Writing, Purpose, Aesthetics, Responsibility

writing is excreting.  pissing, sneezing, vomiting, coughing, shitting, bleeding, writing.  in writing, the menagerie of bodily fluids excreted-as-excess and excreted-as-foreign is given shape.  molded, extruded, and excreted onto the page.  writing is a liquid function of liquid minds.

writing-surfing the film of sensation which stitches together our presence in this cosmic texture, we excrete ourselves into oblivion.  sensating and pulsating as vital organs vibrate and manic movements saturate this absent-frame called an I, writing excretes my I through my eyes through my fingers as the always-prior ricochets back and forth between itself.

but what is the purpose of this?

purpose?

does writing have a purchase?  does writing produce a purpose produce a purchase?

we are ever-pressured to produce pressured to purchase pressured to produce a purchase.

writing retracts purpose.  the latter uncoiled wisely along the winding path of history.

writing condenses purpose.  we write without purpose and search for a purpose after we write but the writing we write precedes purpose and forgets purpose.  writing is to purpose as dynamite is to skull.


 

and yet, pushing towards purpose-for-others.  christian-all-too-christian, writing must have a purpose – a purpose-for-others!

and this soporific imperative.  what do we make of this?

purposes clog the drain of life-flowing-into-death of deathing life.

we are always filled with purposes.  justifications. explanations and rationalizations.

where might we yet come across the purposeless ones?

there they are. frolicking and laughing in the dirt! 

acting without purpose. 

 

and yet, we are not children.  would we be so bold as to claim our development has yielded no greater fruits than the purposeless play and total curiosity of a child? is not the child, too, the virtual partner to our overgrown purposeful living-as-surviving living-as-self-preserving?

Isn’t this the lesson of the film Children of Men?  On post-apocalyptic Earth there are no children.  what is the real tragedy here?  is it the extinction of the species which childrenlessness guarantees?  or, rather, the violent encounter with living-as-surviving living-as-self-preserving, with bare life disavowing solitude disavowing death.  forever severed from vicarious living-through-children (they can be happy for us!  they can laugh for us!) and our vicarious caring-through-children (we care for children as we could never care for ourselves!), we are abandoned to our own purposes, our own solemnity, our own solitude.  what is tragic, then, is not our future death, but our present death.  our transfiguration into living-dead. 


 

the growing tension here, then, is one within the how of living.  the tension between purposelessly playful living-as-dance, aesthetic-living, self-transformation and  and purposeful solemn living-as-surviving, moral-living, living responsibly.

i anticipate more determinations need to be made here.  micro-tensions drawn out and exacerbated. the tension can provisionally be articulated as the tension between experimental aesthetic play and conservative responsible moral-living.  how to think the two and how to fuse the two.  if we have slogged through two thousand years of Christianity, it seems hardly possible to imagine that its growths will be eliminated, and we are not even sure if that would be desirable. 

And a final question:

If Nietzsche wrote, “Man is something to be surpassed,” and Foucault associated the Death of God with the Death of Man, wouldn’t we say the same about children?  Children are something to be surpassed.  The death of God is not complete until the death of Man is not complete until the death of Children.  In other words, are we doomed to reciprocate between Manly Children and Child-like Men?  Or might we find a way to blast through both, forging new bodies and minds for ourselves?

 

 

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11 Responses to Writing, Purpose, Aesthetics, Responsibility

  1. S.C. Hickman says:

    I guess I finally have to say: “No, we do not!” You’re syllogistic charade is bad form and isn’t even worthy of Aristotle. This notion that seems anti-natalist, but is actually some notion of becoming other than human in a futurial incarnation as machinic being is still a pursuit of immortality by other means. You’re still trapped in the Myth of Transcendence… still an Idealist at heart. You think this is new, when in fact its a throwback and derivative idealism.

  2. S.C. Hickman says:

    “I have” … it’s the self-objectification of one’s own brain chatter, nothing more… I, too, let it do it’s will… why not? I’m just its temporary agent… so why should I care?

  3. S.C. Hickman says:

    That most infamous famous magician Alistair Crowley once stated: “Do what thou will is the law.” But since there is no will, there is only the law: and the law is nothing more than a mask for the brain’s own powers and capacities; to which we are mere prosthetic tools.

  4. S.C. Hickman says:

    All the moral blathering about “death of God is not complete until the death of Man” is just that, nothing more… Once you understand just what you are in the scientific sense all this dissipates, and you can get on with your work, which is the work of the brain, not you.

    • So what constitutes the “work of the brain?” Whatever spontaneously comes out of it?

      • S.C. Hickman says:

        Ask the brain not me. How can I tell you what the work of your brain is. I can tell you what current neurosciences describe and the processes of the brain, but as to what constitutes the “work of the brain” is not science, but moral bantering… as if we knew how to answer that; and, if not, a way to say, “Ah, hah… I got you…” moral quibbling… You want some definitive answer to the meaningless of your petty life: there is none. Be done with all this moral nihil… it’s just a trap, nothing more.

    • You read all of these impulses as emerging out of an urge for Transcendence?

  5. S.C. Hickman says:

    Poetry, philosophy, etc. are nothing more than machinic or abstract machines one can plug into, start us, kick into gear, settle in, work the controls, produce or travel as needed, shut down, disconnect and go on to the next thing. Alien ecologies, dark ecologies… the exploration of these various technologies and life machines not as prosthesis but as brain programs to be tapped.

  6. gotcha. interesting, you read a lot of moral transcendent impulses in places where i didn’t really experience it as such, nor as trying to definitive answers. hmm…anyway, i’ll see if i notice such impulses next time…

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