don't worry, it's not really the end of the world.
the mountain (there are many, of course, and I’m sure this one had a specific name, but I don’t know that. I know it was one of many big mountains in the alps). The view, and experience, was insanely gorgeous and wonderful. I did get a little nervous — the gondola was really high (does the picture demonstrate this well?). But — totally worth it.
gorgeous day, here for an amazing academic experience where I spent my days contemplating the world from different perspectives; I will return to the states to start work on my dissertation, the culmination of these years of study, the point where I finally explode in my own ideas and expression; my family and friends are all relatively healthy and happy and in moments of their own stability; I read a really good email that morning. I felt the extent of my privilege — a life of my own building, where, for the most part, I really do what I want to do, following my passions and interests. I’ve overcome fears of leaving home, of change, and, even when still scary, I pretty much jump into new experiences (or push myself, at least). For one brilliant moment, every aspect of my life — professional, familial, personal, worldly, and otherwise — is peaceful, beautiful, and good.
Yup, those are my feet on a tightrope, balancing about 2ft off the ground. Tres, one of the guys here brought a — um, tripline? I’ve lost the word — but a rope-ish line that he drew between two giant trees in the woods. I overheard Sophie talking about practicing on this line the previous afternoon, and slowly moved my way into the conversation. I’ve been attempting to be a bit more social and actually get to know the people here. If you know me well, you know that genuinely doing this takes me some time. I may look like Mom, but I continue to carry Dad’s constitution. In other words, I’ll smile and nod and be polite and academic and such, but making that next move to actually know someone usually takes strong effort and movement outside of my comfort zone. Occasionally it happens that I’m naturally really drawn to someone, but that is rare and quite special, and hasn’t really happened here yet.
Then they asked if I wanted a turn. Now, again, you may know that I’m not known for my, hm, grace in physical movement. If there’s a hair on the rug, I’ll trip over it. Hell, I don’t even need the hair — I do that tripping-fake-running thing on pavement all the time. Almost every significant injury I’ve had has come from ridiculous circumstances, like breaking a finger by rolling a ball on the ground, or taking my dog outside. So, I was not optimistic. And I hate not being good at something. Combined? This activity included more risk than one might first anticipate. But I climbed up, and could stand straight while only barely touching the tree next to me. At various turns, both Tres and Sophie offered hands/shoulders for balance as I walked across, and generally I only needed them for that — a light touch and a small bit of balance. Okay, there were occasional desperate grasps at the help, but I never fell off. Actually, it was a tremendous experience, far more mental than physical (though strong abs help. yay sit-ups). This required focus, patience, and trust in my body. The moment I felt fear, I’d wobble, but if I trusted that my foot would find the rope in front of me, if I both held my body tightly and relaxed into the movement of the rope, I could negotiate the space. Lovely life metaphor, no? And more physical of a workout than just plain meditation. Thus, I recommend it highly.
-- not the standard therapist note-taking, but creations of art, drawing, words, concepts.We live in a world that is just fucked up.Here's a link to some of her work -- Brother's Photo.
s.
example/metaphor for ethical interaction as transubjectivity with stings of shared affect connecting us in severalities -- groups of a few who engage in/through matrixial spaces. We move thickly through her work -- she reads a few lines, breaks out to explain/complicate concepts, to elicit questions. In the Lacanian psychoanalytic tradition, her work is a labarynth of terminology -- matrixial gazes, borderspaces, encounter events; trans-inscription, -subjectivity, -formations; m/Other, wit(h)nessing, beside(d)ness, fascinance, subsubjectivity... And the notes are as spiralic as the theory. And/but the whole class is engaging intensely, making the experience far more experiential.
t I don’t care — my exposed pate delights in soft, fuzzy polartek. Complete with silly pouf on top. I was going to cut it off, but someone said it was cute. So, I’ll leave it. My Swiss life improves exponentially with this (expensive) addition.
lecturing (marked by no physical movement at all, minus his petting of Elli, his schnauser who attends class as well), meant my attention was not, erm, let’s say at its peak. Regardless, working with a Freudian proves intriguing — I’ve not seen someone so seriously suggest childhood (and mother) issues as the root of theoretical problems. For the afternoon session, I moved closer to Rickels (we’ve attempted to stay a bit out of the way, as we are not primarily egs students). This helped. Up close, he is much more engaging, as I caught the subtleties of his humor.
f patents for medicines taken from indigenous cultures. And yet, again, he slowly and subtly mediates his staunch materialism, allowing room for the shaping of language and the necessity/insistence of rhetorics. Really, I’m quite enchanted with him, both theoretically and personally. He gains points as well for managing to negotiate the questions of a girl who must have been ridiculously high. I’ve never heard her speak (not remarkable in and of itself — she’s not been in my classes), but at mildly humorous moments (responded to by most with a quiet snicker), she broke into explosive, melodic and just plain loud laughter. After the presentation, she (of course) had questions. “Um…(giggle giggle)” she began, “sooo, can one play a fair game of chess? And if so, how?” DeLanda had not discussed chess, or anything remotely related. And yet, he fielded the question seriously, offering a strong answer. I don’t remember what exactly that was — I was too distracted by the girl, especially once she pulled out what seemed to be a cigarette (or maybe that’s just my naivety at thinking one would hold their joint in front of all of one’s faculty members. But that’s just me). Amusing for the crowd, though I’d think twice about making that much of an ass of myself.
that he has a ponytail), a performer as much as a teacher/philosopher. As this morning’s class began, he announced that today was the precise day we would discuss Deleuze’s science. He began with an overview of class so far, emphasizing Deleuze’s multiplicity and specificity — we don’t discuss “the market”, but specific markets — emphasizing the same for science — “science” is not a singular understandable, theorizable entity, but specific sciences are: particle physics, molecular biology, organic chemistry. But the sparks began to fly a bit later with his commentary on social theorists of science, including those Latour and Haraway. DeLanda stands virulently against “linguistic constructions”, dismissing theories of language as that which fundamentally constructs the world, how we know it and our experiences therein (a move that also places him in opposition to most of the other theorists at egs). Thus, he perceives most social critics as problematic, offering false and useless critiques of science through short-sightedness and a complete dismissal of materialism.
“that oxygen ‘became’, began to exist only once we named it? What the hell were we breathing before that?!?!” And yet, such a strong position demands resistance, especially from this audience. Several members of the class (including yours truly) mounted arguments against his dismissals, and, to his credit, his position softened. Yes, Latour perhaps has points in the short-term, immediate argument, though fifty years of research over the study of oxygen lessens some impacts of specific rhetorical analyses. He refused to tell me his problems with Haraway, though with hilarious explanation (which I’ll resist giving the semi-permanence of printing. But ask me if you really want to know).
lamb, bleating desperately, caught in a fence. As the shepherd climbed, the whole flock followed. I’m struck by the reflection, literal and metaphorical.
Later, we discuss the bubble child. I laugh (on the inside) while I blow my nose yet again. I may love nature, but I sure as hell am allergic to most of it. That bubble doesn’t seem like so bad of an idea some days...
Jean Baudrillard, his wife, their common girlfriend, and Sylvere Lotringer walk into a strip joint on 42nd St…Man do I love academics...
her film Resisting Paradise, which considers the relationship between art and war, and our responsibilities therein. Had the dvd not skipped out at the penultimate scene (and not been restarted), I would have been slightly happier. As it was, the interweaving of stories of Matisse and refugees from atrocities of WWII was intriguing. And the next morning, I ate breakfast with Barbara and her partner, further discussing these themes, as well as war atrocities against women.
