Down to words (2333)

Note (731)

“So…?”

“So, I think that is one reason he says he cannot tell a story.”

“What is the reason…?

“That the techne betrays, falsifies the story.”

“And…?

“I think he feels it in a big way, that is all.”

Down to words (2332)

Note (730)

 

“So, what are you actually saying?”

“I think, at this point, I believe that he says the rough equivalent that there is something quite wrong in a recording of testimony, at least that the reduction of testimony to a recording is quite wrong.”

“And…?”

“I think he would have to acknowledge Sartre’s analysis of Pierre not being in the café, in that CCTV would fail to understand it in a similar way.”

Down to words (2331)

Note (729)

 

“Derrida knew what a witness was and what testimony was.”

“What?”

“Well, at least he said he did in the documentary.”

“What?”

“Yes, and how recording gets in the way of what they are.”

“Ok.”

“That is one of the reasons why he could not tell a story.”

“Don’t tell me you are changing your view of the guy.”

“No. I do not think so, but we shall see. If I am, I am.”

Down to words (2330)

Note (728)

 

“But this is just a meme.”

“Right.”

“It is in a stream of them.”

“Right. The neighborhood means nothing to me, the meme boys never get what is going on.”

“So…”

“I believe Derrida had a sense of this.”

Down to words (2329)

Note (727)

 

“So, it is a violence of sorts.”

“If you are afraid of stubbing your toe, I am afraid it is.”

“That may not do in this brave new wor(l)d.”

“Won’t do with a Goodell running it.”

“Right.”

“Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.”

Down to words (2328)

Note (726)

 

“Exteriorization has its tent for its sick.”

“If he had not died, Foucault would have been in one of its non-hospice, hospice units.”

“He did fuck himself to death.”

Down to words (2327)

Note (725)

 

“I think there is a new direction.”

“Yeah?”

“For a while, it tends to scramble your mind.”

“Yeah.”

“The meta hotshots in New York would pull me out of the game.”

“Put you in the meta concussion tent?”

“4 evah, doggie.”

Down to words (2326)

Note (724)

 

“You sound like an old guy with old memes.”

“Mebbe. But suppose I’m repeating what an old guy told me.”

“Well, then…”

“But I believe he gave me some drivers to push the new memes away.”

Down to words (2325)

Note (723)

 

“The memes, from Socrates cavernous myth to Hegel’s Begriff (and beyond), were canceled.”

“Yeah?”

“And that was before Jackie D got going.”

Down to words (2324)

Note (722)

 

“Whadya mean?”

“You found nothing, just as I did on my way to Indio.”

“I do not get it.”

“You found nothing but play.”

“Yeah...?”

“And play is just play, as in we wuz just playin, meant nothing.”

“Yeah…?”

‘The perpetual avenue out, the permanent exteriorization.”

“Yeah…?”

“And then I got to LA, found nothing there but the same.”

Down to words (2323)

Note (721)

 

“So, what did you find in your sort?”

“Philosophy appears out of nothing.”

“Ok.”

“And it then it continues until it finds a couple of Hegel’s fragments.”

“Ok.”

“And those fragments allow it to play to its limits and beyond, maybe?”

“Ok.”

“And there maybe even more to come after that,”

“Yeah. I think of my midnight ride to Indio.”

“And what about that ride?”

“Hot fuckin’ shit, man.”

"What?"

"You sorted me right to there."

Down to words (2322)

Note (720)

 

“Do we wish to stop at this level?”

“No, honestly, there is more.”

“Well…?”

“Let me do another sort.”

“As to what?”

“As to this inability.”

Down to words (2321)

Note (719)

 

Said another way: if you have come this far with me, you know this: nothing. You are privy to nothing. No one is privy to anything. That is one side of the mystery. 

 

The other side is this: that everyone virtue signals that he knows something. And he becomes unable to do this cynically. Thus, he honestly lies.

Down to words (2320)

https://dnyuz.com/2024/12/16/openai-updates-chatgpt-search-with-voice-queries-faster-results-mobile-maps-integration/

Down to words (2319)

Note (718)

 

Said another way: you are privy to the mysteries of the new Godot, even if the custody of them is exteriorized.

Down to words (2318)

Note (717)

 

This is the new gospel. Take comfort in the fullness of its emptiness. A kind of Godot has come. 

Down to words (2317)

Note (716)

 

If not whatever, take comfort in being above your scream. Have faith in the discomfiture of it all: deconstructionism.

Down to words (2316)

Note (715)

 

Or whatever. You are seen, blue screened, with your Munch scream. You have nothing to say about it. You are not a witness. And the screen is quite philosophical about the entire matter.

Down to words (2315)

Note (714)

 

“And if I do not?

“Then listen to Hendrix’s Watchtower.”

“While I can still hear.”

“While your tympanum is normal.”

Down to words (2315)

Note (713)

 

“Yet, we remain above voice.”

“Huh?”

“This is deconstructive play.”

“Huh?”

“Of a wordy Fight Club.”

“Ah, the bad joke.”

“Laugh your ass off.”

Down to words (2314)

Note (712)

 

This does not have to be the cloud of witnesses in Hebrews 11 and 12.

I am not waving the Bible here.

 

The stronghold here is of any cloud of witnesses. Of any witness at all. The stronghold is subsumed by a digital cloud. Cloud stricken.

 

All Marxian witnesses are gone, as well. Debord and Foucault are simply some later stage witnesses to be gone. 

Down to words (2313)

Note (711)

 

This is how the show takes out what Derrida calls strongholds. It does so in a kind of grammatological middle voice that is no voice at all.

Down to words (2312)

Note (710)

 

“Here we go again with that damned voice.”

“No woofers, no tweeters; the middle ear is corrupted in Tympanum."

Down to words (2311)

Note (709)

 

The zones are gone, along with Debord’s coterie of artists. It matters not if it is a spectacle (Debord's notion) or a prison (Foucault's notion), if the voice is gone. 

There are no artists (digital tablets and so-called artistry aside). 

 

There are neither the consumers of the spectacle nor inmates of the prison.

Down to words (2310)

Note (708)

 

Waif zones are gone, 

with their absorption of hands and elbows

into oversized sweaters,

as well as the brilliance 

of philosophical frumpiness.

Down to words (2309)

Note (707)

 

Whatever savoir is (or was) in Foucault’s mind is gone. Derrida guts him of it. That would include critical theory. 

 

By the end of the cybernetic program, the safe zone of a criticism is gone.

Down to words (2308)

Note (706)

 

An account of a savoir so far from savvy, Foucault is bent over by Derrida’s subsumption of the middle voice.

Down to words (2307)

Note (705) 

 

An absurd show, now exteriorized in a Panopticon, exceeding even that fog of Foucault, will leave me in an analog, nay, digitized, fuzz.

Down to words (2306)

Note (704)

 

Something will happen. And I will withdraw once again, in some wayward (playward) agony of defeat.

 

(Hard to imagine in the new heroics of Olympic flag football.)

Down to words (2305)

Note (703)

 

I said way back at the beginning of this blog that I had once withdrawn from being. That I was waiting for a kind of Godot. 

 

(Foucault was also animated.)

Down to words (2304)

Note (702)

 

“It is a vicious circle.”

“A kind of do loop in which the machines will run everything into nothing.”

“Or nothing into everything.”

“Yeah. No end to the meme show.”

Down to words (2303)

Note (701)

 

“We are in the age of the new Cratylus, where there are no facts and hence no reports.”

“Or where there are no reports and hence no facts?”

“Say it how you like.”

Down to words (2302)

Note (700)

 

“Philosophy has subsumed demonstratives. There is no mine and thine. 

"Thus, the Hobbesian man is off the stage. The old language of property and persons has been pushed aside.

"Thus, there is no social contract.”

Down to words (2301)

Note (699)

 

“How did we get here?”

“I use the term ‘here’ advisedly. Here there is no ‘there’ there.

“And the phenomenological horizon?”

“It has been shattered.”

Down to words (2300)

Note (698)

 

“No social contract?”

“None on the so-called horizon.”

Down to words (2099)

Note (697)

 

“And in the end?”

“At this stage, no end to the meme show.”

https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2024/nov/19/henry-kissinger-final-warning-prepare-superhuman-p/

Down to words (2098)

Note (696)

 

“Even? How?”

“Debunking is simply X-ing out.”

“So, what is the difference between the new X-tians and the old ones?”

 “None. Hobbes is still off the stage.”

“Still yanked?”

“Still yanked.”

“More memes to come?”

“More memes that X things out.”

Down to words (2097)

Note (695)

 

“There is to be no doubt in a world where all’s debunked.”

“Even in the debunking of the debunking?”

“Even.”

Down to words (2096)

Note (694) 

 

“That’s how Mr. Metaflex crushes Hawaiians.”

“May be…”

“And never gets called for it?”

“It’s a warm day.”

“We might look at that CCTV some cool night.”

“Where crushing will not be, no doubt.”

“X’d out?”

“There is to be no doubt in a world where all’s debunked.”

https://www.wsj.com/tech/ai/a-powerful-ai-breakthrough-is-about-to-transform-the-world-095b81ea

Down to words (2095)

Note (693)

 

My shining men no more alone

As I sail out to die.

 

What?

 

What bird dropped what?

The cormorants do not cheat.

Yet the birds do grin,

While my fish they eat.

Happy birds.

Collected.

Not dumb.

They dive, they swim

Their way past sin.

 

My Castor gone.

 

I sit within my Pollox, lame,

Looking for my oystered Castor,

Rocky mountained,

Denvered,

Cow plopped, 

Now in some country fantasy,

A buffalo chipped Palace.

Full bourbon chalice.

 

Castor.

Who, tempted,

Played the meta game.

 

Where are you, bro?

I do not know.

 

I watch the foolery.

Then sit and call the play.

Down to words (2094)

https://mindmatters.ai/brief/another-warning-that-the-ai-bubble-is-near-bursting/

Down to words (2093)

Note (692)

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

Amy, Pound,

Their argument,

Their images,

Are blasted.

Their twisting of a meme

With meaning 

Once, in manifesto.

They blow

In some new Blast:

The meme boys fail

Beyond the dream of meme.

 

O epic, epic,

Ipecac. 

Am forced to fast.

A diet for the ages?

Rages.

 

They are off, 

Afar.

I sit my spar.

My screen, thus blue,

Does shine upon me, new.

I do not find even perplexity.

Down to words (2092)

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/openai-rivals-seek-path-smarter-100616130.html

https://www.msn.com/en-us/health/other/genetic-discrimination-is-coming-for-us-all/ar-AA1tWrpf

Down to words (2091)

Note (691)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

The Eliot hollow men,

No tradition.

Just some rendition

Of the road show 

Where we start.

The Eliot hollow men,

No light.

No height.

Tis the road show

Where we part.

The Eliot hollow men,

(They come and go

Looking for Michelangelo,

Or a bath in the wash

Of some quick texted gouache.)

Gym rats become.

Death not to suffer long.

The life of cadence done.

 

The poet’s craft now lame.

The wine now new.

Of no remnant thrown

Am I, of none known,

Of not even few

To name.

There is no press

To trod alone.

Down to words (2090)

Note (690)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

In Samas’ rays

They are at meta-plays.

They are not merely funnin’.

The essence of a game begone.

 

The joy of voices hacked.

That early game of Cabby

In ’38,

When rules did make the win

If they did break:

The ride they take,

The fare they take.

The ride now otherized.

(The short guy,

With the sub they fake.)

O Servo, serve me up.

Am etherized.

Down to words (2089)

Note (689)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

Mouths do keep a runnin’.

Enhanced by speed,

A gunnin’,

As flat head 8’s in ’38,

All new in some malign

Discovery of self,

Yet knowing no offset

Save druggie's cuts.

The eight ball drops.

The empty pocket flops,

Some Ant Hill Mob in ruts.

 

They know not who they are

Or what they say,

Nor could they answer

What they meant.

 

Am tossed at their periphery

As words race by.

(I must ask my beauteous muse, Perplexity.)

Already, then me done.

Down to words (2088)

Note (688)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

A simple children’s trinity

For flourish of a dance?

Wrought, thought

For me

(myself and I),

Narcissist little me?

 

The coin’s too thin,

Its edge entrances me.

 

Within its spin

I cannot make it out,

What it’s about.

 

The coin,

Not but a mirror,

Yet my face I cannot see.

The sides do self-refer.

 

A point?

Not in the edge.

No such hedge.

 

Whatever comes to mind,

Whatever trades in kind.

 

So long as I am out

And not about.

Down to words (2087)

Note (687)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

And now,

As then.

 

The coin,

The coin,

Of new paid spendable,

I, made expendable.

 

Its new exergue upon it.

Obverse and reverse now the same.

Head or tail,

No overtime.

No dinner pail.

Each footnotes to the other.

 

A little one thinks

(one too young

to know he doesn't.).

A little one thinks 

Me, myself and I,

As children say.

A third man, yea?

Whence now?

A flat man now

Imagined on the rim?

Or her, not him?

O let it spin.

 

Let the coin spin,

Forever.

Down to words (2086)

Note (686)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

Agreed on some new mead,

New wine, 

New bottle,

Throttled.

Apostles all about me:

Their coin, you see,

Of some new realm.

New loins,

They make show of this,

Their coin.

A new exergue upon it.

Its obverse and reverse are now the same.

Head or tail,

No dinner pail.

Each footnotes to the other.

 

The show, the deal,

The shake.

Eyes full awake.

Escape?

The scape is all purloined.

Down to words (2085)

Note (685)

 

The Dead I’d see in ‘68

Were all around me then.

Already then me done.

Already, then me done.

 

Ah, well, we’ll see:

There was the garbage yet to be.

Diverted minds,

Into many kinds,

All buried in one grave,

Each having dubbed the other ‘knave’,

Beyond Gray’s elegy

In old boneyard,

Purest ray serene

Picked clean,

Nicked,

Nicked by the nick

Of clustered clicks.

It was there, after all,

When we mucked the stall.

 

The dead that I saw 

That walked O’Hare

To Grant Park,

Carrying some Liberty flare,

Diverted.

Any pure ray picked clean.

The light of the thing gone out,

Subverted.

Unseen.

Everything but the thing

In their satchel now.

Their war in tow.

No such thing, after all,

When we mucked the stall.

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Gray