Fellows, Friends, and Others, I am sending another one of my reports from the field. As stipulated, I am using the species’ own mode of transmission, their own semiology—what is referred to in these parts as “language” (though, technically speaking, they use many “languages” organized in a similar way as a system (i.e. as “language”),
I’ve been hiding in the forest, in the woods. Up in the mountains. In the wild. I hadn’t gone back to town for some time now. Ryan, as I see, has taken care of this place. He proves, as always, responsible and competent. Ever mindful of the many unhomes that, fortunately or otherwise, we share.
So: Who am I? (Either) Ryan or Aless? (Or) Aless or Ryan? And, isn’t it: / ? As it turns out, I am constituted by parts that connect (especially with alien parts, in all different sorts of connection, ones no I can really claim), that is, when they’re not saying No!, when they could, when
[Rembrandt's Saint Paul in Prison] So, coming straight out of our last conversation (about their playfulness, their promiscuity, i.e. their connectivity), we’re still talking about desiring-machines. (Either) Ryan and I (or, more precisely: /). (Or) Aless and /. S/he asks me (one of them, ‘can’t remember who) (/ suspect after the Dionysian celebration that commenced,
["Cross-pollination" from Cartoonstock] I don’t know if it was once again the feel of the big city in Berlin, or the weekend in Amsterdam that did it, but, if I’ve been worried about becoming-lone-wolf, I think it is safe to say for now that I can put those worries to rest. I am not completely
[Masochism and its rejection] I’ve been here in Germany for almost two months now, and, for all that time, every single f**king weekday, with the annoyingly loud ring of my alarm clock, I’ve been waking myself up early in the morning, taking a shower to make myself somewhat presentable to the outside world (as best
[Lone Wolf by Alfred von Kowalski-Wierusz] I guess one can say that there’s a strong, independent streak in me. I hate the schedule that social life forces me to take. I work on my own time, judge my output based on my own standards. I (try to) do the things I want (despite the overwhelming
[Image from the cover of Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle] There comes a time, I think, when we stop imitating. When we get tired of looking around, observing how others (re)act, how they do things, how they live . . . patterning our lives according to these archetypes (patterns of behavior we (Imaginarily) share
My life goes through this cycle where, at one point, I’m really passionate about my work, I’m all functioning and productive (prolific!), having found some purpose, sensing meaning (excited!) in life-and then, all of a sudden, I get tired, I can’t look at the computer (“My eyes hurt so bad!”), I slow down, I don’t get to do as much, I question the worth of what I’m doing (“Who the f**k cares what you think? Why even think about these things? Why center your life on something no one cares about?” It’s not gonna change anything! It doesn’t f**king matter! You don’t f**king matter!”), I get all nihilistic and depressed, I get hypersensitive about everything, insecure about the littlest things, and, deep inside, feel nothing.
Q: So, when you look at me, do you feel, as Lacan described in the mirror stage, like a unified ego? A: No, not really. If anything, I ask: Why is my face too big for my body? Am I sure these are my arms? Compared to my pecs, why are they so puny? My