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shark vs the universe
wallacepolsom

noise dept.

#extradirty

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
trying on a metaphor
AnasAbdin

One Nice Bug Per Day

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Stranger Things
taylor price
Game of Thrones Daily
Three Goblin Art
Claire Keane

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@franciscrot

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Eight quick theses on antisemitism and the Labour Party (for your edification and sharing.) 1) yes there is real antisemitism, sometimes among the left, but it is no more prevalent in the Labour party under Corbyn than any time in the Labour Party in the past or in any other political party. Corbyn has at this point done more to address it than any leader previously or any leader of other parties. 2) Proving that someone else is racist doesn’t make you less racist. Angela Smith is not the exception but the rule of how this kind of hypertrophied call-out culture makes us less responsive to how we are part of the problem, less reflective about our biases, and more prone to oppressive behaviours and attitudes. 3) People who use accusations of antisemitism as a political hot potato are increasingly a danger to Jews. Their actions lead to antisemitism not being treated seriously. They instigate a situation of dealing with racism through blaming people, while concealing the social basis of racism and tackling its root causes. 4) If your only interest in stopping the oppression of Jews is to cynically unseat some political opponent then we as Jews should not be accepting your solidarity. 5) The notion of the “new antisemitism” is still a piece of ideology employed only by those who want to justify an ever-more racist and ferocious Israeli state against its left-wing critics. Yes, some people mask their old antisemitism in the language of anti-Zionism, but the old antisemitism hasn’t changed that much. 6) Nonetheless 100% of people commenting on comparisons between racisms and oppressions are crass. Different types of racism are different in character, and it shouldn’t harm us on the far left to say this. Corbyn should drop his mantra of “antisemitism and all other types of racism” and instead do a speech or write an article just about antisemitism and its history. People on the far left need to stop saying “blacks have it worse than the Jews” or “The Jews have done alright or pass as white so don’t suffer racism.” Like fuck this (and btw that James Baldwin essay you probably referenced also kinda sucks.) Meanwhile plenty of the so-called opponents of antisemitism from the centre are Islamophobes who hate Arabs and consistently model them as uncivilised and barbaric, or justify their murder in the name of an antiracism that can’t bring itself to criticise Israeli violence. The struggle against antisemitism is not aided by this, any more than it is by any consideration of racism as an outgrowth from “barbarism” instead of from “civilisation”. 7) After 2000 years some of us are pretty fed up with the Goyim who make political capital from claiming they are saving the Jews. It’s a gesture with a pretty dreadful history. At least Jesus was a fine orator, and Paul a fine epistolarian (despite being an antisemitic, misogynist prick) but the likes of Umunna don’t even have this. The whole of Blairism and its continued history pivots on the repetition of this gesture. 8) As Jews in the diaspora we are still less safe when our defence from oppression is tied to apologias for Zionism or Israel. There are plenty of Jews who, for political reasons, might be willing to make that sacrifice but frankly it shouldn’t just be up to them.
JBR
German artist Kai Althoff (b. 1966).
The reality has become a dream. Cities in piercing darkness. Somnambulistic adventures beyond the edge of meaning …
from Cancer: after Katerina Gogou
(a version of the blues continuum)
He finished singing one of his lesser known songs and then, just as the sound faded, he bowed his head into the yellow lights and inside of those lights was a moment of an almost peculiar silence. That is all I have to say. What point is there in talking about his voice, about the granulite it had separated into, and about the names that would never, ever, be etched into it. Shake it up baby twist and shout. Yeh you know the rest. Too simple to say I will die some day. Too simple to say I hope it will be soon. There are some songs never end. Others are simply not to be trusted. But as for us, we live in darkness.
And as for the metamorphosis. Some of it was flung into water. The rest disappeared on the mountains or in the ground
*
(hostile)
what sky is that staring at me & the water what’s it saying
the enormous noise of the syncope the screech that it makes cuts several borders all essentially inaudible
to the monster pressed his face into mine checks I’m still supposed to be breathing
We carried stones across the base of the ocean, and all the dates of hell were scratched into them. Sometimes we would attempt to recite them, but it seemed they were interchangeable, that no sound would come from our mouths. The algebra, perhaps, was too monstrous. Or perhaps it was simply that we knew we were the last people of the world to go un-photographed, which meant that every image everywhere was a simplistic representation of our desperation. Our faces and our fingerprints completely interchangeable. One day we invented land. No-one would tell us where the cells began and where they ended. No-one would say what word meant ‘open’, what word ‘closed’.
Devil! Devil! We defy thee.
Some of the main suggestions were:
Pensions to be secured, either through an increase in employer contributions to soak up any deficit recovery contributions above the current 2.1%, or through accepting an increased level of risk, or both. No rise to employee contributions above current levels.
Any rescheduled teaching to be fully paid as additional work.
Resignation of Alistair Jarvis from Universities UK.
The current Universities UK to be replaced by a more transparent and accountable body. An independent public inquiry to be held into the communications and other conduct of Universities UK during the dispute and in the period leading up to it. Universities UK to be made subject to freedom of information requests, ahead of a more thorough restructuring of its governance.
Abolish student fees.
Abolish Teaching Excellence Framework.
Reform Research Excellence Framework.
More funding for counselling and student welfare services.
Fair pay. A pay ratio of 1:10 to be established in all universities, so that the highest salary cannot be more than ten times the lowest salary. An end to below-inflation pay increases.
Democratise university governance by extending the membership and the powers of the Academic Board.
Celebrate the global university. An end to surveillance, harassment and deportation of non-UK national students and academics. Full compensation for students and academics unjustly deported under the current and previous governments.
Representation of all staff, including the lowest paid, on top level management committees.
End marketisation of Higher Education. Universities are collaborators. Competition between universities is of a special kind. ‘Market exit’ (collapse) of any university to be recognised as unacceptable.
Reform the Oxbridge brand. Cambridge University to go private, and Oxford to remain within the public sector.
End outsourced labour.
Nationalise Unitemps.
An end to golden parachutes and other massive bonuses for Vice-Chancellors. Introduce the option for alternative upper management structures which split the Vice-Chancellor role.
Greater standardisation of grant and job applications, especially for precarious workers, and a sector-wide consultation on unpaid labour within HE to determine further actions.

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After Katerina Gogou
Katerina Gogou wrote a poem called ‘Autopsy Report’, in memory of her friend Pasolini. I wonder, has the meaning of his death changed since then? I don’t know. I mean, I guess I could draw a sort of obscene angle connecting his broken index finger to the fascist cops of Genoa, in the way that in Gogou’s poem the blows of his murderers become identical with forms of art, with the Vatican and with the hired thugs who split his name apart one night in 1975. I wonder, is that name still known? His fingerprints were razored away, like those of a refugee, and kept in City Hall. The secretive thugs who killed him, their faces were transformed to a ricochet of sparks that spelled out the unstable forms of his own death. His face separated from his body and seemed to form the beginnings of a new landscape. We try to sketch it on the ground. We call it Ostia or Tottenham or Hamburg. We say that we are the chorus and invent language from the evidence of his camera, then speak it quietly at the doorways to all known hells. Our love is invisible. So is our terror. So is Gogou’s poem. In memory of Pasolini. And herself.
So go to West London, but shut up and listen. Offer people a voice without speaking for them and putting words in their mouths. When people become quiet don't assume that they are any less angry. Offer solidarity and support. Commit to the long term struggles and commit to helping for months to come.
Also get organising in your own areas. There isn't a borough in London where the council doesn't need to be taken apart. Everyone should contribute to ripping this government to shreds.
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina.
i dont think i understood what love was until i saw a field of people waving across the tall fences of yarls wood detention centre & then one by one so many hands sliding thru the thinnest gap in each mirrored window to wave back. i dont think i understood what love was until i saw a woman recently released from yarls wood detention centre standing on a ladder facing the very place that kept her for two years talking about how the guards broke her back & telling the women behind the windows that she loved them & would never forget them & that they should keep fighting. i dont think i understood what love was until i heard the voices of the women in the centre talking one by one into a smuggled mobile phone to the whole crowd of us about their experiences inside yarls wood. they said we've done nothing wrong, they shouted freedom, they've been separated from their children. we said we love you. they said we love you. we said you're our sisters. they said you're our sisters. shut down yarls wood. stop deportation. nobody's illegal.
For years the SWP have insisted on turning up to every protest with thousands of branded placards. They always had the idea that it would help "the movement" (by which they always meant just the power of their relatively small, and normally politically inconsequential party.) People always held these placards uneasily or unwittingly, not really knowing much about the SWP. Fewer people will even touch them now since it was revealed the leader of the party was raping and sexually abusing members, and the party bureaucracy decided to cover it up and defend him. The SWP has a big history of turning up, taking over existing campaigns, and making them shit or smashing them apart when it loses control, so lots of people on the left never wanted anything to do with them. Anyhow, the tactic of turning up to protests with thousands of placards meant that they could consistently, for a few decades, talk endlessly about "punching above their weight" and being a relatively small party with larger influence. The leadership was constantly trying to convince the membership that it was the SWP's control of movements and not movements themselves that was radical or was having a political effect. Fast forward to 2016: it turns out that literally the only people who the placard tactic convinced was a bunch of doltish Westminster Blairites, who do genuinely believe that all of Corbyn's supporters are in the SWP because the SWP turns up with loads of placards for Corbyn's events. I'm not momentum's biggest fan, but maybe someone somewhere will point out to the SWP that this tactic is actually damaging to an ongoing movement, it is stupid, and has an effect that only about 5 people want. I know we have tried to say this to the SWP before but they are stubborn shitheads. Anyway, all illusions that this may ever "help the movement" are gone.
JBR

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Letter on Laws and Numbers
Money is a matter of functions four :
A medium, a measure, a standard, a store.
Not so long ago, my beloved, someone brought me by chance the letters of consolation you sent your friend. ¶ Now the abolition of markets may be like cutting off – not the head but – the top of a king ; so off comes the neck! ; the shoulders! ; you slice through the breast-bone ; at some point you have a king stain, & you sweep him hard for hours & specific blood finishes up highest. ¶ For this reason it is right to ask, what laws are just to be promulgated? ¶ “Only particular dogs.” Laws on placards. You have to obey whichever do wiggles. “No person should for the future execute any trade, craft, or mystery presently executed in England, save he have previously served to it an apprenticeship of seven years at least” in flames. ¶ Marxist-Leninist morning stretches. My law books aren’t progressing though. I don’t mean to do myself down when saying my mental processes are convoluted. Having taken some pains to get them that way, if anything in fact I’m delighted. ¶ Seven, eh? ¶ Bailiffs took everything but they neglected to flip my labia. Of course I’d neglected to stash anything there. Still my tactics are improving. I am thinking of writing a poem. ¶ Hmmmmmmmm. There’s a cock in my port. “Ward it off with a display.” I have been carefully studying Nordic parliamentary systems but am ignorant of how our Scandinavian friends address the issue of pigs. ¶ “Archaic gestures, vicious combinations of letters and numbers.” ¶ Cf. which significant figure the Joint Stock Companies Act (1856) §2 calls for : seven first shall fain hold stock. ¶ Pass on port, cockwise. ¶ Let’s see, laws laws laws. Laa-wws. ¶ “i hate anarchists and | marxists only i hate | capital somewhat more.” Sign 33,600 placards flourishfully & signal mes Enragés avec la bunting Bill of Rights the chancels to bedeck. ¶ Zephyrs. ¶ ¶ “Police wax.” ¶ A thought found on the tongue like a hair. ¶ Tresses may actually be thoughts, I can’t see my way to discriminating them. “A new prosody.” ¶ Cf. Senior Hair Inserter at Tussaud’s with relict concept who contracts Lupus, admits she is without fiscal or financial resource & throws herself on the mercy of her fellows as follows, “General Assembly, I’m not only terrorized by the motives extruding to supplant the profit motive. Also the aftermath of the Compound Motives Bolus’s profitectomy, in which it wobbles, morphs & goes bloomph. So obviously I was very interested in what you had to say about prosody! I wonder what would be necessary to versify articles such as these, Article V. Work. Every Citizen has the right to carry out their work within such a Context, including such relations of production, that that work contribute to, and not erode, the realisation of the rights and freedoms set out in this Bill. Article VII. Political Rights. Every Citizen has the right to participate in only such Democratic Institutions as afford that Citizen the occasion to sanction and to prefer, and not merely to consent to, every determination of those Institutions.” ¶ “Use electricity.” There are visions a horse will puke at but not a pig & so on. ¶ My camp job is to determine who saw what with my straw down his bucket. ¶ No need to return to our precise stance on oil ; upon self-rule via Workers Councils, all energy will be generated in the most rational & scientific manner lol. On my wall I have name of the man where Doris wishes one day to be buried. Maybe they can use whatever results. ¶ Alas! ¶ Like “a rapid collectivising of subjectivity equally rapidly involves locked doors, barricades, self-definition through antagonism etc. If you weren’t there, you just won’t get it.” ¶ And I say “they” because . . . I’m so attached to this life as a cat,[1] I’m inclined to continue it indefinitely. Miaow, yeah? ¶ ¶ Guess that’s it for now, & this. (1) The meaning of phenomenal freedom is underestimated in most of its most advanced interpretation. Seen mainly as occlusive of real freedom. Yet the mere apprehension of liberty is also a legitimate & a likely object of true liberty. At the cusp it can be nurtured in the calculation of advantage – let us say, in arithmetic frolic. (2) Our juridical formalisms experience no recoil. Stipulatively, every release resets itself to status quo ante like Ren & Stimpy episodes. Yet the statistics ratchet. My intuition is that magistrates must be ascribed Hit Points like the RPG sorcerers they most resemble. (3) So far the purest legal terminology is nigger. ¶ (4) 33,654. ¶ ¶ The camp is filled with rumours as though with cats. Laws must, by the speed with which they warp & spread, be rumours but they could have been numbers. I come across, whenever I try to be declamatory, a bit mardy. I told Georgie M’Glug, a columnist from The Independent, priests were with us earlier, threatening to erect a cathedral outside the Info Tent in retaliation. ¶ So far, the purest legal term is nigger. Do you find that? If Marx had been a Blues-singing moggie things might have been different. ¶ ¶ In other respects this year has passed peaceably. There’s been a visible increase of worldly circumstances. 10 Ross Road – when you get this gonny shank up ichRay like osencrantzRay. Love to Frances. Peace xxx. “They will feel the full force force of our own liquid cock in our mouth.”
Four Letters, Four Comments.
Why are we all so creative suddenly? I think, if anything, it actually reflects quite well on the Prime Minister.
Any pig’s face contains many fascinating portals, including the ones opening on the future, a small comfort after being forced to consider that the semi-on glimpsed gliding petal-like through the Maggie Thatcher death parties may have been partly a figment of our imagination after all. Thank goodness it wasn’t. But that isn’t IT, that isn’t why we must remind ourselves of the prime minister defiling the pork.
And it isn’t some avant-garde misogynist strategy, even if it IS the boys who bang on the loudest about it, and thank goodness it is they who do, but it isn’t a masterful shuffle along an imaginary spectrum between sex and rape which scrumples that non-spectrum into a non-non-spectrum with a pair of termini compounded in a point customarily expressed as “pigmouth, pigmouth”.
And it isn’t even that Cameron is the most porcine prime minister in living memory and that, hidden in the act, for instance if you take out all the sex, and most of the police, is an important image of the compactification of Cameron’s corpulence, as if the mouth were HIS mouth, there is, that is, an innocent image of a right-sized Cameron, as if the colossus Cameron could be scraped out of his murder and torture and suicide and poverty, and folded up small once again, returned into his trim twenty-something body, and then it turned in on itself to about the volume of a toddler, and his offices de-extruded and contorted into their own orifices, and his collusion and influence contorted into a piggy glob of self-sufficiency that needn’t outwardly gobble and snuffle, but could hover there like a heart that is only the heart of a heart.
And it isn’t even that doing it to a dead pig is, as bizarre rituals go, actually probably the nicest thing Cameron has ever done, much nicer than burning a wad of cash in front of a beggar, which perhaps he did do too, or would have done, to be a member of the Bullingdon Club, and it isn’t even that it is the pinnacle of Cameron’s decency, which perhaps it is, being a little self-effacing act, in context, in the context of those rich boys and their hog roast, a harmlessly transgressive gesture, and perhaps bold and silly and uncalculating thing to do, and one of the few gestures which really says, I don’t want to be prime minister one day, I don’t want to be me up there killing everyone, coaxing everyone to kill themselves, I want my friends to think of me as the one who did something disgusting with the hog roast instead, and for all I know it will be the nicest thing I have ever done, and will reflect quite well on me actually, even though it is admittedly quite grotesque from another angle.
All it is is, well. It’s just that it is known how bad Cameron is. It’s just that it’s a metaphor, and for reasons which are not really the prime minister’s fault, dead-pig-fucking has strong negative connotations.
And then there’s Middle England, and we know they agree with us on those negative connotations, we know they don’t actually approve of doing that with a pig, so we have to bang on about it in particular ways to discriminate our ideas of ourselves from our ideas of Middle England, gory detail by gory detail to artificially pry apart our allegory from theirs.
And then okay there are these child-fuckers. Publish THEIR names. Put them in the papers, put in their faces and high offices for reference.
A Pig
Images by Takamichi Irie
XROMM: Minipig “chew loops”

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out of water - curious
Undergrowth with Two Figures by Vincent van Gogh with detail view