docked awe

c. 1300, “Church father,” from Old French doctour, from Medieval Latin doctor “religious teacher, adviser, scholar,” in classical Latin “teacher,” agent noun from docere “to show, teach, cause to know,” originally “make to appear right,” causative of decere “be seemly, fitting,” from PIE root *dek– “to take, accept.”

“doctor | Origin and meaning of doctor by Online Etymology Dictionary,” Online Etymology Dictionary, accessed 9th May 2018,

sending under

awaiting renewal
the (text) bodies
lie before despatch
They promise nothing
as snow-filled ditches
winter-browned fields
words drift                              [word drifts]
away                                                [word rifts]
from this                                                [words rift]
awkward (st)art


Brave Cynics Favour Univocity

Hollow nameless day. Trapped and suffocated the writing suffers. It is almost dead today—but how to give it breath? The writing cannot be stepped outside of, the only way is to go deeper and see what can be invented from those darkest soils. But the breath becomes ever more laboured and there is no light. There was light but the brilliance has gone, it was another false lead; brilliance as will-o’-the wisp. It was a brightness that drew the writer in the first place. Fool’s gold that fed a greed (a need?).

These words seem the same as last week and the week before. The feet offer no metre. A misunderstanding. Are the words being dug for, mined? Or are the words doing the digging? Maybe it is a trap. The mined words need to mine more words and so become tools in the process. Or does that agglomeration of words need going back through to find what is most useful. Is that where the inventing takes place? In the choices of that selection process? In the slag heaps there are things of great value but it is not enough to just see them for they must be worked further…stop…

…Oh, weary writing! The words go round in circles, not getting anywhere (nor anything). Flattering (or fluttering) to deceive. The words are tired, tired from the writing fighting on multiple fronts. For instance, the ‘I’s are relentlessly crashing at the doors…it is becoming deafening at times. How can they be kept back…how can their appeals be ignored? Multiple fronts? Doors? Does this not suggest some sort of boundary; an inside and an outside? But the words are worked from within (or should that be of). Is the problem that this word working is being viewed as a hand-made process? Is the problem that the process is viewed at all? By viewing the process it is moved into an external space where it can be observed and worked upon. Something like a scientist’s glovebox is a useful image here, wherein the worked words are contained in a sealed unit into which the worker reaches with gloved hands. The word-hand interaction is devoid of almost all sensuosity.

The images keep imposing themselves, it is they that create the boundary.If only this image-making could be short-circuited…circumnavigated. This eye-dependence brings the ‘I’ with it and creates a state of detachedness or aloofness. This tail (tale?) eating is confusing. Is the writing the analyst or the analysand? But therein is the problem. It is in the stating it in these fixed terms: analyst/analysand might as well be here/there, I/other and so on. The imposing of these poles strangles things, snuffing the life out of them, trapping any breath that was there. The cherry on the top is the art object which seals up the artist/art object/viewer dynamic. The artwork must become verbal, and the analyst too. The analyst and analysis should be loosened off its moorings and set free not to discover new worlds but to invent of them.

The dark soils lighten slightly. A horizon of lighter deposits glistens dimly but the hours of daylight at this point in the year are limited and the light will soon fade. This will not be a dark sheet placed over all but instead it is a creeping darkness that is inhaled and finds each and every (fractal) corner.

A return to Nottingham please

I was in Nottingham twice last week.

Train rides through ecotones of urban, ruderal, rural, industrial, post-industrial and pre-post-industrial landscapes or, as I like to call them, landscapes.

Nottingham_rockOn Tuesday I was at Nottingham Contemporary for a talk by Isabelle Stengers. The talk consisted of a conversation between Stengers and critical geographer Sarah Whatmore followed by a fairly lengthy Q&A session by the end of which Stengers was clearly flagging. Current reading in CFAR’s Radical Matter sessions has centred on Michel Foucault’s Society Must Be Defended and there was much from the evening with Stengers that chimed with the writings of Foucault. And with Guattari’s Three Ecologies which I have also read a couple of times recently.

Much of this is about how we have had thought taken from us (in some cases wittingly in others not so) and had this replaced by law – perhaps juridical law but especially Scientistic law. The latter form is held in sacred reverence by our great masters at Westminster. With this removal of thought we have the subjugation of knowledge and associated homogenization of our lives and those of all around us (animals, plants, mountains, wind, fizzy pop bottles, buried treasure…so much buried treasure). Stengers urges us to ‘pay attention’ in order reclaim our capacity for thought. Urges us individually to pay attention, not the Scientists (note the capital ‘S’ for Stengers isn’t anti-science as many would like to believe but rather pro- ‘scientific achievements’ – see here for more on this).

Stengers calls for a slowing down, a removal of this obsession with ‘progress’. A hesitation. A stutter. A discussion of things in front of (with) those who may be(come) victims. The idea of reclaiming is used a lot by Stengers. It’s a strong idea in that it suggests that these knowledges which have been buried may be taken back and put to good use.

Thursday saw me back at Nottingham Contemporary for a look around the Rights of Nature: art and ecology in the Americas exhibition and the associated study session on Guattari’s Three Ecologies. I think I am tiring of contemporary gallery art and I found the exhibition in the main rather uninspiring. Rather lazily some simply jarred with my visual aesthetic. Some I thought poorly rendered. Some I found impenetrable – I know this isn’t an easy subject but… There were a couple of works that somehow, albeit slightly, hooked me.

The Otolith Group‘s ‘film essay’ had a meditative quality as it combined filmed footage and spoken word. It reminded me a little of some of Brian Eno’s recent projects where he has combined music and spoken word/poetry. The filming was thoughtful and the ‘score’ eased in and out of my awareness offering poetic couplings and insights into local lore in Southern California. The work really required more time than I had and I as victim of progress and fast-paced living had to move on. There was also something in the work of the Center for Land Use Interpretation‘s work. But it is also easy to lose their meaning in the camouflage of their movement.

From the gallery it was down to ‘The Studio’ for the study session on Guattari’s essay. I’m not sure what I had hoped for from this but I came away rather dispirited as things seemed to get stuck in a looping discussion on evolution, economics, capitalism and Marxism. The perceived lack of guidance in Guattari’s writing was seen by some as a major stumbling block as they asked ‘If it is a manifesto why doesn’t it tell us what to do?’. Tutorial with Isabelle Stengers required I think. For me the text calls for an utterly radical (that’s like the football manager’s 110%) re-thinking of how we as humans interact between ourselves and with the more-than-human world. This is going to require some tough decisions and when the only obvious approach seems to be off-grid living it feels like an immediate pass is given to those worshippers of Progress to take over just a little bit more of the world/universe/… . As I said dispiriting.