some small updates re: my body

(some small updates re: my body)

To speak to the contingency of the I which effaces the autonomy of the I it might be worthwhile to take a lead from James Curry IV (I hope his arm gets better, arms seem to hold a lot together) and give some small updates re: my body. Blasphemous of course to the antinomian mission, but blasphemy is always faithful and to speak of a radical embodiment is to dissolve the body in favor of a certain contingency. To speak of bodies is always to speak of borders of our existence and thus is a political act. I am a leaky body, my borders porous. I would love to entirely abolish the borders but then everything would spill out. My Shoulder/Spine: is getting worse it seems. Last week I started to have a feeling of a body electric, a tingling all over my body. Perhaps a premonition or a portent of some sort of divine revelation, more likely nerve impingement in my neck. This is my fault. I am undisciplined and don't do the exercises I should be doing and anyways, my job requires my body to be contorted to fit the frame of the bike which means that my muscles remember this contortion. Talk about bodily hexis. The good thing is that I think having pains in the body is a good reminder that you are vulnerable which is the grounds for empathy which destroys borders and establishes the possibility of being in common with others. Moments of silence are little performances of attendance to those signals which call attention, to pain of the self and noise of the other. I like silence, its attending space. Perhaps I should talk less. Good news is that my shoulder hasn't dislocated in over a month now, which is sort of a record. My Brain: is tired and awash in ideas about time and light and grief and memory and ritual. The line between the mystic and the conspiracy theorist grows more thin, and the onslaught of connections seems like a thrilling thing to create space for but I fear what unleashing such torrents might do, what the repercussions are. I am sleepy because I have been prioritizing thought over sleep, a really bad practice. Someone at work told me that Sleeping is like flossing and then I was thinking about how I have never flossed so it might be an apt metaphor for the moment. Did I mention that I love my job? I want a list of all similar jobs, jobs where the vast majority of time you have to yourself interspersed with several relatively mundane tasks. So much reading, writing, tweeting. My body-as-a-whole: seems healthy despite the rigors. I have been eating sporadically, 2-3 meals a day but perhaps less calories. I heard that caloric restriction is both a mystical technique and may improve one's ability to age, so theres that too, though for me its about a certain laziness rather than any discipline. Curious to learn more about such practices of eating aimed at altering cognition and consciousness, maybe only eat 1 meal a day and snack? Subsist of a constant titration of nutrients? So many possibilities. The-Body-Beyond-My-Body: Air dirty, thick with car exhaust. All ecosystems in terminal decline. Life out of balance. Sense of pretty profound on going emergency. Benjamin suggests not to look forward but to look back: hatred more effective than hope. I agree. Really getting over this whole hope/future kick that characterizes modernity. The-Body-Of-The-Commune: always there, but right now seemingly abstract. Perhaps in Chiapas and Rojava, in the shared fridge at my house and in the moment of someone giving someone a free swipe, subverting the individuating fare of the MTA's logistical machine.  

 

 

Scraping the ensnared feeds, putting the content into an autonomous feed: 

The type of thoughtlessness that Hannah Arendt accused Eichmann of overseeing when he organized the mass deportation of Jews is the same type of thoughtlessness we see today in the logics which seek to detain and deport migrants. If Jews learned anything from the 20th century, it was to resist this sort of xenophobia. Now more than ever, it is important to say Never again and welcome the stranger into our midst because we too remember being (and still are) strangers in a strange land

In response to an article entitled: Scientists finally support that we are all born as blank slates and   gender is merely a construct: 

Interestingly, the notion of the blank slate comes from a translation of Aristotle. But in his time they didn't have slates but wax tablets which you engraved rather than wrote upon. Writing was conceived of subtractive. In this light we can see the way in which we become legible as male or female as the result of a subtractive process that destroys the sort of boundless possibility of the wax tablet.

 

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