opening The Archive, the first file it shows is a list of acknowledgments, which I read in their entirety. It opens with "This app, like every app, stands on the shoulder of giants. Hundreds of years of human scholarliness culminate in this piece of software. Also, the Internet, electricity, movable type -- thanks for all this, humanity!" And then mentions some specific people. Among others, they thank Toffer D. Brutechild, mentioning their book-in-progress called "Tiny Advice Book." I read some of those posts, identified a kindred depressive spirit, and then read this piece of theirs about burning their old notebooks, then this one about discovering and working with their disgraphia. Finally, The Archive's help document states up front, "We assume that you know how to type." That is an assumption, but one that has gone unmentioned by every other text editor I've ever opened. I love that, and then remembered some things about how I learned to type in the first place.)

August 24, 2020

making and unmaking

I made the mistake of reflecting on masculinity by way of literature today, because I made the mistake of looking at twitter for longer than 1 minute, because we're caught in a re-litigation loop of the last fifty years because almost everything was wrong with the last fifty years. It has never been a good time to read Infinite Jest, even and especially if you were its author, who had words squeezed out of him compulsively, past-due juice bursting from unhappy citrus. If you start reading one of the ten billion books and don't mesh with its voice, the fault is always the book's. But that's my unasked-for masculinity hissing condescension I only half-mean.

I typed "making and unmaking." What did I mean by that? Oh, yeah. I was watching a video of St. Vincent playing guitar and thinking things about gender that I don't have good words for. The things I admire in her, I would hate in a man. The attitude, the emptiness, the prowess. That confidence in a woman is earned and admirable, while confidence in a man is unearned and loathsome — and that this is almost always true. That women have to make themselves(?) while the task of a man in this moment is to unmake himself; to strip away the monstrous layers of sedimentary masculine nastiness.

Or that's how I find myself thinking about it; that I've spent most of my conscious life trying not to be a ""man"" because almost everything about the concept is repulsive. I've unmade myself for so many reasons, almost all of which have to do with inadvertent manifestation of the toxic. I've been the obnoxious, too-talkative lit dude; but I've grown through it and tried to replace haughtiness with enthusiasm to keep listening. Whenever I try talking about this, though, and raise any complaint about my position as "the dude" in any situation, there's understandable raising of queer hackles that I might be going MRA. No! There is no defense of the obelisk; it must be torn down. It's too much to talk through. All I want to say is that I feel, acutely, that I have been made to carry the insistent clawmarks of manhood, that I've put so much effort into rooting out the enculturation that makes all my favorite people less trustful of me, that it is excruciating to have enjoyed in any measure some of the books on a "red flags list" at some point in my accidental life, and to choose not to defend those experiences, that there is a vast desert of my life that was none of it what I wanted and that I read Infinite Jest not (entirely) because of my gender but because I was jobless and briefly had a roommate with a different set of books than I had access to, and it kept me occupied for a month when I was 22 and needed desperately to believe I wasn't going to be poor forever (spoiler alert: I was), and it was a powerful experience precisely because of the ways it ripped and tore at the fabric of convulsive masculinity, the pressures of performance and speechlessness and disconnection and the illegible torrent of words that want to come out except you're supposed to sit there, politely, and let the old men decide your fate based on whether you fit. And even now I don't want to talk about it, because it's not important to me, and the likeliest thing is that, regardless of my personal experience, invoking certain objects casts me in a light I reject but can't evade.

This renders jagged chasms of my life unspeakable, and I am having a hard time right now with (among everything else) how much of my life feels like a story I either hate or have trouble speaking!