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Showing posts from October, 2012

and thence fall into jobs that feed the bourgeois nation-state

We must laugh at our anger and still be angry.
- Carl Hancock Rux

Hey! hark at their coming, oi! quake at their bells:
it's those dastardly jobs that feed the Bourgeois Nation-State.

what dyou think you are doing! where do you think your work goes!
all clocked hours, all leisures feed the Bourgeois Nation-State.

it'll eat all progression, it'll use up your every ounce,
that repressively tolerant Bourgeois Nation-State.

o profane your enjoyments, o racist roundabout;
orgiastic job creation for the Bourgeois Nation-State.

o resist them do deny them please, Buy Nothing and bite back,
say boo to all its agents and flash them your arsecrack;

but o sweet cultural studies, o countercultural airs,
o student with that One Idea and intentions fair,

does your garden grow purely, organic, and innate?
does your ignored critique starve out the Bourgeois Nation-State?




Eternal Sofa Surf Blues

...only the one enduring the experience of being deprived of a home can offer hospitality.
- Jacques Derrida

And best of all, we don't pay council tax!
- Max & Paddy

We don't think of rent as consumption spending. But it is. (This year I'm going to live without an address - circulating, instead, around the sofas of a kind and bohemian group of friends.) Pardon? A year of bourgeois homelessness?

How?
Now, I'm a stubborn man, and I enjoy runningexperiments on myself, but it remains to be seen how long I can last at this, owing to 1) my long-established need of long solitude, 2) the burden it places on my relationships, and 3) my poor back.

Also since we're after much more than warmth and storage space for our bed when we sign a lease. You purchase privacy; you obtain the possibility of giving hospitality (and the possibility of refusing it); and perhaps even the possibility of dignity. In fact, Derrida talks about being homed as a condition of being a complete pe…

having just graduated

having 'just' graduated I'm just
a ghoul on campus, a drunk who's lost a bet, and
happy, though just
an upturned Transit just spinning its wheels through long air guitar miles.

see some other dregs, just
magnetic years giving structure to
the idle existentialist, the hopeless arriviste,
the butch mens sana, and I, tiny colossus.

each just a graduate, just
straining to hear a song just stopped,
in this bright young world entirely
unchanged by us.