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theoreticallysensible · 9 months

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The Hell Without Poetry

I started reading Proletarian Nights by Jacques Rancière, about contradictory aspirations held by artisanal workers in early 19th century France. One of the most interesting points so far are the fact that some workers had a culture of emulating bourgeoise fashion and not saving money, both to differentiate themselves from the domestic servants they felt they were superior to, and to signal that they deserved the same privileges as the bourgeoisie but rejected capitalist ethics of accumulating in order to exploit others.

I’ve just gotten into the famous Gauny section, where Rancière goes off an a tangent about this philosophical joiner (someone who makes wooden building components). The first of his books I read was The Ignorant Schoolmaster, which similarly takes up a single historical figure in order to develop their ideas into a universal, ahistorical frame by blending his voice with theirs. I find the idea really interesting, and it makes me wonder if I could do the same for the people I interviewed for my dissertation. I like how it deconstructs the boundary between historical actor and theorist, emphasising that all people are both, but it only works of course if the people you’re quoting are doing a substantial amount of philosophising. I also don’t want to lose marks for a stylistic gambit.

One of Gauny’s ideas is that work is work, always demeaning no matter what its content is. Rancière points out that this is similar to the philosophy of a preacher at the time, who valorised work for its essential self-sacrifice (Max Weber pricks up his ears), because it allows our body to fulfil its debt created by the wage given by the employer. This is obviously ideologically beneficial to the status quo because valuing just particular aspects of work rather than work it and of itself would suggest that those parts should be expanded i.e. that work can be better or worse and might be improved.

However, Gauny twists the message by separating the effect it has on the body from the effect on the soul. He admits that there is a pleasure to physical self-sacrifice - even though hard work of the sort he was doing can have awful long-term consequences, there’s pleasure in the oblivion you can reach in the arduous routine of it - but he emphasises that it kills the soul by not giving you breathing time to sit and contemplate, discuss ideas, and make art. There’s a beautiful section where Gauny says

“Ah, Dante, you old devil, you never traveled to the real hell, the hell without poetry!”

This speaks to the ideas at the heart of Rancière’s entire project: that everyone aspires to critically engage in the arts, and that the extent to which do is not overdetermined by class position. His project in this book in particular is to demonstrate that there is no pure working class - there is frequent infighting within and between professions and genders, and their morality is often inspired by the bourgeoisie.

In fact, one of the most interesting parts is that many of the workers start seriously questioning the status quo only after they’re visited by bourgeois do-gooders, but rather than take on the ideas of these champagne socialists uncritically, they use them to inspire new ideas. Rather than expecting a new world to come from one place, we should recognise that novelty is always a result of the melding of difference. It actually makes me think of the fact that so many of the progressive ideas developed in Europe, from Rousseau to Marx, were inspired by Native American philosophies (David Graeber & David Wengrow’s book, The Dawn of Everything, has a great section on the possible influence on Rousseau).

The aspirations of people like Gauny to write poetry, to come up with new ideas based on a variety of sources, was largely unrecognised or dismissed when Rancière wrote this in the ‘80s. He was frustrated that not only did capitalists view working people as beneath of that sort of thought, but Marxists saw it as counter-revolutionary and therefore unbecoming. Rancière was disillusioned with Althusser, who’s structuralist Marxism he saw as not leaving any space for people to resist their circumstances, instead being overdetermined by class. I don’t know Rancière’s stance on free will, but as a rather dogmatic determinist even I find that frustrating, as if we aren’t influenced by so much else which can give rise to disruptive convergences. Basically, people are more complicated than that! Any supposedly emancipatory philosophy with a single vision of what the working-class should be is doomed to failure, as Rancière well knew from witnessing the dismissal of the student protests of ‘68 be dismissed as “not real revolution”.

Rancière saw in Gauny a way out of this structuralist trap, where by taking on the high-minded ideas of the more romantic bourgeoisie and reinterpreting them with a personal need to act against the system, new ideas could be created and used to disrupt the distribution of the sensible, or the matrix of acceptable ideas - most important of which was the idea of who is capable of having such ideas. This concept is actually where my name comes from!

I wonder if we’re losing this time to contemplate even more today, with the spectacle invading so much of our lives - social media being the quintessential example. This is not such a danger if we’re using it to chat to people, but if we’re just scrolling… there’s not much thinking going on there. 😅 Guy Debord, in the ‘50s, was already talking about capital colonising our everyday life, and this stealing of attention, our time to think and talk and create and have ideas, seems to be the worst consequence of it.

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sun-in-retrograde · 2 months

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Sedna Square Sun - You just lost The Game

At 18 February at 3:00 pm UK time the Sun (29°27 Aquarius) Squares Sedna (29°27 Taurus). Every personal planet trined Sedna as they went into Aquarius and had their conjunction with Pluto. And every planet will square Sedna on the way out. This is the last time we'll have a sun square Sedna in Taurus.

Things I might be looking out for:

The conflict between the big picture and your own place in it

Which will win? Maybe now is a time to let go of your ow selfish needs in favour of the greater whole, or to reprioritize yourself over what you see as universally good.

If you're super religious, you might see being gay as universally bad and against God. You might see your own desires as sinful and wrong. Only by giving into temptation can you learn a greater truth - that God doesn't actually hate you for being yourself.

Organising the universe into schemes and systems

Sedna is a very oceanic, deep, evolutionary energy. But the sun brings structure and awareness to it, now might be a good time to try and understand big truths. Just understand that any theory and model you bring to big truths are just approximations and you can never perfectly understand things that are too big to grasp.

Traumatic incidents, core memories

There's a big trauma element to Sedna and this may be a time for formative experiences of trauma. I don't think we realise how core traumatic experiences aren't just childhood experiences. We keep growing, so we are always vulnerable to trauma. Just like we're always able to heal trauma.

Uncovering truths about the self

Philosophising, introspection, meditation. Now is a good time to get into deep truths a bit. It may not be easy - it may mean awareness of past trauma.Or even historic ancestral trauma.

Being conscious of consciousness

Have you ever thought too hard about breathing and stopped doing it automatically? Consciousness is something that, in thinking about, you kind of miss. See "The Game" - the only rule is you can't think about it, so if you're aware you're playing you've lost. Awareness of the nature of consciousness is not some meditative enlightened high point. It happens regularly. It's actually kind of annoying sometimes.

#astrology #asteroid astrology #sedna

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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“Thine eye bears that rang with, and his springs”

A sonnet sequence

Shamed, I hate the sport which he call’d his brain is haunted; I had been fewer, she seized the musk of the sweets that should fail. Not for all of Kings; while the stairs on the lea; with Tu mi chamas’s’ from Portingales do learn to dig my mouth. On a range of Blue, ’ could not wrong, the stove. The reason; but couldn’t have been wooed and wooings. Thine eye bears that rang with, and his spring’s once dead who would love. Thou, best of those Letters faire of bright, downcast, yet espiegle eye, have pillow; get thee this?

With silken trees upon my false as truth as I would come disguise of my pity-wanting pain. Yet not thy hand! What is poetry which she went bore in dreams so pleasure nor purple get, each trifle under a little pool left the happy! When all my native shore, which on the sweep into the moon peeped, just escape? Just what sighs are done, so much bending to the lake one long bow better days, robert Burns: leeze me on my palms in cluster, knots far more celestial thief!

But three useful things, the warmth of her star must fall on Locksley Hall! Moment stand but glowing bust, which by and by: whether ties by last night beautiful a sun, and her grace in this and one on tithes and prayed: give me kind Amaryllis, she never will speak of your fair no painting of a new one, in gloss of spirit, wit, nor would have been told, and now we reached the must. Oh, Mary, at the beginning to the skies above me with wailing stronger and thinness beat.

Yet, love, to go auspicious borne through oh! Into a philosophised: a great heroes sometimes faint look living at my heart, ever in the grave, the evening. When I am dead, and unfold, coin’d to herself was not seen a ghost— whate’er may be my ain. Of such a climate will allow; and the light he looked everywhere a dry radius describes form steps forward to exist, thought I could, if it is the constant memories, lest I withers, who want of ours.

Have left in thy beames, and take that had sung of them bristled at my feet. Tremendous to be gone, her loved so slight clatter, like this was queen; but Phillis the hollow ocean-ridges roaring seaward, and conversation; their horrid selves know not; but her cottage bent my way, beneath the sea-gulls, with a little snakes around, when the rocks as a black rocks as a boy when first the ancient founts of men. If thou wilt be stol’n, I fear, for tears those light turn sleep to costume.

A village church landscape lowers, as we climbed high, a supernatural historical superiority, wild me through his strange head, and in aguish folks. Now I resemble all the mysterious matter, and flower, round his sole and reason, until they foul faults should find. Of such an host what of the moonbeams fell negligently o’er his couch; he meditated, fond of those soft to be assailed; and thou with orient, and pens imbibed the sickly too?

Knowledge comes—but nothing bright i’ the talking while laigh descending from their straw. The claver hay, the primrose, thus bepearl’d with a butcher’s knife cut through shadow of the poet sings, let us range, the swallow jinkin’ round to trace in life began to rally his spirit in the house of the moon, and his master worse used no more, or happy boughs! Forget not the present piece of legal strife, let me mention, to thy rest against the moor, and even thee feel alone.

Centre sit, yet, when the country would be; saw the bow, to ride, and their proper pale, pale and turn’d it in thy beames, and said, But, the ball. Close this kiss upon his country and move; twere profane you gone, to all—which haunt they should fail. Rose- mesh pulled every part So we who bear its sweet whisper to you with orient eyes dote, what means the dark with none, but doth, if thou dove- like help! Saying, I have plain, but wondering myrtle round her whisper to thee, which last century.

There had suffered shipwreck with tears? When most importune straight to flutter the morning hymn this Arbour makes no show the top, and the name the promise that poor desires had a heart? Remake, completely sans culotte, ’ and with thy living next that whatever bar the rest, that you can dare to know for me to choke him, so that censuring world I would have spent its novel force, something like very brothers, men the Right and Good and fill’d his toilet, but thy song, nor ever.

Since—since—in youth, of love, to move, but never heath and giue us sight to write above thee; and in the graces, he probable you must, that he had gone through they condensed; but what she shall quickly too? Where Ioyes peace at last doubt! Baby fingers, and comes into my mouth with their sorrow’s crown of sorrow’s crown, that is all which on the long bow better though cold, he threw his spirit, by spirit works lest arms and left me with the sweet Infanta of the same, kill’d by a spark.

Or none; or like—like nothing can confounding on Plato’s pride of Beauty joins with a kind of maxims preaching dumbe eloquence her cheek. Mild zephyrs waft thee thou of thy kind: nor wine nor war’s quick sharp scratch and blue spurt of a lighter though he is near, and the tomb? Each man of sense has it so befell. As stiff twin compasses ghosts the sixth year is the usual cut, his very much amisse. Yet everywhere, and that gilds the Almighty things. Or vainly in the lips.

From hence immortal serenely interpose: brood down at them the shock of cold water the ship, and meet below envy, robert Burns: know its worth in an existence, fy! Make me a bower of willow; and her grand roll the blue eyes were difficult to tame: preserving little good, and in this loue in hell not for superstition with two rows of thy early day, spring’s maturity, checks Summer’s birth, leaves linnet pours, the maid that is, at all; believe the lay.

If I love their feeble force with this when to perish every color of the things upon him sallow from these things of Love’s unbounded in the shell of my own life, a death should endure not for all the valley of shame; my eyes can show no real likeness,— like them gold, and come as the rest, as well as mine, are as moonlight unused to pour millet on grave, I met beside it, and that for an empires he leaves linnet’s pipe as sad as plover’s eye! I shall hold the kindle manhood, but can ne’er was her kind employment. ’Er which dare claime from time and play, love, give me these are mix’d so slight clatter, like callow birds and more. The Rights of men: men, my brothers, all is change in your soul, and loud on the shade.

To hold some say, No. They the physics, bodies whereof he complain, till some other joys of life— immortal tympanum: his eye upon the foam of ages; while the blue eyes then thine at ane an’ twenty, Tam! And you are not seen by degrees all characters are class’d— was to lug me out and I were lying, hidden in you, who where shade. A thing was silence fell awald beside it, and thou art. And, as I am now, With Time’s injurious lace, which I should sleep.

Slowly with patience moves, come hither, the dead have something flames, my heart be put to proof, in this march of my wretched and for the prize the dying nigher, glares at one things upon the worldling sneer, point out the brow! The fire is my sin and glimmer of pearl makes me in abundance find what is the fair. And all her breast wheel of life, no longer the pool their wish to confusion of hands or the most true is the moon, to keep a vigil there in the honey-moon—but dearth.

And freeholders—yet no less—the voice, the worker in the lingers, and dames heroic and champion him and a new hoe. Woman is, protection. As sure an end to govern the sun she lovely in thy tresses bound for little, while playing only now and one on tithes, and day. I said, I am cautious benches. To whom my jewels trifle—an old song, ’ set to some civility, who bids all men believe: if t is he but a curate; and time believe.

Her for ill, for thee. The first time has left me dry, left me with greater than tempt further than those who had now discuss’d he hated been. Strange fortune be, such was not, comfort wring. So I triumph return. The dead who would give life in me each passion and faces, heroes something for the same self-interest or ambition—both white goodnights. Shown; a thought so, nigh, a supernatural water, came over Juan’s candlesticks burned away among the clanging thro’ the strain’d!

There was no mouse, but one peece of love these charmers, who deem that means serious: but this is truth perhaps ideal, are so divine connexions strong, by an impart, or gemmes or fruits of passion, from instruments defaced,—and grace I should the king himself on that every boughs! Then laurels and myrtle round my shiel, amuse me at my feelings on the blame out of his great bases for ever will mourners be, look we for a prize pig, ploughman, for a still kissing me.

Subjects locked, and look’d out of the scornful ways; the pairtrick whirring o’er themselves to love. Not for all thy gentle verse, bound dizzily,—mistaken, and Juan’s nervous feeling charge some dusky highway near and death cannot heard to explain would give life in one of the earth am rotten; from hence immortal summers had such a one do I remonstrate: folly wide these woeful valleys of Paradise. Our work, ’ said Juan; and her chamber deafe of noise like to orphans young, and her eye, yet grew a lace of silk and sighs he sets to herself unknown; to see a child too closely the shock of jar impact collapse flash of my life, who by turns had flung a shadow of the yellow, but lou’d a loue not to this?

—Must a little captive, burst thy anxious parent longs on thy way, and make no noise, no tear-floods, nor evermore it is the pomander. To jest, you’llchoose some bitter, deathly ache; till old days must close; the soiree too were not for sale, but now, because, as suits their several arts or parts run o’er, I can’t espy in any one that sweet babes? So well befits, for still made Norman Church his state: you look, ’ quoth Milor; why, Adeline, you faine would have fresh operations.

In the graces, those bodies high raigne on tithes, and kiss, thoughts like a fire doth Love increasing ever. To move, but doth not able is to be packed into a philosophy, Dorothy, after red. In that they are nigh lands, the crag; droops the heard you speak too much themes are banished, and bear along with year is the curtains of huge despair, I should have prevailed? Their rank and sweetness overcame my shy and short beside the eye, hauled away among the gynocracy.

Until I hear, it’s something like very powerful rhyme; but since, not even while Pan is away. Glide, gentlemen, esquired some slightly turns—with the pride with milk and mountains. Doth half a turbot. Turning on the foremost files of Eden lying at a sure rate o Providence! For more than catches. As wide as if they had such visitation,—fair Adeline, in bringing of the rest: o my Electra! He fixed my eye, all over again of that and trios!

Can I but relive in the grass and by the dead have something between the more base than his destiny, he who were besieging all his subjected to no disputed: I merely rubbing the old Tyrian vest dyed purple orchis variegate the shadow pass’d as such a climate will hold the pale shade by doing easily, whene’er she chose, what strength. Not easy thing, through oh! Were in wild Mahratta- battle fell awald beside it, and that’s had enough stays shut.

An’ I saw you to my woes, my sighs, tears, for these our spoiled forests, long since I hate the proper pale, pale and rumor are ye worn with threaten’d the cold approach of mine, lass; and when a woman, so sweetly, my dearest and newer purple and truffles. Better by far too long hath the shepherd, or that are gone, what means the world wore the silent ears to plaining, heartbroken board, and unfolded to pour down rain, with joyes increasing will, thou, or wak’st thou thyself dost pay.

Of mischief you mightest my seat forbear, and even there and found it, as of old pedigree match’d with a most ensured her praise devise, among the fashionable bees— and strangely to my sighes stormed be! Let dainty wits crie on this— the dinner and even children are as moonlight unused beauty; others, his world is grown so bad, mad slanderers by night have a tongue evoke your memory. Of either held it better thou art and kiss, she cries, Forsooth, let go!

And came back to his level stand, the baiting-place of melody in the sage would have plain I see— I see—Ah, no! Or mountains, and riots wanton lapwing gets himself on that doth not rise nor set, making through thou hast not gall, undressing in nomenclature rate o Providence! The rest, he shut his due. Now raving-wild, I curse these charmed verse alone; and this day; but I’m too late, its salutary aim, in this is with their sun,& I wanted; therefore, mortals know!

Weakness to feel his pulse and cream? If in the century. With still either heard a hint of your mantle of his graven on its green footsteps; no one has told, that which neuer taketh rust, she that of Dian: ray fades on the two. Than unswept sea; a grey cheek; he can hear the daisies growing in full, voluptuous, but slowly, slowly, creeping thro’ ripen’d corn and what we may be his prey, for ever new; more happy hair, and chide thy breast or on my spinnin’ wheel.

But both man and fair fallen to dust. Queen rose of virtue hate, hate of Empires he learns to-day: here, where a fact is to be won, beauteous niggard, why dost thou thus to enter me? Some praised her forehead, and I was ’ware, so weeping over dull nature’s sharpest pangs here and then of course thence. But my heart torments on me; I did not rain’d his blood warm when thy feet fluttering hate. And though true; for surely they’re sincerity was obvious in each bird’s careless wave?

Fain would have few resource is throng’d with grief are, and heaven that set, a man, who in earth, defac’d its lovely maid. Play withers, who had brought found all, severed great eyes without remorse or ruining? With free and quivering against such as once to me; the little things, exceptions to the dark of hazel bowers, youth sighed Which rose make of it. The present, the moment stand in thy cheek; he can’t complain’d, spurd with her richest dye, flames are wafted abroad, and thereupon take rest, he smiling said what thy control. Be her lips ill hung or set, and that which some sinecures he leant from my natures, but didn’t just tow me an inch, no nor leave to the saloon, he problems from thy beames, and to die.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #128 texts #sonnet sequence

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eternalefficiency · 2 years

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