reblogging serbianballerinasdancewithmachineguns

by Feng

Jackie Wang from

when i look out at the land i shed tears over the violence of my freedom. i am looking at the hills and in my hand is a letter from my brother that describes solitary confinement, that asks me to describe what the outside is like. requests for pictures of the baltimore skyline. it is true that my freedom and your freedom can only be understood through captivity. living will be unethical until we destroy the world as we know it.

i am not saying you should feel bad about your life or falling in love or going on road trips or hanging out with poets and petting cool dogs, but you should try to understand the violence of your existence.

i’m sorry i’m so cranky and writing in this accusatory tone. if it makes you feel any better, i am mostly addressing myself. i’m so fucking privileged in so many ways. i don’t feel guilty. i want to destroy the world. i don’t want to get rid of my privilege/freedom; i want to destroy the world. destroying the world doesn’t mean everyone and everything must die, but maybe in a metaphysical sense it does.

my brain is loosening. i can think in paradoxes. i actually am now able to embrace and mentally integrate contradictions. all it took was me paying attention when the incommensurable experience was there. i had to acknowledge—it is. i am turning into some kind of religious woman whose doctrine is joyful nihilism. the utter “indifference of nature” that herzog is always ranting about is only affectively “bad” and “scary” when you are centering the human. it’s cool that nature is indifferent to me. we can play on equal terms. as flows that are not predetermined.

0 Comments and 0 Reactions


i should be working on a new book or polishing one of my manuscripts, but instead i am reading Capital alongside David Harvey’s online class. i must say, it has been as smooth as a healthy bowel movement, but a bowel movement that takes a very long time to finish. (please recommend me companion texts.)

after reading a poopload of Frank Wilderson and other afro-pessimists i have been thinking about what’s missing from Marx’s text, or maybe not what’s missing, but what’s necessarily hidden—namely the libidinal economy of racism (anti-blackness is more precise), the question of gratuitous violence, and slavery. frank would say slavery is the unwritten foundation of civil society and “human” subjectivity. it is unthinkable, hidden maybe similar to the way the money-form hides the social relations of labor. the slave does not engage in what Marx describes as the “universal” social activity of “the process of exchange”—they are the commodity that is traded. what is human labor when the slave is positioned as non-human? if labor is the commodity’s phantom, the prison is now the phantom of civil society itself. the prison is the phantom of everything, basically. our citizenship and our “safety.” you don’t see it, all the bodies that are sacrificed. all joy lives inside violence, is constituted by it. the magical necromantic secret that gives coherence to the notion of life itself is the unseen relationship of violence.

Posted February 28, 2012 at 5:40am in Capital Frank Wilderson Marx afro-pessimism marxism poop theory David Harvey | 7 notes
I reblogged them.