Sunday | October 21, 2007

What Baudrillard Has Taught Me

Industry of Animal Life
Baudrillard raises some really good arguments in this chapter, and while I don't agree with all of them, it gave me something to thing about and debate.

I believe what Baudrillard was referring to, only in a much more wordy manner, was a term called Speciesism: Are humans a superior species? I can't help but attribute my beliefs to a religious reasoning, in that God had created Man just under that status of Angel, and therefore above animal. And I don't think it can be argued that humans are superior to animals in intellect, as we can problem solve and critically think. Only I truly believe that the animals have something of which we should aspire to, that they in fact are of a higher "being" than man. Their system of life is better established, controlled, and more effective than anything humans could propetuate.
What separates us from animals, in Baudrillard's words is Reason. Many of us believe this (including me). But he writes that "our destiny has never been separated from theirs, and this is the sort of bitter revenge on Human Reason, which has become used to upholding the absolute privilege of the Human over the Bestial." So in other words, because we feel that animals have no reason, it is acceptable to treat them as a commodity. Only Baudrillard is saying this is not true, that our destiny is the same, that their is no distinction between the reason of a man and the reason of beast. Over time "we have made of them a racially inferior world.
Man has reduced animal to an object of complete bestiality, one far separated from even the bestiality of man. Because they cannot speak they cannot objectify, and so they give in--a self-annihilation. And such a thing as small and insignificant in human evolution as language has become the end-all in determination of moral and ethical practices. Baudrillard says that in "a universe of increasing speech, of the constraint to confess and to speak, only they remain mute, and for this reason they seem to retreat far from us." Animal is no longer an co-inhabitant of the planet, no longer a LIFE, but a product, a tool of proliferation.
I think Baudrillard included this chapter because it directs its argument at the very core of mankind, at the center of our discourses. It's a chapter about territories and territory infringement, of the domination of ones space and the psychological destablization caused by a superiority complex.
I know from a religious standpoint many people misinterpret the verse in the Bible that says God gave man dominion over the animals. This is often used as validation for their mistreatment and abuse. I find it ironic that so many Christians use this as an excuse to ignore injustices done to animals and as a reason for their meat-based diet and yet very few of them take into account the scripture that states we (meaning humans) are to be stewards of creation. Let's say Van Gogh was still alive, and he had just completed a painting he called Starry Night, and he gave you this painting and said 'please take care of this painting, I created it therefore I care very deeply for it; I trust you enough to give you complete control over it". Would you leave the painting out in the rain? Or subject it to extreme heat? would you tear a hole in it or paint over it? NO! You would realize its worth and its place and respect its territory.
The same can be applied to animals. They have something Man has lost. Perhaps it is contentment, or purpose. Perhaps animals are smarter than humans. Take into account that they live a sustainable life, that their established system of existence is much more effective and lasting. If the fundamental theory of evolution--only the strong survive--is true, I wonder how Man has made it this far.

Bullet to Binary
The great Howard Zinn can be accredited for the phrase, "you can't stay neutral on a moving train". It's an amazing truth, especially in a world of so many binaries. I think that polarity exists because that's where meaning is found. If there isn't something you believe in strongly enough to advocate for, it's harder to find a purpose or meaning to existence. I guess in choosing sides people have found worth...an identity. My friend just recently did a documentary in which he interviewed college students asking them "how do you identify yourself?" The most popular reply was "a college student". But one only stays in college for a short period of a lifetime, and once they exit they must redefine themselves. Therefore, are our identities only constructed by the social institutions? Are, then, our identities a product of our atmosphere? I think a lot of it has to do with validation. Humans are always searching for validation, for reassurance in their existence. If you can identify yourself with either side of a binary, you are validated by a collective. Think of the phrase "I am..." and all the many ways in which you can complete that sentence. Most of what is said could have a binary, and somewhere in the world someone is that binary.

Simulacra
A good quote from Baudrillard: " It [a simulacra] is no longer a question of simulation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real...". What is a blind person's perception of beauty, since beauty is a term established by the seeing, for the seeing. Of course, we could argue over what beauty is, but nevertheless a seeing person's view of beauty would vary greatly from that of a blind person's. So in relation to a simulacra, beauty either exists or it does not. And have we substituted the reality of "beauty" with a false pretext of the idea only to believe that this idea, this concept of beauty, is reality. And then, does it therefore not exist for the blind, thus making it a simulacra? I guess what i'm saying is, can a strong belief in something make it true, whether in actuality it is real or not? And if there are consequences that follow such manifestations, how can we say it is not real?

Simulacra: it's like having a mask without a face to wear it, or that the mask is the face itself.

Be Our Guest
Restaraunts provide an otherwise disassociated, alienated culture with a sense of community. It has always been the desire for people to interact with one another over food; it's the basis on which many American events revolve (tailgating, picnicing, holidays, dining out, etc.) In many cultures outside of the United States, food is the most precious good that one can possess, and so the act of sharing one's food becomes more than just a social act; it becomes a sanctity between the two parties, a sense of comraderie and unity. Going to a restaraunt  is, whether realized or not, a need for community among fellow humans. There is something very organic about sitting down among strangers, and enjoying a good meal; something that we feel has been lost, a sense of identity and one's place within a structed society. We strive to get back a sense of unity and connectedness that has been replaced with microwaved foods enjoyed in the solitude of one's living room; or a quick, impersonal meal-to-go eaten within the safety of automobile boundaries.
Posted by at 17:44:45 | Permanent Link | Comments (21) |

Wednesday | October 10, 2007

It Has To [re]Start Somewhere

Every day I find I am becoming fired up about something. We talked about Thoreau outside the other day, and instead of my usual literature classroom behavior--gazing out the window, probably reciting poetry in my head--I couldn't stop talking. I talked about man without limits, humanity without artificial additions, freedom, simplicity...I couldn't stop. This is a start.

SDS and ACLU held a Freedom of Speech rally and burned the flag. I was excited. I was burning. I talked to my sister about activism and anger, about soldiers fighting back, about the difference between speaking out against something, and acting for something. I was angry. I started caring again. This is a start.

I questioned my professor about "the selfish gene"--I'd like to give Richard Dawkins a piece of my mind, literally. I'd like to see if he could find the selfish gene in me, maybe videotape it murdering all the other genes. I said "this is assuming a gene can foresee the future, or predict what is about to happen next". And my professor says "that's exaclty what it doesn't mean", to which I replied "then it's not the gene itself that makes the decision, it's the body with which it's inhabiting". He says "well, yes, genes determine behavior, if that's what you mean." "Why no, that's not what I mean..at all". And this is where he stops trying and continues with his speech "it's not the individual who is fighting, its the gene..." and so on and so forth. But the thing is....I cared again. I felt passion in that moment. I started to believe in something again. This is a start.

For a while (even now?) my mind was somewhat numb to everything, and therefore highly receptive to all sorts of theories and equations and beliefs and ideas; and my spirit was so vulnerable that I saw myself beginning to accept everything and anything as a possible truth, never giving the effort to question it or debate it because I just didn't know, and I didn't have the energy to care. I don't know what to call this. 

But there are those people (that one person) who is like air after a lifetime of holding your breath. That one person who lights a candle in your cave, who says "yes" to everyone else's "no's", an olive branch after endless days of water, that one person who makes you realize that you stil have a little bit of something left to give, a little bit of life left in you. Yeah...this is a start, a very good start.

Posted by at 17:13:01 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Wednesday | October 03, 2007

Si solamente yo le podría decir...

 

Usted es todo que fui convencido yo nunca encontraría. Hay personas por todas partes mí que somos infelices, que hace las elecciones porque ellos están a salvo, no porque ellos están en el amor. Esto no tiene nada que ver conmigo; usted es la cosa más hermosa jamás creado.

Posted by at 16:22:20 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Monday | September 10, 2007

este género maldecido

I'm tired. I'm always tired. I feel like a heroin addict. My left arm hurts. My veins feel bruised. If reincarnation is true, perhaps in some distant life I was. It could be fluid retention. I don't get enough protein. Why do I care? I'm trying to come to terms with hunger, to know what it feels like, to never know what it feels like.  It's much harder to rewire my brain than I thought. Rethinking is hard work. No, you are not hungry. Food is not important. Who am I kidding? I'm always tired. Maybe this is what being healthy is. Maybe I never really was. I squeeze the sun out of every minute of the day until the dark no longer feels like fighting. If it doesn't end it can never begin. I should remind myself of this more often.

I miss him. Cursed feminity. We are all the same. We are all Eve's to someone else's Adam. I miss his laugh.

I'm just tired, that's all. The days go so fast. And all I want is that laugh.

Discovering new music is great. Having someone to share it with is even better.

August was not kind to me this year. It's up to me to change this. It's just taking longer than I'd like. I need to find that passion again. I need to find what makes me come alive again (aside from him, other than him). I need trees. I need stars. I need the sound of water over rock. I want to dance in my barefeet in the grass to the sound of drums and harmonica. Can I accept that the answers aren't there? That they never were and that's the whole point? Maybe by asking the questions I've already found the answers. Maybe we've had the idea all wrong. Maybe we start with the answers in hopes of forming the right questions. I am well on my way to understanding...

 

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Tuesday | September 04, 2007

6 Underground, 7 Handbreadths Above

I know I should be doing my work right now, instead of writing. <---note that I am forming my shoulds and should-nots to fit into what I have always been taught was right and wrong. Work first, play second type of thing. But what I am told is my work is not who I am. Writing is who I am. I will do what I want. And you can suffer the consequences.

I'm tired. Exhausted really. Mentally, anyway. I didn't sleep last night. I couldn't. For some reason, though, I'm not physically tired. I'm just tired of all the things I think.

I was happy then,

when I thought I knew. I was so close. How has it come to this so quickly? I may be even closer yet, but if it's truth I'm after why am I not happy anymore? I could be in pursuit of something very dangerous. The unknowing of it all is too heavy. Let's say for instance you've spent your entire life underground, and some people are content with that life because it's what they know. They are taught how to see in the dark, how to build with dirt, and they are satisfied. But for some of us the light is too bright to be kept out no matter how deep underground you dwell. So say you know there is more beyond the dirt, and you spend your whole life digging overheard, expecting to someday--finally--breech the top. Now let's say that you finally do that. Your hand reaches up in one tired, weak motion and all the earth falls down around you and you realize that there is light and air and grass....the first thing you do is breathe. And you feel relieved.

Well I feel as if I've dug myself clear, and instead of feeling relieved I feel alone in my new world, and scared; but I know I can't go back underground. I just couldn't, because I know it's not real. But this new world up here isn't any better. Should I have dug more to the right? the left? Should I have dug down deeper instead?

And who wants to think about Shakespeare at a time like this? Who wants to bother themselves with Captain John Smith and literary adaptation? My mind is saying "NO! I need to figure things out first..." But there is no time for meaningful thought. Just do your work.

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Sunday | August 05, 2007

Aislamiento y el Oceano

¿Si podríamos viajar el mundo por pie, siéntase la presencia del sol tan íntimamente, el dolor en músculos, la sed -- apreciaríamos nosotros la vida más? ¿Si podríamos andar de un continente al próximo, tomaría el vecino un nuevo significado? ¿Podemos nosotros, quizás, movemos de esa palabra al "hermano"?

Fascination with the ocean usually begins with admiration, even fear, but it ends with separation. The earth may have once been covered in water, but humanity has since held on to life under it, never feeling a desire to emerge with the land. Maybe the earth was never meant to evolve. After all, things aren't so rigid under water; there is no such thing as boundaries there. But man has felt the need to isolate himself, to constitute a "versus". We rose from the sea out of self-ambition. We thought we were greater than our Host. Even then we were not satisfied, and there was conflict among the earth's land. When the continents separated, they split the soul of man as well.

When we stand in awe at the edge of the waters, perhaps what we are really feeling is nostalgia for a world we once remembered but have long since forgotten. The fear we feel is emerging from a place deep inside of ourselves, mourning for the loss of self. The shells we collect and place in bottles are mirrors into a world where man was solid, content. We remember we have come so far from solidarity.

The ocean kept us from expanding our self-destructive empire by placing itself in the sky; and now, with the clouds, we are surrounded by water though we have grown so distant from its touch.

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Saturday | August 04, 2007

Enamorarse es de Sacrificarlo...

Three things I have learned this summer that are hard for me: 1) Most people like attention, 2) Most people like to boast, and 3) I will never be one of those people.

There are two things in life that frustrate me beyond what I feel my patience and morale can handle: 1) When people treat me like I am either a) stupid and/or b) like I don't know what I'm doing; and 2) When people thrive on thrusting their achievements and talents and opportunities onto everyone else. I'm sick of the same old conversations that begin with something like "I did this and I know this and 'this one time when I..' " and end something like "I can do this and I am good at this and so-and-so thinks I'm amazing"; and they always add the "not to brag or anything but..." which just frustrates me even more. You might think that exerting yourself so forcefully on others will make them like you more, or think more highly of you, but I just think you look desperate. I will never be someone to stoop to constantly trying to sell myself to feel good. Is this humility? Or pride? I just don't see the point in building oneself up. Why are we competing with one another? Community is about equality. If I wanted stratification I would be content with Capitalism. As I'm not, please don't use your "ladder climbing" techniques in conversations where I am present, I just might go choke myself.

...Y Yo Tengo el Nada Dejo Para Dar

Really this has nothing to do with love. But maybe it really does. I keep quiet because I don't like assumptions. I keep quiet because I don't believe in first impressions, stop sizing everyone up. I keep quiet because I hate pretentiousness. I know what I know, I know what I'm good at, and I know what I am capable of doing. I feel no need to convince anyone of this. I'm not living my life to please anyone. And if other people get recognition for something, or get praised for something because they were bluntly verbal about it, fine. One day I'm going to change the world....and no one is going to notice. 

Que Yo Digo

Sometimes I want to be a jerk. Sometimes I want to be really mean. It's very hard work keeping your not-so-proper emotions subdued, but I can't act any other way. I would be no better than those I get frustrated with if I let my mouth run. I guess what I am saying is.....I want to find someone that I don't feel like I need to impress; someone who will make up for the endless shallow conversations where I just repeat over and over again in my head that I am bigger than this and its not worth my frustration; someone that will tell me that all along I was doing the right thing. I need that.

 No...I don't need that. I retract my last paragraph. It was never written. It was never thought. I lit a fire now see me walk away...

Posted by at 05:45:39 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday | August 02, 2007

Cabalgar el Greyhound

El Viaje

I have passed through the states as if they haven't existed. They were barely colored prints that rotated on a track outside my finger-smudged window. I know the rain came with Missouri, the blood with Oklahoma, the lightning Texas; but I know nothing of these states. The state of our bus, however, I know well. We have formed our own commonwealth here, each traveling together in state-like fashion through a faceless nation. I've come to realize that my experience cross-country had nothing to do with the red sands of Texas or the windmills of Oklahoma, but everything to do with the people in this bus. THIS IS AMERICA. I wanted to know, and I suppose I found out.

El Ciencia de Viajar

The act of traveling by bus seems to be the most intimate means of all public transportation. We are total strangers who eat and sleep together, we gaze out of our windows listlessly and alone, we get confused and huddled together--relying on a collective ignorance to induce correctness--we say our goodbyes like old friends. My destination seems unimportant now; it's the getting there intrigues me. I have grown comfortable in my discomfort, and expect nothing more.

Mirando Hacia Atras de Aqui

And now, as I adapt to life life in a new state, I think back on the many people I have met; the lives that have been so intricately woven together, like silk tapestries draped on Egyptian tombs. And I miss those people I know so little of, but have come to know in the purest state of human interaction, at our lowest and most vulnerable.

I have learned that young black men otherwise classified as a threat in common American society were the individuals who made me feel the most protected. I have never met more fascinating young men whose intellect is ignored by a world that keeps them oppressed, mere laborers judged by their sagging pants and beaded hair rather than their brains. I have learned a lot from these young black men in regards to the justice system, society, family values, and spirituality. These young men were fathers and philosophers whose charisma and dignity had been overlooked by street cops with bad attitudes and business-tie men. And somehow they were discussing just behind my ear the kind of mental and spiritual strength it takes to become a man unchanged by societal oppression. I have been comforted to sleep by the sound of their slang.

I think often of the man I met in Albuquerque, his slurred nonsensical speech, his reddened eyes, his borderline offensive compliments. I was the only one who stopped to listen, and though his eyes gazed often at places they shouldn't, I enjoyed his company in a peculiar sort of way. His eyes got wet and glazed over (beyond what they already were) and he looked beyond me at some point I couldn't see, and knew he couldn't either, when he spoke of a fellow Native American who had been shot trying to escape the cotton fields of his imprisonment. He spoke of years and years of Native American discrimination, of a hard life lived in the country he loves. And it made me unbearably sad to know he was hanging around the bus station at four in the morning, drunk because he couldn't bear to face life otherwise. I will never forget his sad eyes.

These people have become a part of my life, their lives engrained in my memory--an intrusion I have readily welcomed.

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Monday | February 12, 2007

sin título

There's a road that cuts through unscathed trees, undisturbed in their ancient slumber. Follow Eighteenth Street twenty miles east. Leave behind you towers that have devirgined the sky, see them dwindle to a pinpoint, then disappear. The sky will turn from ashy grey to an azure blue and you, you will see that all along you were never really breathing. The heat from the streetlights caused a sweat to break out, soaking your sheets in restlessness as the noise picks your window lock, hidden by the shadows of apartment complexes. You have never seen the moon, not even at night when it sings an opera for a world that has forgotten how to listen. But driving Eighteenth east you see a white shape sitting opposite the sun, a small thumbnail slice. And you wonder who is behind the screen, peeling back the oil painted landscape, and wonder what lies beyond this tranquil solitude.

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Monday | November 13, 2006

To Stop The Traffiking In My Mind

desconocedores el conocido

How do we go back and unlearn the things that we have discovered? Why would we ever want to? Sometimes I wish that I could forget the things I know, that I could leave behind all that I care for. An overabundance of knowledge has exhausted me; but how can one who sees the injustice, who realizes that "that's just the way things are" is not an excuse to live for yourself, ever close their eyes, ever rest, ever stop plotting ways to change the infrastructure of global foundations? You cannot unknow the things you know, you just have to let it consume you. Until your brain feels like it cannot hold anymore information, until your heart is swelled and your eyes are heavy...because there is nothing else to live for if you aren't living for justice.

cuándo usted puede ya no vuelve

I cannot think of food without thinking of:

pesticides,animal cruelty, biotoxins, hunger famines, antiobotic-injected cows, silicon chicken, McDonaldization, preservatives, high fructose corn syrup, protein content, harvest pickers, farmers, authenticity, profit, gluttony, waste, starvation, a lack of truth...

I cannot think of Christianity without thinking of:

zealots, extremists, hypocrites, scholars, history, the Canon, controversy, I'm-right-you're-wrong, money, manipulation, literalists vs. interpretors, dogmas, scandal, misinterpretation,a lack of love, a lack of truth...

I cannot think of America without thinking of:

manipulation, surveillance, communisim, I'm-right-you're-wrong, profit, lies, controversy, [inactive] voices for peace, apathy, machines, lies, consumerism, images, racism, opinionated segregation, deceit, right-wing left-wing, trends, corruption, money, a lack of truth...

I cannot think of shopping without thinking of:

forced labor, unfair profit, Free Trade, World Bank, WTO, slavery, child labor, oppression, consumerism, wants, selfishness, dominance, globalization, brainwashing, trends, the media, success, money, power, poverty, monopolization, capitalism, a lack of truth...

una falta de la verdad

How does one live within a world while at the same time trying fervously to deny it? How do you change the unchangeable? How do you stop The Machine, The System, an ideology that goes beyond presidents and congressmen and tyrants and CEO's and soldiers and citizens?

How do you fight what you cannot find? Deface the faceless?  

I cannot think of anything without thinking about everything, without realizing that there is a serious lack of truth in the world...

How do you unknow the known and in doing so willingly make yourself Ignorance's slave? Why would you want to? Sometimes it's easier that way, and sometimes people die without leaving footprints in Time, ending without ever beginning, allowing the creation of what was never meant to manifest continue.

Cometa

No, there is no way of going back. Even a glance over your shoulder does no good, to wish for youthful antics, to wish that your mind would open and in one final exhale release the fight, surrender.

But I cannot claim defeat...I commit to truth.

Posted by at 16:34:32 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |