An Important Contribution To The Ablation Of Territories

le serpent qui mord sa propre queue, or my first proper delirium so to speak

Sisyphe ? Ouroboros = = + ; ca commence, ca finit et ca boucle, rétroaction positive ou négative c’est un sujet de débat !

l’obsession prophylactique de l’ordre ; maniaquerie si on peut dire, caractère si présent chez moi (et n’est ce pas le cas parmi beaucoup) un attentat en vain pour établir ca soit un minimum d’ordre dans l’existence désordonnée ; simple acte que de ranger les pièces de monnaies d’une façon égale et trinitaire.

tout est restriction et inhibition dès nos jours, refoulement si on compte sur Freud comme interprète ; et plus encore est le retour du refoulé dans l’intégralité de l’activité humaine. Un antagonisme dynamique perpétuel de inhibition/retour qui s’accroit plus encore et qui prend tout avec lui, y compris le sacré.

c’est l’organe qui limite, par son déplacement des fluxes d’énergie en faveur d’une fonction despotique ; quand on dit orange *(organe, on laisse volontairement le lapsus cas ou on décide de le reprendre en étude.)* ce n’est pas seulement le sens médical qu’on met en scène ; notre vécu est une amalgamation d’une pléthore d’organes (organe language, organe signe, organe action, organe psychique) et chaque organe nous limite à ses aspirations et ses fins, organe politique aussi, organe social, organe de cul, peu-importe.

ce qu’on propose c’est de sauter ce fardeau de merde et de l’annihilier pour en concevoir d’autres voies et d’autres organes ; c’est pas le faite qu’il y a un organe qui est problème, mais c’est quand l’organe se place comme perpétuel, despotique signe et se banalise ; se dégrade en forme vide et impose si il est assez intelligent une double-impasse.

en finir avec le judgement de Dieu, non ; c’est “en finir avec le judgement de l’organe creux”, car Dieu s’est malheureusement vu se transformer en organe codifié et étatique ; perte de touche avec la métaphysique et le spirituel, on ne voit plus Dieu que comme organe qui s’est fut déchirée par un chien d’église, de mosque, d’association d’affaires religieuses et de notre généalogie qui laisse se mêler religion et culture et le tout du tout.

la machine œdipienne croit pouvoir me faire abstraction et me réduire à sa double impasse, ?.? mais quelle sottise ! ; non ce n’est pas que je désire maman que j’ai des maux de tête (s, à savoir la tête délirante (synthèse), la tête logocentrique (antithèse), la tête sentimentale et affective (thèse)) et une faiblesse cathartique. c’est l’experience de la limite ; ou il n ya guère de distinction entre jouissance et souffrance ; tout se mêle dans une experience qui incite à se rendre fou, se laissez être fou !

a flux produced on the 13th floor appartement of my uncle located within the glorious city of Algiers

highways, the zenith of human-made infrastructure, carrier of a thousand consciousness and a perfect embodiment of our dromos centered, speed-intensive zeitgeist. Perhaps an inspiration for the accelerationists, we can ask them ourselves, would we get an answer ? fuck if I know, today’s thoughts took a rather interesting itinerary, as your two (or one) proper eyes get to witness the constant flow of automobiles, going in and out of sight, in and out of towns, in and out of I-XXs, you get th—

why do you have hate for your fellow brethren, my thing asked ?? why do you carry so much disdain for the other, why is it that you deem yourself worthy of God’s grace and salvation whilst the others are not, ?? why are you asking me this, just say what's on your mind goddamnit, just speak it out lay it out to me on a fellow page, what’s a fellow page anyways, am i writing random streams of consciousness or is this leading to something big ?, perhaps an autonomous entity speaking through me, not God for sure but something instilled by God on me, now here’s the thing really i dont have much time or do I ? well i fucking damn do so offer yourself to me God and enlighten me on what might just be the fucking thing on my head right now, it is not a woman for sure, going by the Jungian terminology, one which I am fond of, it sure is my shadow trying to speak, yes dear i am listening, i called you dear because i might be queer and have a thing or two for shadows, my panic has cleared, or was it ecstasy, i haven’t felt this way in a while really, right after a prayer, the ecstatic coming from God’s worship or the aletheia of his.

now see, if I go back to write this “sort of” essay about how cars are X and highways are the Y on which the X rests a top alongside the human collective consciousness or something alongside these lines I would be wasting your time atop with things that you have probably heard before, see that is the thing when it comes to thinking of time only in terms of “mere value”, as in a commodity to be exploited in a meticulously ordered fashion, we grew up so fond of this attitude all thanks to the merging and blending of economy with the rest of the anthropic condition, what do you get by mixing cold and hot ?, steam, and that’s exactly why the world is fuming, steam on top of piles of steam, and what does steam create, oh dear ! well, it does create pressure (at least that’s what my physics headcanon says, I haven’t studied the field ever since highschool and I don’t have the slightest interest in it neither, and I will not make out of this a scientific case of sorts really so no needs for fact-checking, do your own research or whatever), the point and case is, pressure, and dear mama earth is having a baby now, she is letting out steam, and the baby is already making his first screams, the mother is already in pain and is crying for her damned life to the dear God with a capital G.

but then, sooner or later really, the baby is coming out, whether the baby will come out alive or not is a non-certainty, see humans always had a hardon for eschatology, but they never got to foretell the future, for obvious reasons and limitations, that is not our point really, our point is to tell everyone how it is, case the ten thousand other philosophers, thinkers and homeless-bar-chronic-attenders didn’t reach an audience, which they did, nonetheless we still need to harbor and spread the doom and gloom within us, butter and toast really, that’s what the spirit of time is unto, we can but accelerate.

the baby is coming out that’s for sure, what about the poor little mother, apparently she is in great deep pain see, blood loss all over, pressure and oxytocin not doing a damn thing, see mother is crying, tears, stomaching what the damned child did inside her frail little body, her survival is questionnable at best. Our next kin is the Child, and we are within the uterus of mother, we are the blood cells flowing out of her, some of us are white cells, fighting and making the best out of their Will with a capital W, some are plasmas, in a desperate attempt to heal mama Earth, not working this time buddy, clot is not going to do much to a deep, smelly wound.

See you know who’s the lucky fucker of them all, not the blood cells within the uterus, but those that are in fucktown nowhere’s version of the anatomical model of mom earth, say the hands, those that lie within the vessels of the fingers, they didn’t build their own bastion to protect themselves from mama’s insane bleeding, it was given to them, it was a given, see, I belong to the given, I have been given, a happy household, friends and a on-a-constant-development social life, experiences with romantic partners, sure they did fail but not on a miserable note and I came out of these so-called hardships with lessons, lessons by which I abide and strive to perfect, it is a given that my parents did not fucking fight and divorce, it is a given that I wasn’t bullied to the point of major psychic damage, it is a given indeed that I didn’t kill or violate any of my exes cause of bitterness and a weak psyche.

thinking about it, meditation has been radically altered, call it a byproduct of the times or a shift in the cognitive motors of the human, “faute d’évolution” if we were to ask a french naturalist, meditation is no longer getting lost in the Zen and becoming a monk within the mountains of Zhangzhou or whatever, it became the act of staring at your appartement window for two hours, getting a hold of the ebb and flow of cars and people, it can also take the form of city walks and ventures into, say, previously unexplored neighborhoods and grasping the overall “psychic vibe” of the residents and whatnot, we have a name for that really, psychogeography. or, and get this, it can be a venture into the unindexed dumpster fire of the internet, called in boogeyman speak “the deep web”, as of now, Tor is loading up, taking a considerable amount of time given most likely the heavy traffic on the nodes and might aswell add in the already miserable bandwidth of my local ADSL modem—

a second flux erected in honor of Major Deleuze and Sergeant Guattari, died in cervix circa. 1990s

see, so here is how it goes right ?, see, Deleuze and Guattari’s first entry to their framework begins with that of the concept of a desiring machine, we could trace such a notion back to Mechanism, the Descartes variant most likely, which posits that no, it is not a metaphor, they (we) are actually machines, well, an ensemble of machines that is, that are attached to each other by a binary-linear 1-2-1-2-1-2 of sorts, the relation between is that of “et… et puis”, a productive synthesis. that manage the product emanating from the other machine, aswell as produce a product themselves, see now these machines operate on a ground of sorts, a plateau if you will, but one without form nor structure, only that where “les enregistrements des machines désirantes” occur, a body without organs.

now see, this body without organs, though be it a sterile, non-productive plateau, is actually repulsive towards the desiring machines that are registered on its surface, and the interactions that ensue between both give way to a new machine, the paranoid machine, yet within the paranoia, manifests an enchantement of sorts, that yet again with the “machine” suffixes thrown all around, acquaints us with yet another machine, the miraculous machine.

now you need to know that there is a relation between the miraculous and the paranoid, the oscillation between both states (or machines), a notion we could approximate to that of enantiodromia, creates intensities that are also registered on the body without organs, their contrast never strives for the 0 but rather builds on top of itself, more and more intensities.

with that being said, we get unto the title of the first volume “Anti-Oedipus”, lies in the name, a critique of Oedipus specifically, and that of psychoanalysis in general. See, D&G attribute all the praise to Freud for discovering the unconscious, yet could not hate him less for what he did to the fucker, because, whether it was out of fear, or a personal motive of sorts (protecting his prophethood, something along these lines most likely.) he went out and hid the lush machinery and factory with its all-ever-constant running cogs and wheels and engines and motors behind a theatrical veil, made the unconscious a mute, only allowed to express and not to produce, only allowed to speak in dreams and myths and phantasms, yet we could see behind the veil, Deleuze and Guattari posit, the bright of the machine can be seen behind the eyes, trying to deny it or abstract it all the way down to a “mommy-daddy” play is a deception that is soon to be unveiled, willingly or not.

on with the psychoanalysts, they distinguished two Œdipes, the familial “mommy-daddy” one, i.e. that which is lived through and as, and the structural Oedipus, i.e. that which is later to be projected unto signifiers, the state, the governor, the boss, mother earth and such, a double bind if you will, one which posits Oedipus as the unescapable and the inevitable.

going back to the notion of desire, they set out to flip continental philosophy upside fucking down by negating the Platonic notion of desire, we’ll see that D&G had a hard-on for being anti-Platonists, anti-Hegelians et tt, the platonic notion posits desire as absence and lack which is to be compensated by something (or not, Lacan may protest, never to be fulfilled and only to be ran in a perpetual cycle of need-absence-lack-need, yours truly finds it to be absolute nihilism), erm.. sweaty, see, desire is not lack, but presence and production, desire is that which produces the real and no you Lacanian cocksuckers, the real is within our reach and we just have to look elsewhere and to leave all of Plato’s schizo meltdowns behind us, for good. Truly challenging if you ask me, to be in face up and against the entire Continental tradition, and to add on top of that just about anything that can be marked as a structure.

on the topic of structures, we have to go back and draw a parallel of sorts, where desiring-production becomes social production and the body without organs becomes a socius, one which has gone through many forms, more on that later, now see, the phenomenology stays the same, and no this is not a projection but a mere parallel, to discuss the framework on a social collective aspect, now Deleuze and Guattari distinguish two forms of movement, territorialization and deterritorialization, as the terms infer, one is a tendency towards creating and establishing territories i.e. structures, the other is set to destroy and break them down, now the ancients were all about territory, sedentary fucks, yet, there were exceptions here and there, nomads, who set out to travel through the desert and become Genghis-Khan, leaving nothing behind. Capitalism, the motherfucker en personne, is so all over the place, that it actually sets out to do both, at the same time, putting forth all territories for the whole world to see, a “panoplie” of sorts, choose and select that which goes along with what you “desire”, yet sets out to break down any and all structures, religion, family, the state itself, as they put it out best “une peinture bigarrée de tout ce qui a été cru”.

a third flux i wrote whilst i was engulfed in a becoming-one with my blanket

#1

mystical plénitude can no longer be sought in divine solitude or by any conventional transcendental rites whatsoever, the postmodern chaosmos of subjectivity posits that we may attain the aletheia by means such as attending concerts, hallucinatory drugs, eroticism, enjoying a beautiful sunrise/sunset, sitting at the porch and listening to Soul and Trip-Hop, or harmonizing with distant reciting of the Quran played on mosque speakers circa COVID-19 lockdown, chill ramadan evening say post 4 PM.

Another example, losing yourself at the balcony of your maternal uncle's 11th floor appartement with the sight of the constant ebb and flow of cars on the distant highway, cars and people Becoming, and you yourself becoming an entity with the highway-people-cars to form a cube instead of a triangle, or maybe to fade in an amorphous mass, depends on whom you ask.

Disjointed and fragmented glimpses of plénitude and not a singular pathway towards illumination, rhizomes of jouissance not an arborescent tree of life, such is the way that is to come. As a matter of fact, by living jouissance as fragments to be experienced each at a separate interval, be it in space, time or both, we can experience it in a much more intensive manner, i can only express this as a statement for the moment being, a sort of perception on behalf of my intuition, an elaboration might be developed later.

#2

Freudian misinterpretation of the Introverted movement of the libido and its false render into a "death instinct", faute d'un extraverti. This is not a delirium, only an exercise in wandering.

#3

I think Dalaï-lamas, Brahmins, perhaps even Sufi mystics would have had their biggest moment of irfa'an, aletheia, nirdvandva or whatever you want to call it much sooner if they listened to DJ Shadow's Endtroducing back to back.

#4

fragmented consciousness, the idea that my conscious self, my "I" if you will is not composed of a singular voice but perhaps two and even three, reflecting on a certain interaction (I) had with (myself), I and myself being the two states of consciousness interacting with each other where myself is considered the protector and the guide of I, all of which is symbolised in Twenty One Pilots’s track "My Blood" from their 2018 album Trench, a weird causality perhaps.

#5

haunted by our past, this insomniac phantasmal entity that might aswell have been amongst the pillars of Lovecraftian cosmic horror, masquerading as an inevitable anankè, or moirai were it to be diluted. yet as is the case with ghosts, they must be dissipated, exorcised, annihilated under any/all circumstances for the proper functioning of the anima.

interlude, a.k.a dialogues of the unemployed

une recherche d’une sensation perdue, une répétition après autre à la recherche d’un neurone pourri et corrompu, on le trouve, et on le dose de charges électriques, on suscite quelque chose, quelque intensité, on commence par la résonance musicale, et bien qu’on ressent quelque chose, ca ne dépasse pas le seuil, ca reste toujours en-dessous, faible et pauvre, le neurone demeure en latence.

Ou bien autre façon, on recourt au surmoi, on suscite ainsi sa souveraineté, le despote ainsi dit à moi : «qu’on ne peut plus susciter l’intensité dans ce qui appartient au verbe c’était, c’était si et ainsi, c’était tel et tel, c’est non plus tel, petit A. Tu retrouveras ton vrai vécu dans l’ici et le maintenant qui cependant était maintenant, ou peut-être sera.»

Et je le dis : « voyez-vous, cher Surmoi, que le language, bien qu’il soit un véhicule inapte de représenter l’intégralité de notre vécu, ou justement à cause de cela, qu’on constate qu’il y a une impossibilité de vivre vraiment l’ici et maintenant, que du moment ou on prononce MAINTENANT que ce n’est plus maintenant, ca c’est déjà passé, et le futur est toujours à proximité et qu’on se rapproche de lui à chaque instant, si la mémoire ne me trahit pas, c’est ce que Prêtre Derrida a introduit dans sa hauntologie.

Ca demeure un problème de language, est-ce que c’est possible de le ramener à un échelle plus grand encore, c’est ce qu’on va essayer. On sait quand même un truc ou deux sur la récupération des « futures perdues » et tout le bourrage qui se recycle à chaque instant chez la production médiatique en-masse, qu’on a pas pu sortir du passé tout simple !