faking the real: postures in palestine

A modern aesthetic rebellion against bourgeois existence. Its an ambiguous rhetoric, an in-between, between aesthetic and political radicalism that never commits to either; like the British promising the same dunams of land to jew and arab. As protest, it is often faking the real, especially when articulated by “committed” artists; the emobodies paradox of being conscious of their lyric and melody andbeing caught up in the heat, the passion of confrontation with the other, a welcome respite from self where one can slip from aesthetic posturing to political gesture.

The Separation Wall itself, and its reluctance to submit to demise, acts as a monolithic identity; the natural foil of the poet, serving as pretext for him or her to open up new creative possibilities with this affective otherness, escaping from semantic demands of what they see as the ego of the Old Testament, the vibrancy and immediacy of this god, anathema to the atheist, yet intrinsic to their own identity; to deny the existence y’know, with the one that created the world, that one; and it allows the other, this other to be felt, to break into the psychic frozenness, not as some vague discursive effect, but like a sharp knife that jabs the ego’s emotional defenses, exposing its own triviality and inherent inability to blandly know anything more than empty shop talk.

The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in what he wrote
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they don’t. ( Pessoa )

Soren Keikegaard:  “art is missing home, even when we are at home. in order to do so, one must be an expert in delusions.”

—K. could become innocent by acquiring the lacking concepts. Then, actual acquittal would be just despite his guilt when arrested. His trial tests whether he is likely to experience intrinsically correct emotions. Guilt would be objective, independent of any finding by the Court. K.’s guilt entails his lacking any such concept of absolute guilt. He is convinced that guilt depends entirely on the Court, is altogether a matter of authority. This is K.’s delusion concerning his relation to the Court and the Law, the delusion illustrated by the legend, “Before the Law.”—Read More:http://lamar.colostate.edu/~rwjordan/W-AcqIn.HTML image: Jewish Voices for Peace

Maybe its just an anguish that results in an ecstatic song, which when distilled is an empty rhetoric; stuffy warm air as an egoistic defense. An “a-ha” moment of the supreme pleasure when one discovers and realizes the non-existent as Oscar Wilde pronounced on the phenomenon of fractured identities, fragmented pieces of philosophical and aesthetic ideas that allow the subject to feel himself, to experience the kind of affective self identity and to engage in a little role playing, tampering with multiple singularity; after all being a poet means being more than one person in a basic, significant and fundamental tissue  the individual’s ego and identity, the poetic voice would need heavy sedation to be reduced to the governance of the ego. Put it down to irrational aesthetics of post-post modernism…

—In an interview with the Associated Press, Simmons blasted rock’n’rollers like Elvis Costello, the Pixies and Roger Waters, who are boycotting the Jewish state because of its West Bank settlement policies and its use of closures to pressure the Gaza Strip in its conflict with its Hamas rulers.
Fresh Ink For Teens
He said they were “fools” for boycotting the region’s only democracy.
“The countries they should be boycotting are the same countries that the populations are rebelling,” he said.—Read More:http://www.thejewishweek.com/news/israel/kiss_gene_simmons_israel_boycotters_are_fools


( see link at end) …faith is sus­tained by absur­dity, and this is why we cling to poetry with such despair. this is the obser­va­tion that mat­ters most in all of poetry: is there poetry after words? is poetry only about words relat­ing to other words, image relat­ing to image? or in other words, is there such thing as a poetic life? we give words too much credit and poets know that. many tell us it is bet­ter to abide in silence and then duti­fully pro­ceed to write copi­ous vol­umes to explain it’s virtues. it seems silence inspires the most words. the poetic life is not just a life of writ­ing poetry. we live poetry by the way we live, and some of us also like to write about it. i enjoy that too. but art is not just arti­facts. the poetic life is a social project, it is what mar­tin buber called the “dia­log­i­cal life.” poetry is in the between of an i and a thou.Read More:http://tiferetjournal.com/2012/06/11/teachings-dialogue-2/

Louise Bougeois. Torture Machine. 1975—The apparatus, Agambensuggests, “is primarily a machine of justice and punishment. This means that on earth and for men, language is also such an instrument.”Agamben discusses the horrific ending to Kafka’s story, in which the officer straps himself into the machine and attempts to have it inscribe the sentence “Be Just” into his own flesh. The attempt to have the machine inscribe this particular sentence, however, produces a result quite unlike the calculated penal procedure the officer had previously described: once the officer is strapped into the machine, it begins to malfunction; cogs and wheels spit out at random; the harrow doesn’t write but merely jabs violently into his body again and again. …The machine was obviously going to pieces;” the explorer realises “its silent working was a delusion.”While the officer had desired a form of redemption that would come from understanding the meaning of the sentence as it was inscribed into his body, what was produced was not redemption but, in the explorer’s words, “plain murder.”In Agamben’s view,the enlightenment the machine produced was a product of its revelation of the meaning of language, which is contained in language only as punishment.—Read More:http://uws.academia.edu/JessicaWhyte/Papers/295085/Its_Silent_Working_Was_a_Delusion image:http://dailyserving.com/


And the poets down here
Don’t write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night
They reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded
Not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland …( Springsteen)

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