U.
Utterance, the gesture to the world by which we know and are known. We do not believe in saying, "I am the writer and this is the written", a thinker and their writing is unable to be parted, my words and my life remains the same object. The human can never be one, saying that I am one is a lie, we think in many manners. I utter to myself a narrative lie. The life of a Being is worthy of praise as a novel written. Thus we say to ourselves, "I am Being and here is what I would write of this Being that is I". We laugh at our situations when they seem like something a comic writer who spits it out on the page. Thus this is how we felt as we mentally choose between having gay sex and going to see car seat headrest. A man pondering two types of relationship to the divine is under the comic surface. A thinker is incapable of uttering the full gist of things, Being as a thought renders itself invisible. I gesture out to the world by my utterance but I cannot utter to one who I enaged in sexual bliss with, Being once again renders herself as hidden!. Everyone under the eye of the social Us is turned mute by the fear of the wrong utterance. I cannot say to anyone "I am I". Being and I are quite different things. The I remains as a true gist of things. So my mouth was there near her breast and I barked but I barely uttered I. Writing is a thinker's foe for it slows us but we cannot speak our utterance into the world to another. Being is a fundamentally lonely task, we speak to another and yet we cannot utter our gist to them, we cannot know them as we would want. Capitalism, no!, civilization!, has robbed of our ability to utterance our I and enter into relation to another. Our civilization is not just poverty of culture and care leaving a great poverty of food and housing and physical living for so many but it is poverty of utterance and being able to enter in relation to another. We are not at presence within the world. We cannot speak an I to anyone thus because our being at presence is rare. We do not know ourselves for the very reason capitalism refuses one to know themselves and to enact a true act of utterance.
I said to my friend ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ that picking up trash in the urban form is an utterance we are allowed to do in capitalism. We have few of those. The urban form disallows one from speaking into the world. Apartment complexes have no true agora and so accidental gatherings cannot happen. Civilization has robbed us of enjoying the urban form and how we can exist in unity with other beings. Where one speaks and utters in a realm with others we cannot have something like hate of The Other if The Other, The Outsider, The Jew, The Transsexual, etc is here in our own gathering and we cease to understand them as another sort of Other but instead understand them as a fellow Being. We cannot hate another if there is a deep understanding that they too possess an I. It is not as some might believe that the urban form gathers so many creatures together that we cannot but help lash out and hate the Other but instead the current urban form is a gathering of many and yet all of the creatures cannot utter to eachother, they cannot gather together. We have many mental objects of Others but there is a single gist of the other person we have, this is because we cannot get to the gist of things. I know there are others in the world but I cannot get to their gist for this gist of true I is rendered invisible to even the person holding the gist of an I. We simply under civilization cannot be in relation to another I. Once one is in relation to another you cannot speak hate to them, you can feel anger towards them but to say Thou means one cannot take the life of the one they say Thou to. I hate civilization for it does not allow me to say Thou to anyone, the world itself flees from me. I experience that-which-is and not the world and this pains me.
If the world was good then different modes of Being like ocd or paranoia would not be as such a burden as they are now. The goal of an anarchist is to utter I and let another utter their own I into the world and them, it is to bring all Being into the fold of uttering I. Anarchism is not just making the world be what it should be and to bring Care into the world but it is to bring Israel and utterance into the world, it is the unfolding of Being and the I into the world. Being is always in relation to space around Being. I butcher Heidegger once again for I have only red a tiny bit of The Basic Writings. Anarchism is saying not just "all should live" but rather it says "all should enjoy Being and the festival of being in the world and to be there with the friends they love and do the things they love". One always has enough love for something if they are able to say it. That is, to say I and to be in relation with eachother. If we have one wish it is that possibility of the global utterance of I had happened in the sixties. The hippies were foolish for they held things like the inherent good of Man (once again we have that invention of "Man" rear its ugly head) and had an excess of peace in their hearts but the hippies were correct for a dream of a universal gathering. Anarchism is if to be successful an ideology that must hope for this joy and love of Being and the festival of utterance. It must say "I" and celebrate cohabitation of all that is. It simply must be an act of Joy. The greatest anarchist is the child who believes the world should be good and that it very much can be if we simply try1.
There are liberals and capitalists and even self labeled communists who fling an insult to the younger anarchists by saying anarchism is infitile and a fairy tale and to this we very much agree. But why shouldn't it be?, I hold nothing but love for the world and a soul that is bursting with Joy!, and that is what speaks anarchism into being. We are not for order or chaos but instead we are merely for Joy, a Joy of the world and a Joy of utterance. To say "I" is of course something that would give me Joy. In a world that is isolation in full effect to utter anything is a revolutionary act. Anarchism must concern itself with phenomenology and dromology if it is to be of any good. I am to be a thing that utters and enters in relation to the Other if I am to move past capitalism. I must also move past capitalism and civilization by understanding that the one who is not me contains within themselves their own I.
The urban form must allow the meeting and gathering in order to be of any use. There is reason there are many anarchists who wish to burn down the city and have there be nature to the extent that nature disappears because it becomes that-which-is. The urban form allows nothing, one cannot rest in the city, many cannot see thatit. One cannot simply said, enact utterance. I cannot utter “I” for the simple fact the city does not let me. I spent today a mess who spoke into the world and attempted to say things to the other. I barked but I did not say “I” and it is because capitalism harmed me. I wish to say only, may utterance happen.
The anarchist admits there must be death to bring around the world they wish, but they must have great sorrow, for there are people who cannot seem to accept the utterance of another's I, who cannot believe in the possibility of relation. I am full of sorrowful mourning for them because they will not share in the pure Joy that comes from being at presence within the world and uttering "I" and loving the world. To be an anarchist is to wish for Joy for all and cry because the anarchist might fight tooth and nail against the things that kills them and kills Joy.
My thoughts now of course turns to the question of how others perceive me, the question of writing is of fundamentally important here, the usage of writing is a way of semi utterance. This is now a new thing, for much of human history much of humanity could not write. Utterance happens purely not just by the act of saying (an act of saying happens among those who cannot speak for whatever reason too of course) now but also by the act of writing. To etch words into the world physical gives a new thing, a different way of viewing/hearing words. A vastly different relation to words. I wonder how my friends would read this, how I would speak these ideas instead of write them. There are those who would never know I admit the possibility of death as in regards to our political actions, our political being. Life is about death but we never admit that. Violence exists at every turn. Against us, against Us. I say now, simply because I think it but I love my girlfriend so much. I wonder how she would read this. How those I know would read this. I believe all who write, a small note even, have these thoughts, perhaps unnoticed to them.
I stop now again, my deepest apologies, to say that some media is unable to be like anyother's because it is an attempt to utter an "I" that is so unique to speak to a subject that remains unknown to anyone else until it finds that subject, the art serves as means of relation!, there is no experience but merely only relation and possible relation. Castle Waiting and I sexually identify as an attack helicopter are examples of these. These utterings are more than unique, it is The Other, no!, It is The Outsider speaking an attempt at utterance to be known and understood. Being from The Outsider is what makes it so delightful and it cannot be compared to anyone else's work. The unique uttering (which is any true uttering) is a delight and so its attempts at speech are ever so delightful but we cannot find anything else like it.
To utter is to care. It is to be genuine in a world of simulation. I fear if I utter I will be hurt.
The only way to rid of hurt is to utter.
I cannot utter my "I" to anyone but myself for capitalism has made us fear utterance. Capitalism is not just a system but it has become how we live, it is what we very literally live. Capitalism is all one can experience. The INSI_D://:humanité_//;://(//(/) begots capitalism, it births it, we become The INSIDE.
J'oubliai comment dis à tu que "j'aboie".
Utterance, Normative Structures, And The Unique.
"As a result, a certain significant generality moved between the least irregularity and the greatest crime; it was no longer the offence, the attack on the common interest, it was the departure from the norm, the anomaly; it was this that haunted the school, the court, the asylum or the prison." - Foucault, Discipline And Punish.
Utterance can be seen as the attempted unfolding of I. Art is an uttering attempt, if done correctly. The correct method of art making is by its very inbuilt features the unique unfolding of a unique I. In discussing art we cannot ignore art that utters nothing. These forms of art belong to usually either a formulaic production that the artist makes not out of a genuine emotion but to have an existing product, in this process they fall into the groove charted out by a long history of previous art but not making their own entry into this procession. The other notable form of non uttering art is a that-which-is folding in on itself, entrenching its sense of that-which-is further and further into its soul/false gist. We see this when capitalism folds over itself again and again, it rolls itself up into a form where its plane is merely a wasteland of an endless expanse of capitalism.
We must consider this lighter.
There is no utterance of I here. It is part of an ecosystem of signs, it is Modern Americana. It follows a normative process of art displaying America, flag and cowboy. I doubt that this is a unique utterance on the part of the designer of the illustration, just enough symbology to state pride in the that-which-is of the cultural image of an America. It restarts the that-which-is of an imagined America, this imagined image does draw upon an actuality of rodeos but the rodeo is Mexican in origin and a spectacle of cattle raising. It is an image of a show that holds origins that the intended consumer would not expect or if they know it they will trace its genealogical line to a romanticized conception of Mexico. Mexico is America's orient, to be an image of Mexico in America is rodear America in a reflection of itself. America's treatment of Mexico and all of Latin and South America is its own crude copy attempt to make itself both European in nature but go beyond Europe, be more European ("civilized") than Europe itself. This is all to say that the lighter contains on its surface a sign of a symbol in the cultural sphere whose origin has been severed and is not free floating. It exists, it says "that-which-is is that-which-is", but it does not utter anything. There is no I in any sense here that matters.
The structure of this art is contained in a status quo society, it speaks in the same way one automatically speaks "I am good, how about you?" in the routine exchange of meaningless pleasantries. This world it creates is the world as it currently is. It is an object by which the norm sets itself. It is to be a line coming from a point, rodear itself, and to crash back into itself. To say "I am proud to be an American" is to utter nothing, it is to say only "I am that-which-is". You cannot be truly proud of these images, you can only have pride in moving beasts.
The norm, a line that is rodear its point, is doomed to have anything it attempts at uttering to crash back into itself. The unique is to escape its point, any attempt rodear it will have parts fly off and escape, interlinking with other points and lines. Uttering the unique is the self trying to utter I in a manner it believes it is best at using to utter. Art is informing the Other and the self of the self's I. Uttering involves crashing, to utter always perhaps carries an impulse rodear the utterance. Rodear it and understand it. The self cannot truly know its I. We catch glimpses of the I in our speech, our writing, our art, our attempts at uttering.
I know not what I [the self] says but this writing is trying to utter. My I will be better understood by another perhaps. My unique remains hidden to me.
A note on Mexico.
Mexico is the Other, in cinema (film, ever the philosopher's delight) it is covered in yellow, it is located in the present and squalor and in the past and glory. It has no future to Americans. Americans via their government have the ability only to see about three weeks in the future, that or fifty years but then it's a false future. Mexico is an other land in cinema, it is dreamscape, deathland. It is ultimately the home of America's fears but also its hope and eternal elsewhere. Americans will go to Mexico only to stay in resorts and hotels and never go out to wander, they will sit on the beach and drink, it is their hope they will escape work and capitalism on the beach and at the bottom of a bottle. Americans for a long time now praised Mexico for the quality of its Coca-Cola, an item of Americana being reflected back to America with better quality.
Erickson's Stairs And Ramp, Utterance And Dialogue.
If there was just a single being and no Other then there could be no utterance. Utterance requires dialogue, by this we do not mean institutional conversation but real dialogue. Aristotle may have placed his school outside the city walls (Introduction to Aristotle's Poetics, James Hutton) thereby symbolically placing himself outside the constraints of the citadel but he did not conduct dialogue. We know this by the fact that he taught in a disciplinary style, he separated his teaching subjects into morning and afternoon classes, always in the fixed arena for teaching. He did not wander with his students or let poetics fully flow with rhetoric combining and flowing through and into eachother forming a Beast. Philosophy's folly is that in trying to understand and study the res nullius it forgets what it was originally studying. To truly even hope to glimpse res nullius one has to consume everything you can get your hands on and be a part of the world, to take public transit and to be where thought belongs, in the wilds, in the kitchen of a restaurant, behind the counter of a 7/11, at a bus stop. That is to say, to be with people and the world, to be at presence. Erickson attempted to be in dialogue with people and the world, to be in dialogue with res nullius when he drafted Robson Square.
I stop now to say that no one can truly utter anything while at work in capitalism. Now back to Erickson.
Erickson attempted to honor his father via way of disability access but he did not seem to enter into dialogue with others.
All good art is dialogue, we talk to those we walked with by studying their work. In every moment I think about the city I am in dialogue with Paul Virilio and Lewis Mumford. The utterance combine and shift and change, flowing. In changing Erickson's design we enter into dialogue with him, remodeling architecture is one of the purest forms of dialogue. Those places built on ruins (get example later) are a fury of dialogue, of gesture, wild moving monsters of utterance.
Planes.
The rider stared above them, the endless plane of that other land rested in the sky, unable to be touched. Their horse was powerful, maybe if they jumped they could leap to that other world, maybe. It was getting late, the rider raced home to their bolo, with thoughts of challah and other worlds in their head.
End.
This was supposed to be longer. It can't really be now. The event that set it off was connected to a person who seemingly out of nowhere cut all strings between two people. I do not know what happened, I cannot ask. You get used to it perhaps. People disappear from your world all the time. The first person I dated no longer talks to any of their digital friends, a short time before they cut those strings they said they didn't see me as a friend anymore. You are very rarely able to say goodbye, to say goodnight. I do not know why the person connected to the event that set this off decided to cut strings, perhaps I will never know. Perhaps the choice to say nothing was utterance. I don't know what utterance, res nullius, The INSIDE, or any of those word mean, I am a dromologist when the sun sets and the day ends and begins. There are those I wish I had talked to more, to be in dialogue with. Even the adversarial meeting can be dialogue. Even conflict can be Joyous. It's only at night we realize how lonely we are, bed full with the absence of someone to love us. The moment this writing was for has passed I think. Either way, there's nothing more to be written, we offer it up only because we feel we must, we don't even like it exactly. But that's it. Go home now.
Tzvi Freeman, Learning The Child. https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/66978/jewish/Learning-the-Child.htm