Hard Up

Humanity I love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink.

-e.e. cummings

Causality

Its days like this that make me want to scream.
Scream so loud that I cry blood.
Sitting thru the 9 to 5 drill.
Falling
Naked
Zombie
Drool
Blistering, backwards, bludgeoned day
I’m not about to go home today.

I’m causality in my 9 to 5.

I’m fighting to keep sane.
I’m wishing we would have some rain.
I’m trying not to listen to the news.
It’s all a bunch of lies that buzz around my brain like big fat deer flies.

I’m a causality in my 9 to 5.

Humanity can’t take it anymore.

They run through the streets and hit strangers with bats.
Right on the back of the skull.
Splitting them open all over the fuckin floor.

I heard that today.
On the news.

I’m causality in my 9 to 5.

I’m not so different from you.

I like to drink, curse and screw.

The problem is.

You think you’re so different.

"question and answer"

 he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
 night, running the blade of the knife
 under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
 of all the letters he had received
 telling him that
 the way he lived and wrote about
 that--
 it had kept them going when
 all seemed
 truly
 hopeless.

 putting the blade on the table, he
 flicked it with a finger
 and it whirled
 in a flashing circle
 under the light.

 who the hell is going to save                                
 me? he
 thought.

 as the knife stopped spinning
 the answer came:
 you're going to have to
 save yourself.

 still smiling,
 a: he lit a
 cigarette
 b: he poured
 another
 drink
 c: gave the blade
 another
 spin.

--from The Last Night of the Earth Poems

-Bukowski

Like an Animal

“Don't allow your animal nature to rule your reason.”

-RUMI

In the White

Minor White (1908-76) was one of the greatest American photographers of the period after the Second World War as well as one of the greatest teachers of the medium. One of the best-known names in photography until the end of the 1970s, his life and work has since then virtually dropped out of photographic discourse. Probably for many younger photographers his name means little or nothing.

White was a deeply religious man whose whole life was a spiritual journey. His photography arose out of this and was an inherent part of this pilgrimage. It isn't an approach that has been fashionable in academic circles in recent years.

His legacy to photography has been an important one, but not without its negative aspects, which in recent years have perhaps been encouraged to obscure his great achievements. It is unfair to tar him with the brush of those lesser talents who followed some of the more superficial aspects of his teaching while failing to follow its main thrust, the need to find yourself.

White was a truly great teacher, but one who tended to overpower his students, turning out too many who mimicked his methods but with little real understanding or talent. There are plenty still around, taking out their view cameras as he did and justifying their technically perfect but spiritually empty landscapes and still life with the doctrine of self-expression.

As well as his photography and teaching, White's other vital legacy to photography is the magazine 'Aperture', which has done more than any other publication to improve the quality of photographic publishing in the last 50 years. It was founded by White, together with others including Nancy and Beaumont Newhall, Dorothea Lange, Barbara Morgan and Dody Warren in 1952, and White continued to edit it until 1975.

Aperture is still going strong (since 1963 it has been published by the non-profit corporation, Aperture, Inc) and remains the finest photographic magazine in publication. I've been a subscriber to this quarterly for many years and it now occupies several feet of shelve space in my front room. It isn't the sort of magazine that you read and then throw away, and many issues of the magazine have also appeared as books. Aperture is now the leading photographic book publisher and also publishes some fine limited editions of photographs and photogravures.

Later, in 1978, Aperture published 'Rites & Passages' in which White's pictures are accompanied by a lengthy biographical sketch by James Baker Hall, including lengthy excerpts from White's own writing. As a view of his pictures it was disappointing only when compared to 'Mirrors Messages Manifestations', since it contains much of his best work. Hall's text and the chronology included are the major source for most of the biographical information in this feature. Another fine book on White is 'Minor White: The Eye That Shapes' by Peter C Bunnell, published in 1989.

Descriptions abound of White's unconventional teaching methods, which alienated many of the students. There were some who felt they had come to learn photography and were upset to find they were expected to spend long times in relaxation exercises and meditation. Some assignments would involve activities such as simply standing on a street corner, watching. For most his methods were hard to take at first, but he was an imposing figure, very tall with striking and appropriately white hair that made, a prophet or guru. Those who stayed long enough usually came to admire him, and to take his ideas seriously.

For those who survived the initial shock of his methods, one of the major parts of his method were the field trips where he and the students would go out to photograph together. There was much to be learnt watching the way he worked with his 4x5" Sinar view camera in the field and it was also greatly instructive to see later how the prints they produced compared to his taken in the same place.

Workshops would involve pre-dawn body practice in the fields, vegetarian food, and camera projects such as 'What is your original face?' He aimed to make students aware of what they really felt about the pictures and their lives, asking them to question themselves and probing their responses.

It was a teaching method that was at odds with the normal methods of schools and also with the inhibitions of his mainly male students who were used to hiding their feelings even from themselves. Even many of those who came to benefit greatly from them often had a great deal of initial inhibition to overcome. For many it was a dramatic turning point in their lives; one militant atheist went on to found a Zen monastery.

A very receptive state of mind... not unlike a sheet of film itself - seemingly inert, yet so sensitive that a fraction of a second's exposure conceives a life in it.

-MINOR WHITE

essay by Peter Marshell

Nick Cave

Taken at Slim's San Francisco 7/07 at the Grinderman show.

An artist's duty is rather to stay open-minded and in a state where he can receive information and inspiration. You always have to be ready for that little artistic Epiphany.”

-Nick Cave

Wasted History

“We have wasted History like a bunch of drunks shooting dice back in the men's crapper of the local bar”

The Reinactors

A new documentary feature by David J. Markey and edited by me, "The Reinactors" interweaves the disparate lives of street performers and celebrity look-a-likes on Hollywood boulevard over the span of a year. Shot cinéma vérité style with no narration, the story unfolds through the day-to-day lives and back-stories of the oft rough-hewn street characters. These self employed individuals dress as Hollywood film icons and forge a living one dollar at a time, posing for photos with tourists in front of Graumen's Chinese Theater. Some see themselves as undiscovered stars, others are just struggling to make ends meet. Most are striving to keep themselves this side of the law. These characters have dreams that seemingly intersect on the corner of the boulevard of broken dreams, and the highway to hell. Darkly hilarious, twisted, and surprisingly moving, the film has a Robert Altman-sized cast of characters right off of the silver screen. Their lives are literally right out of the movies and threaten to eclipse the wide array of Hollywood characters they portray. The Reinactors plays somewhere between Martin Bell's "Streetwise" a sublime 1980's document of street kids in Seattle, and the brilliant improvised absurdity of Christopher Guest's mockmumentary "Waiting For Guffman". Director David Markey says, "'The Reinactors' is like a great-depression era Hollywood classic retold for the new millennium... Would be stars arriving from far away places with all their dreams packed in a nap-sack. It's also a film about the cut throat nature backstage and behind the scenes of show business. A pop culture implosion, a profound statement on where we are at culturally at the moment. An "American Idol" on crack, if you will."




The Reinactors trailer

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Dahr Jamail's MidEast Dispatches

"Independent News From the MidEast"

"In late 2003, Weary of the overall failure of the US media to accurately report on the realities of the war in Iraq for the Iraqi people and US soldiers, Dahr Jamail went to Iraq to report on the war himself.

His dispatches were quickly recognized as an important media resource. He is now writing for the Inter Press Service, The Asia Times and many other outlets. His reports have also been published with The Nation, The Sunday Herald, Islam Online, the Guardian, Foreign Policy in Focus, and the Independent to name just a few. Dahr's dispatches and hard news stories have been translated into French, Polish, German, Dutch, Spanish, Japanese, Portuguese, Chinese, Arabic and Turkish. On radio as well as television, Dahr reports for Democracy Now!, the BBC, and numerous other stations around the globe. Dahr is also special correspondent for Flashpoints.

Dahr has spent a total of 8 months in occupied Iraq as one of only a few independent US journalists in the country. In the MidEast, Dahr has also has reported from Syria, Lebanon and Jordan. Dahr uses the DahrJamailIraq.com website and his popular mailing list to disseminate his dispatches."


"Indymedia Presents" is available on the internet at:
Blip TV-- http://indymediapresents.blip.tv
VlogMap-- http://community.vlogmap.org/node/1699
Mefeedia-- http://www.mefeedia.com/feeds/22908/

... or download/subscribe to the Indymedia Presents podcast via the iTunes Store.

BE THE MEDIA!

I had Nothing to offer

“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”

-- Jack Kerouac

Nice Day For An Earthquake

FADE IN:

EXT. HOME -- EVENING

A dark faded green door is illuminated by a small porch light. An arm slowly extends into frame knocking firm on the door. The arm extends back out of sight.

An older woman's voice calls out in Spanish.

WOMAN'S VOICE
(In Spanish)
Just a minute...coming.

The arm extends back out knocking on the door again.

Footsteps from inside the house approach the door.

The door finally opens revealing ELENA, a Mexican woman in her late fifties, early sixties. Her smile is warm and inviting. Slowly, her smile begins to fall to a frown; she stares at the individual standing at front of her. She turns away. Her eyes fill with tears.

She opens the door wider for the individual to step into the house.

A man walks into the house. He pauses before going in and hugs this woman. The woman appears emotionless and withdrawn.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. SHOWER -- CONTINUOUS

A beard is drenched in water. Water swirls around the man's feet mixing with a few soap suds just before being sucked down the drain. His hand moves shampoo through his hair. He closes his eyes as the water moves down his face.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM -- CONTINUOUS

VICTOR HERNANDEZ sits on the edge of a small twin bed. A towel is wrapped around his waist. Victor is short and slightly over weight with short curly brown hair. His freshly shaven face gives a younger appearance. He looks around the bedroom examining his surroundings. Baseball posters hang on the walls. He notices small trophies sitting on a small bookshelf along with some family photos.

Over a dresser, he notices several calendars tacked to the wall.

Victor stands from the bed and walks to the dresser. He begins to thumbs through the pages of a 1998 calendar. He stops at February 13th. A thick red X mark starts on the 13th and is followed by a red line that continues on through every year and every day. The word MISSING is written above the 13th.

Victor slides open the top dresser drawer. Inside he sees underwear and white t-shirts all folded and clean. He takes one pair of each putting them on the bed behind him. He goes down the drawer and pulls out some blue jeans.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

EXT. BACK YARD -- AFTERNOON

Elena's hand moves slowly towards a bright colored rose as she trims it. Elena has a tragic and strong sense about her. Her hand slowly moves up touching the petals very gently. She wears a straw hat that shades her face.

In the window above her Victor watches Elena work in the garden. Elena doesn't notice her son observing her.

ELENA (V.O.)
(SPANISH)
His hair is so long. He looks fat.

INT. HOME -- AFTERNOON

Victor, now freshly cleaned up and dressed in clean clothes, observes his mother in the garden from the service porch. An old grandfather clock is heard ticking off in the distance.

VICTOR (V.O.)
She looks so old. Since when does she garden?

Victor taps on the glass. Elena doesn't respond. She continues to work in garden.

Elena clips a rose from its stem.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. KITCHEN -- EVENING

Elena cooks carne asada in a large pan. A metal spatula moves in and turns the meat every now and then. The kitchen is small but very clean. A large spice rack is mounted against the wall above the stove.

Elena hums to herself as she cooks.

Victor walks into the kitchen watching his mother as she cooks.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Hungry?

Elena doesn't look up to Victor. She stays focused on the food in the pan. Victor sits down at a small dinner table pushed up against a wall. A small picture of Jesus hangs on the wall next to table.

VICTOR
Smells good.

Elena doesn't turn around she still stays focused on the pan.

ELENA (V.O.)
(SPANISH)
Has that changed? Why is he smiling?

Victor stands up and walks over beside his mother.

VICTOR
I still like it. Still my favorite.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Well, that's nice to hear.

Victor looks at his mother and watches as she avoids looking at him.

Elena puts the food onto a plate. She then opens the lid to a pot and scoops out some Spanish rice and beans putting some on the plate. Elena hands Victor the plate.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Here.

Victor takes the plate from his mother.

VICTOR
Thanks.

A cat jumps onto the kitchen table. Elena claps her hands trying to scare the cat away.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
You know better. No walking on the counter tops.

The cat jumps off the counter and runs away.

Victor looks up to his mother who avoids looking at him.

VICTOR
Mom...

She takes her apron off setting it on the kitchen counter. She walks out of the kitchen.

Victor sits alone at the table. It's silent except for a small clock that's mounted above the kitchen sink.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

Elena sits in the living room alone. She knits. Her fingers curve around and over her knitting needles as she finishes a blanket.

From the kitchen, Victor slowly walks out into the living room. He sits on a small chair next to his mother.

He looks over to her and watches her knitting away. He then turns and looks out a window. A few cats are nestled in window sill looking outside.

Victor looks back to his mother. He notices his shoelaces are untied and bends down to tie them. A small beads of sweat begin to cluster on Victors forehead.

VICTOR
You have a few more cats then before?

Elena continues to ignore her son.

ELENA
Almost done with this blanket.

She holds up part of what she was working on.

Victor looks up at it.

VICTOR
Looks great. Ah...how long have you been working on it?

Elena doesn't answer. She goes back to knitting.

ELENA
(In Spanish)
What do you want from me?

Victor looks to the floor uncomfortable by the question? He pauses for a moment squirming and fidgeting in his seat.

Victor looks up from the floor at his mother.

Just as he's about to say something to his mother, a tremendous SCREECH of a car tire cuts through the moment followed by a HORRIBLE SOUND OF A CAR CRASH fromoutside. This sound startles both of them.

VICTOR
God!

Elena makes the sign of the cross over her, but still focuses down to her knitting.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Stop signs. I told them many times to put a stop sign in at that corner.

Suddenly, there is a loud pounding on the front door. Startled, they both jump out of their seats.

VICTOR
WHAT THE HELL!!!

Elena puts down her knitting.

Suddenly, the front door flies open.

MYRTLE SANDERSON slams the door closed behind her. She appears to be in her forties in business clothes. Her blondish brown hair is all disheveled. She looks a mess.

VICTOR
Can we help you?

Her breath is frantic. Her words are unintelligible. She talks in half phrases and is in a panic. She crouches down onto the floor for a moment as if she's trying to regain her balance.

MYRTLE
OH MY GOSH!!! Oh MY!!! GOD!! I.. Ohh My GOSH!!

Myrtle red in the face looks around, panics runs off down the hall screaming locking herself in the bathroom.

Victor stands up.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Whose that crazy lady?!

VICTOR
I don't know?

Victor runs down the hall to the bathroom door.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
I'm going to call the police!

VICTOR
Ma, Just calm down.

INT. NEXT TO BATHROOM DOOR -- CONTINUOUS

Victor starts pounding on the bathroom door.

Myrtle can be heard sobbing. She lets out a loud wail every so often.

VICTOR
Are you okay?

MYRTLE
(Crying)
Go away! Go Away!

VICTOR
Are you hurt? Were you in that accident?

MYRTLE
(hysterical)
The lines! The lines! I couldn't...

VICTOR
What!? Take a deep breath.

MYRTLE
I couldn't see the lines...the road...I couldn't see them.

Victor gets down on his knees and tries to look underneath the bathroom door. He can only partly make out her leg.

VICTOR
What lines?

MYRTLE
The road...you know the lines in the road. I couldn't see them...and I..

VICTOR
Crashed?

Elena yells from somewhere in the house.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
What does she want?

VICTOR
Ma! Please.

Victor tries to look under the door. A movement of shadows under the door jam can be seen.

VICTOR
Hello in there.

Quite.

Then.

Myrtle lets out a sobbing cry.

MYRTLE
(Sobbing)
MY CAT!!!

Her breathing becomes loud and erratic.

VICTOR
Whoa! What...your cat?

MYRTLE
MY Cat...Herman! Herman.

Elena peeks around a door from another room to take a look at what was going on.

MYRTLE
I...I..he...was gone.

VICTOR
Gone?

MYRTLE
It was a week...or...a month..

Elena walks in closer.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
Cats do that.

VICTOR
He ran away?

MYRTLE
(Sobbing)
But he came BACK!!! He came Back.

Elena is even closer to Victor now. She stands in the doorway next to her son looking down onto him.

ELENA
(SPANISH)
They DO have a way of always coming home. To eat? To shit!

VICTOR
Mom.

Victor looks up to his mother meeting her stern gaze.

MYRTLE
He was gone! Then he came back.

Slowly Elena bends down next to her son. Victor smiles and then mouths "I'm sorry" to Elena.

ELENA
Hun, what's the problem? The kitty came back, right?

Myrtle lets out a loud scream. Elena and Victor jump.

MYRTLE
NO! Oh God! No!
(Beat)
I...RAN OVER HIM!!

Victor looks down from the door just has his cat walks over to him.

VICTOR
(To the Cat)
Go on, get outta here.

MYRTLE
What?

VICTOR
No not you.. My cat...I mean... Never mind.

He pushes the cat away.

VICTOR
Ready to come out?

Silence falls over the bathroom.

Elena and Victor both look at each other concerned.

VICTOR
(SPANISH Whispering)
What do you think?

Elena shrugs.

ELENA
(SPANISH Whisper)
Should I call 911?

Victor shakes his head "no".

They start to hear something that sounds like sanding.

VICTOR
(Whispering)
What's that?

Elena taps on the door.

ELENA
(In English)
Honey, you okay in there?

The sanding gets a bit louder.

MYRTLE
Do you have any nail polish?

ELENA
(In English)
What was that?

MYRTLE
Polish. I found your nail file. I hope you don't mind?

Victor lets out a half laugh and tries to cover the sound. Elena hits her son playfully on the head.

ELENA
(In English)
Ah, sure dear. I have some polish on the left hand cabinet in the little basket.

The sound of some shuffling through cabinets can be heard. Elena lovingly pats her son's back trying to stop from laughing at the situation.

ELENA
(In English)
You find it?

MYRTLE
Oh yes..thanks.. I love this red...I had a bottle of this. I love this brand.

ELENA
Good. Good.

Victor and Elena both laugh at the situation.

VICTOR
Ready to come out Myrtle?

MYRTLE
One sec.

They both press their ears against the bathroom door when the sound of the toilet flushing breaks the silence.

The door suddenly opens.

Myrtle stands in the doorway smiling, her hands fanning back and fourth trying to dry her nails. She looks down to Elena and Victor who are still crouched next to the door.

MYRTLE
Hi.

Elena and Victor both stand up next to her.

ELENA
You OK dear?

VICTOR
Do you need anything?

They both try to console her.

Myrtle stops and ponders the question.

MYRTLE
Well, I am a bit thirsty.

Elena gives Myrtle a little pat on the arm.

ELENA
Well let me see what we have.

Victor takes Myrtle over to the dining room table while Elena goes into the kitchen.

VICTOR
Here, sit here.

INT. DINING ROOM -- CONTINUOUS

Victor slides out a chair for Myrtle to sit.

MYRTLE
Thank you. You're both so kind.

Myrtle looks around the room.

MYRTLE
Oh, what a nice dining room. I love the colors.

Elena calls out to Myrtle from the kitchen.

ELENA (O.S.)
Water, milk or some tea?

Myrtle thinks for a moment.

MYRTLE
Some hot tea would be very nice, thank you.

ELENA (O.S.)
No problem dear.

Victor sits down next to Myrtle at the table. An awkward moment sets in as Victor watches Myrtle look around the room.

MYRTLE
Your home is very warm.

VICTOR
Well, it's my mother's home. But thanks.

Elena walks into the dining room with a pot of hot water and some mugs. Several tea bags protrude out of the lid of the tea pot.

ELENA
Here we go.

Elena sets the pot in the middle of the table. Elena pours tea into three mugs. She hands a mug to Myrtle.

MYRTLE
Oh, thank you.

Elena and Victor sit staring at Myrtle as she comfortably sips her tea.

Victor and Elena both glance towards one another.

Myrtle takes another long slurping sip of her tea.

ELENA
(Encouragingly)
So...You probably want to get your car taken care of?

Myrtle nods her head as she puts down the cup of tea.

MYRTLE
You know, I was thinking of redecorating my living room. And I love what you guys did. Although you know I'm not spanish but I love the style. It's very retro.

Elena and Victor both look at each other trying to make heads or tails of Myrtle.

Victor stands from the table and Elena follows her lead. Myrtle notices them both standing looking at her.

MYRTLE
Oh. Geesh, what time is it? Really ought to be going.

Myrtle suddenly lets out a loud Beverly Sills-styleoperatic, note.

Frightened by Myrtles sudden outburst, Elena grabs her son's arm.

ELENA
(In Spanish)
Crazy white woman.

Myrtle finishes her operatic note and then smiles and stands from the table.

MYRTLE
Well, I guess I should get going?

INT. HOME/FRONT DOOR -- CONTINUOUS

Victor and Elena walk Myrtle to the front door.

Myrtle turns and hugs both of them at the same time squeezing Victor and Elena together.

MYRTLE
Thank you. I feel much better. You made me realize things about myself that I never knew.

VICTOR
(Being squished)
We did? Glad we could help.

ELENA
Ouch! Your welcome.

Myrtle releases them and they both fall back and away from her. Myrtle opens the screen door and steps out onto the porch.

Elena and Victor move to the doorway. Their backs are to us as they wave to Myrtle.

ELENA & VICTOR
Bye!

VICTOR
Don't crash into anything.

ELENA
Victor!

Victor looks over to his mother and smiles. Victor reaches over and gently holds his mother's hand.


THE END

(C)WGAw1222068

Horrible Lives

“Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live”

-Charles Bukowski

Algren

“The hard necessity of bringing the judge on the bench down into the dock has been the peculiar responsibility of the writer in all ages of man.”

-Nelson Algren

By The Balls

Larry Clark was standing in front me the other day.
Filmmaker, Photographer and artist.
One of only a few American filmmakers that I admire.
A by the balls director.
Something most American films lack.
Balls.
Someone who isn’t afraid to go outside the fuckin mainstream and do films that are original.
A filmmaker that would eat the Michael Bays and the Brent Ratners for dinner.
He’s Algren with Dash of Burroughs peppered with Ballard, Selby Jr and Carver.
Nowadays trying to shuffle through all the remakes and bad emo style cry fest films that make it to Sundance one has to wonder, what the fuck happened?
If I have to sit through another cable showing of “Me and You and Everyone we Fuckin Know” again I think I’ll vomit something pretentious.
Can vomit be pretentious?
That annoying Miranda July film.
And many more of those type of films must we sit through.
Once something does big at Sundance every first time poser thinks that they have uncovered some kind of formula, instant cool artist formula.
I guess that can be likened to people who would rather use some kind of fat burning cream than go to a fuckin gym and sweat like a goddamn piggy.

So were was I.
Oh yea.
So there I was standing across from Larry Clark.
Since I’m a filmmaker as well some may say why didn’t you go up to him and say “Hi”
Well I did think about going up to him.
But I stopped myself.
I kept thinking of all the other cunts before me going up to talk to him.
“Hi, ah…I like your films…ah..yea..humm...you did that film KIDS right?”
So I walked away.

I thought of things that I could have said.
“Hi Larry, I just cut Dave Markey’s new documentary and I really admire your work. If your every looking for an editor I’d love to work with you.”
Not so bad.

You never know. There could be this whole other reality living out there where I said something.
Like the rise in the proletarian 1950’s mentality that is sweeping this country so is the censoring of our artist.
We are regressing as a culture.
We are so quick to judge.
We are living in the best and the worst of times.
I feel like there should be more artists out there creating.
It’s strange, it feels like renaissance with no artist.
During the 70’s film and fine art was booming in terms of work.
It was truly a time to create and to be part of a movement.
It’s seems like this TV generation of MIGHT MORPHING POWER RANGERS and MTV have some how lost there way.
And instead embrace the regurgitated painted colors of a lost fantasy still waiting to be realized.

The Abbey

A good philosopher is one who does not take ideas seriously.

-Edward Abbey

An Interview With Jacques Derrida by Nikhil Padgaonkar

We love.
We are beings that form strong attachments to another.
Be whomever that other may be.
Man or woman, woman and woman or man and man.
Love has no bias in emotions.
The chemicals in our brain pump away and we react.

What is it?
Some of the greatest minds have tried to explain love.
The late Jacques Derrida explains love by of course applying his deconstruction terms.

Here he sat down with Nikhil Padgankar at the University of Northridge.





N.P.: Let me begin this interview by asking you what has been retained today from the word "philosophy" as the Greeks understood it nearly three thousand years ago - that is, as love of wisdom. Are either "love" or "wisdom" issues today?

J.D.: Well, when we teach philosophy in France, at the beginning of every academic year, we recall this etymology. We remember that philosophia in Greek means the love or friendship towards Sophia which is wisdom but also cleverness or skill or knowledge. So then we ask what is Philia - what is love or friendship or desire? In this way, we begin defining philosophy on the basis of this etymology. And there are a number of texts today concerned with love and friendship. I myself wrote a book on the politics of friendship. Deleuze was interested in friendship, and so was Foucault. I would agree that in fact we often lose this etymological definition of philosophy: every philosopher has his own definition of philosophy, and this is one of the typical features of discussions among philosophers about the essence of philosophy - when and where does it start? What is the origin of philosophy? And you cant of course rely simply on the word to define the concept of philosophy. The word by itself is not enough. And when one agrees that philosophy is a Greek noun and that philosophy as such was born in Greece, then there are so many interpretations of what happened then - when did it occur and why, and is every thinking a philosophy? As you know, Heidegger claimed that there was a Greek thinking before philosophy, that philosophy was putting an end to something, to some thought by Parmenides or Heraclitus. So philosophy was in a way, the beginning of an end to thinking...

N.P.: Over the years, you have repeatedly defended the view that deconstruction is not an inherently negative term, that it is not to be understood as criticism or destruction. And indeed in an interview you gave in 1982 and which was subsequently published in Le Monde, you even said that deconstruction is always accompanied by love. Could you comment on this "love". Is it the same love as in "philia"?

J.D.: This love means an affirmative desire towards the Other - to respect the Other, to pay attention to the Other, not to destroy the otherness of the Other - and this is the preliminary affirmation, even if afterwards because of this love, you ask questions. There is some negativity in deconstruction. I wouldn't deny this. You have to criticise, to ask questions, to challenge and sometimes to oppose. What I have said is that in the final instance, deconstruction is not negative although negativity is no doubt at work. Now, in order to criticise, to negate, to deny, you have first to say "yes". When you address the Other, even if it is to oppose the Other, you make a sort of promise - that is, to address the Other as Other, not to reduce the otherness of the Other, and to take into account the singularity of the Other. That's an irreducible affirmation, its the original ethics if you want. So from that point of view, there is an ethics of deconstruction. Not in the usual sense, but there is an affirmation. You know, I often use a quote from Rosensweig or even from Levinas which says that the "yes" is not a word like others, that even if you do not pronounce the word, there is a "yes" implicit in every language, even if you multiply the "no", there is a "yes". And this is even the case with Heidegger. You know Heidegger, for a long time, for years and years kept saying that thinking started with questioning, that questioning (fragen) is the dignity of thinking. And then one day, without contradicting this statement, he said "yes, but there is something even more originary than questioning, than this piety of thinking," and it is what he called zusage which means to acquiesce, to accept, to say "yes", to affirm. So this zusage is not only prior to questioning, but it is supposed by any questioning. To ask a question, you must first tell the Other that I am speaking to you. Even to oppose or challenge the Other, you must say "at least I speak to you", "I say yes to our being in common together". So this is what I meant by love, this reaffirmation of the affirmation.

N.P.: To many of your readers, one of the important consequences of reading your works is the realization that criticism from an "outside" position is no longer possible, that one is always working with inherited language, and because one inherits language, one inevitably works within a shared framework. Now, if one seeks to question or to displace without seeking recourse to an outside position, does one not run the risk of conservatism?

J.D.: Well you see, everything depends on this concept of inherited. When you inherit a language, it does not mean you are totally in it or you are passively programmed by it. To inherit means to be able to, of course, appropriate this language, to transform it, to select something. Heritage is not something you are given as a whole. It is something that calls for interpretations, selections, reactions, response and responsibility. When you take your responsibility as an heir, you are not simply subjected to the heritage, you are not called to simply conserve or keep this heritage as it is, intact. You have to make it live and survive, and that is a process - a selective and interpretive process. So no doubt, there is a temptation simply to repeat and to take up conservative positions. But it is not absolutely necessary, and I would even say that in order to make something new happen, you have to inherit, you have to be inside the language, inside the tradition. You would not be able to transform or displace anything without in some way being inside the tradition, without understanding the language.

N.P.: There is no difference without repetition...

J.D.: Of course, of course, some repetition, some kind of repetition. But the choice is not between repetition and innovation, but between two forms of repetition and two forms of invention. So I think there are inventive forms of respecting the tradition, and there are reactive or non-inventive forms. But I would not say that in order to invent something new, or to make something new happen, you have to betray the tradition or to forget the tradition. If I may say something about the way I try to work within the French tradition, I have the feeling that the more I understand from within a poet or a writer, the more I am able to, let us say reproduce what he is doing, the more I am able to write something else, or to counter-sign. That is, to sign another text which encounters the generic text. When I write on authors such as Genet, I dont write like them, I try to incorporate what they give me in order to perform something else which bears my own signature -which is not simply mine but which is another signature. And this happens not only in philosophy or literary theory; it happens all the time. To speak with someone else, you have to understand what the Other says, you have to be able to repeat it - thats what understanding means - and to be able to answer, to respond, and your response will be different, it will be something else, and the response includes the possibility of understanding what youre responding to. So I would put all this in terms of response - and responsibility -towards your heritage.

N.P.: You have argued that language is subject to a generalized "iterability" - that is, it can be grafted into new and unforeseen contexts...

J.D.: I have a vague idea of the Sanskrit etymology of "itera" which means again, the same, repetition, and something else, some alteration...

N.P.: ...so language reproduces itself in new contexts, in new frames, and it becomes impossible therefore to limit the range of possible meanings it thus produces. Significantly enough, iterability suggests that one cannot attempt to delineate the meaning of a text by referring to the intentions of its author. This much said, is there any possibility of holding an author responsible for the fate of his or her book? I am of course thinking of your discussion of Nietzsche, but more generally, can a writer be held to account for the way his or her writings are interpreted or could possibly be interpreted? Is there any way for an author to regulate, in advance, the range of possible interpretations?

J.D.: If you expect an answer in the form of a "yes or no", I would say no. But if you give me more time, I would be more hesitant. I would say that a philosopher or writer should try of course, to be responsible for what he writes as far as possible. For instance, one must be very careful politically, and try, not so much to control, but to foresee all possible consequences some people might draw from what you write. Thats an obligation - to try to analyse and foresee everything. But its absolutely impossible. You cant control everything because once a certain work, or a certain sentence, or a certain set of discourses are published, when the trace is traced, it goes beyond your reach, beyond your control, and in a different context, it can be exploited, displaced, used beyond what you meant. And this is the question I asked about Nietzsche since you mention him. Of course, there was an abusive interpretation of Nietzsche by the Nazis. No doubt, Nietzsche didnt want that, it is sure. But, nevertheless, how can we account for the fact that the only philosopher or thinker that was referred to as a predecessor by the Nazis was Nietzsche? So there must be in Nietzsches discourse, something which was in affinity with the Nazis, and you can say this and try to analyse this possibility without of course, concluding that Nietzsche himself was a Nazi, or that everything in Nietzsche was in affinity with the Nazis. But we have to account for the fact that there was a lineage, there was some genealogy. So, we are all exposed to this - I am sure that some people could draw reactive or reactionary or right-wing conservative positions from what I say. I struggle, I do my best to prevent this, but I know that I cant control it. People could take a sentence and use it...let us take the example of what I was telling you this afternoon: of course, I am in favour of, let us say, the development of idioms, the differences in language so as to resist the hegemony or the monopoly of language. But I immediately added to this statement that I was also opposed to nationalism. That is, to the nationalistic reappropriation of this desire for difference. Now, maybe someone can say, "well, youre in favour of divisions against a universal language, then we would use your discourse in favour of nationalism or reactionary linguistic violence" and so on and so forth. So, I cant control this. I can only do my best, just adding a sentence to my first sentence, and to go on speaking trying to neutralize the misunderstandings. But you cant control everything, and the fact that you cannot control everything doesn't mean simply that youre a finite being and a limited person. It has to do with the structure of language, the structure of the trace. As soon as you trace something, the trace becomes independent of its source - thats the structure of the trace. The trace becomes independent of its origin, and as soon as the trace is traced, it escapes. You cannot control the fate of the book totally. I cant control the future of this interview (laughter)...You record it, but then youll re-write it, re-frame it, build a new context, and perhaps, my sentence will sound different. So, I trust you but I know that it is impossible to control the publication of everything I say.

N.P.: But there is an implicit faith, an implicit relationship...

J.D.: Its a matter of faith, of good faith, but its faith, its faith..

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photo© Steve Pyke

Time

Time is annoying. All it does is stress me out.
So then, I don’t wear a watch.
I try and ignore it as much as I can.
I’m never late.
Although I hate time.
It can push me.
It can taunt me.
It can make my life feel lazy compared to what others might get done in the span of day.
So I chose to shun it as much as I can.
The sun goes up and the sun goes down.
So visually the actual achievement of ignoring sort of crumples into a huge pile shit.

But still I try and ignore time.

I wish I could take each day and squeeze out more hours more seconds.

Sometimes the day’s race by like a NASCAR race.

If you yourself are an artist you will probably understand this dilemma with time.

Time: The monkey on my back.
It claws at my flesh and is merciless.

Writer Paul Bowles said:

... we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.