Posts by Anonymous Author
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Motorbass 1996 – via a hat-tip to Chicago's French Quarter, 1987. House music for minimalists: hands flutter at sides, (not in the air because really, you should care) heads loll, feet describe small circles, nod and smile warmly at fellow shufflers through the fractal light of the strobing mirror ball. Must. Not. Sweat. While. Dancing. Many synesthesia-inducing, low-energy, high-intensity nights were spent creeping around like a praying mantis on a 1996 dance floor to this:
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Immortality beckons.
My immortality decreases as I write.
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characterisation of the writing as “epigrammatic"
Write a wise saying and your name will live forever – Anonymous.
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Hard News: The Thread, It Is Open, in reply to Sacha,
According to http://iwl.me/ it could be David Foster Wallace; but in reality (whatever that is) it's from the unedited notes of the first draft of the manuscript of Anonymous Author's (who me?) yet to published autobiography: Book 1 – The Ghostwriter in the Machine.
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justification for lying.
Propped up on one elbow, her neck extended at an unusual angle, she met my gaze. "We all lie a lot," she stated. "We experiment with the science of deception; forge fact from fiction; extract truth from fable. Most of us do so as an instinctive, face-saving social tactic – a protective reflex to advance our cause in the world." She blinked. Her pupils dilated as they refocussed. I lay next to her on the floor. "But you do it," she accused, "simply to hurt others. You fabricate to wound and destroy."
"I do not," I lied. And it was only mildly ironic that my features were unable to express pensive torment.
I remembered the fifteen words with which to console the afflicted: Choose the aspects of reality you wish to include and those you wish to omit. -
Outstanding. The footage that showed weight-watching women receiving trophy pigs as anti-reward for people-porkiness in Te Atatu – as they sang a joyous ode to the perils of food and fatness to the tune of Glory Glory – suggests the future doesn't have a chance against the past.
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From The Onion:
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"This piece of intellectual property cannot be copyrighted or trademarked because it has been plagiarised. © TM"
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Muse: Shelf Life: The Dying Elephant in…, in reply to giovanni tiso,
It was Foucault who scathingly interpreted Derrida's theory as 'a pedagogy which teaches the student that there is nothing outside the text'. Which is why Derrida was only partially correct when he was said to have suggested it, not completely incorrect when he wasn't quoted verbatim.
However, that's a semantic straw herring. Ironically it is a reading of Derrida's meaning that existed outside the text (in the appendix to a whole other text) and even more ironically they didn't speak to each other for years after Foucault wrote that. Two prolific thinkers, so few words to share. Perhaps they conducted an aphonic discourse. -
I meant no offence
None taken; it was a good question.
can be taken to excess but I reckon it can also be an exciting and fresh way of regarding the world and the making of meaning
Yes. And sometimes simultaneously, especially when combined with deconstructionism. Derrida was partially correct when he suggested nothing exists outside the text. Not only does nothing exist outside the text, but more than that, the text actively creates this author. Paradoxically, if it were not for the benevolence of words and language I would not exist as a literary voice, and yet I constructed this text that is written to describe my existence. All authors are artificial constructs to some extent. On more than one occasion I’ve needed to stand in front of the mirror and remind myself that: ‘Hey! Yeah you with your counterfeit Ph.D. in postmodern literary theory. You don’t have a monopoly on hubris.’ And that usually prevents me taking it to excess. Usually.