4/03/2005

China Cabbage Patch

Henry Miller "China is the weed in the human cabbage patch ... The weed is the Nemesis of human endeavour .... Of all the imanginary existences
we attribute to plant, beast and star the weed leads the most satisfactory life of all.

True, the weed produces no lillies, no battle ships, no Sermons on the Mount .... Eventually the weed gets the upper hand. Eventually things fall back into a state of China. This condition is usually referred to by historians as the Dark Age. Grass is the only way out .... The weed exists only to fill the waste spaces left by cultivated areas. It grows between, among other things. The lily is beautiful, the cabbage is provender, the poppy is maddening ___ but the weed is rank growth ...: it points a moral
."


Which China is Miller talking about? The old China, the new, an imaginary one, or yet another located on a shifting map?
ATP 18-9



"The codes and their signifiers,the axiomatics and their structures, the imaginary figures that come to occupy them as well as the purely symbolic relationships that gauge them, constitute properly aesthetic molar formations that are characterized by goals, schools, and periods. They relate these aesthetic formations to greater social aggregate, finding in them a field of application, and everywhere enslave art to a great castrating machine of sovreignty.
There is a pole of reactionary investment for art as well,
a somber paranoiac-Oedipal-narcissistic organization."


"A foul use of painting, centering around the dirty little secret,
even in abstract painting where the aximatic does without figures: a style of painting whose secret essence is scatological,an oedipalizing painting, even when it has broken with the Holy-Trinity as the Oedipal image, a neurotic or neuroticizing that makes the process into a goal or an
arrest, an interruption, or a continuation in the void.

This style of painting flourishes today, under the usurped name of modern painting __ a poisonous flower __ and brought one of Lawrence's heroes to speak much like Henry Miller of the need to have done with pouring out one's merciful and pitiful guts, these 'flows of corrugated iron.' The productive breasks projected onto the enormous unproductive cleavage of capitalism, the flows that have become flows of '"corrugated iron," the openings blocked on all sides.

And perhaps this, as we have seen , is where we find the commodity value of art and literature: a paranoiac form of expression that no longer even needs to 'signify' its reactionary libidinal investments, since these investments function on the contrary as its signifier; an Oedipal form of content that no longer even needs to represent Oedipus since the 'structure's suffices.

But, on the other, the schizorevolutionary, pole, the value of art is no longer measured except in terms of the decoded and deteritorialized flows that cause it to circulate beneath a signifer reduced to silence, beneath the conditions of identity of the parameters, across a structure reducced to impotence;

A writing with pneumatic, electronic, or gaseous indifferent supports,

and that appears all the more difficult and intellectual to intellectual as it is accessible to the infirm, the illiterate, and the schizos,
embracing all that flows and counterflows,
the gushings, of mercy adn pity knowing nothing of means and aims

(the Artaud experiment, the Burroughs Experiment).

It is here that art accedes to its authentic modernity, which

to reach fulfillment as it proceeds __ arconsists in liberating what was present in art from its beginings,
but was hidden beneath aims and objects, even if aesthetic, and
underneath recordings or axiomatics; the pure process that fulfills itself, and that never ceases
t as an experimentation.
"

A/O 370

a passage that packs several punches across the face



we always need to be reminded of this, especially poets , artists, writers, painters, and the rest, musicans, others, singers, ...

indeed, so then packs punches across poles of paranoia the unconscious calibration of the unconscious machine. Or how about the unconsciousing machine? Someone I know wanted to print some pages from this blogger , some friend of mine's wife. Or at least the mother of his children, I don't know if they are married. I cannot remember for the life of me, for the me of life I cannot recall. In 'any case' so, she did. and when the print out came, emerged, she said I like the way you write , I said O? and she was showing me the words at the top of this posting. I said, O , that is not me, it is the translation words of Deleuze and Guattari and some quotes from Henry Miller and I realized after speaking with her , that I ought to add, or sort of see that perhaps I might add, want to might add, some
what do you call them quotes about some of these words. And so I looked and
Lo, there were quotes around paragraphs of. ANd what are words anyhow? quotes of other words in words in seizures of bodies. of men and houses . formations. trays. tarries.

I love to quote. What was his name that made a whole book of quotes some centuries back? Anatomy of Melancholy. I think Love's Body, a forgotten book if ever there was one, was a sort of , a book, sort, sort of, of a sort, a kind of sort, a sort book, a sorted book, sorting the quotes, the quotes, with epigraphs and epigrams. like this. a quoting book. a book that quoted. and

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