Cuteness is a way of aestheticizing powerlessness. It hinges on a sentimental attitude toward the diminutive and/or weak, which is why cute objects—formally simple or noncomplex, and deeply associated with the infantile, the feminine, and the unthreatening—get even cuter when perceived as injured or disabled. So there’s a sadistic side to this tender emotion, as people like Daniel Harris have noted. The prototypically cute object is the child’s toy or stuffed animal.
Cuteness is also a commodity aesthetic, with close ties to the pleasures of domesticity and easy consumption. As Walter Benjamin put it: “If the soul of the commodity which Marx occasionally mentions in jest existed, it would be the most empathetic ever encountered in the realm of souls, for it would have to see in everyone the buyer in whose hand and house it wants to nestle.” Cuteness could also be thought of as a kind of pastoral or romance, in that it indexes the paradoxical complexity of our desire for a simpler relation to our commodities, one that tries in a utopian fashion to recover their qualitative dimension as use.
Since i’m playing with house money now (like, literally if i am gonna delete a blag i can like post whatever i want right?) here is probably my favorite exchange in which Max Bemis behaves like a total dillweed because Tim Kinsella hurt his feelings.
i think i am (finally, for real this time) driving a stake through EoB’s heart; i’ve met a lot of great people through this, i’ve legitimately enjoyed every bit of feedback i’ve received and the overwhelming amount of support i received when i was having serious psychiatric troubles (even the misguided anon who repeatedly triggered me by sending me anti-psych stuff). EoB also allowed me to feel like i might actually be capable of thought and more importantly thought worth having. However, almost every quote i have ever posted here is hand typed, this was an arduous process and at 473 followers i was consistently overwhelmed with the feeling i should produce more, even with reading at a prolific rate and with my almost complete isolation here its very difficult to take the time to like, actually produce content and given my generally poor mental health i simply can’t. i also am starting an ad junct ethics gig (not my first choice of jobs but i have to eat) and it is probably easier if i just cull this thing in its entirety rather than deal with any future awkwardness.
<3 always, SG
p.s. i will leave this up for about a week for people to archive anything they think is of value but i would personally prefer if people do not try to talk me out of deleting this blog, its been a wonderful space (at times) but now i think i’m ready to let it pass (somewhat) grace(less?)(full?)y
Being Positive, in the current climate of fear and anger, is the best thing that could possibly have happened to me. I look around me at the Negative world, and I see men who are in the closet about their desires: mustn’t admit to wanting to get fucked— mustn’t admit to liking rimming— mustn’t admit to drinking piss— mustn’t admit to frequenting sex clubs or bathhouses. It’s as if AIDS has taken us back to pre-Stonewall days: it’s okay to be gay, now, as long as you’re in a monogamous relationship and you never, ever do anything the least bit interesting.
There’s a saying that goes like this: “That’s an idea so ridiculous only an intellectual could believe it.” Well, it’s the same with the organizers of the working class. The bosses are right about us. We hate work, we hate our jobs and we hate them. They are right to distrust us. Pride in work as we know it is an idea so ridiculous only a union organizer could believe it because the truth of the work week is something quite different. Biting your tongue, hiding in the bathroom, grabbing a smoke or pretending to be doing something are the most common activities at any modern job.
Working in a call center and get hung up on? Let it hang there for a few minutes. No need to rush. Just let that dial tone ring for a bit and grab back part of your life a few minutes at a time. That’s the reality. Who would want to democratize most of this? Can you imagine the drudgery of the Slurpee committee meeting at the collectivized 7-11? Surely better just to put it to the torch and be done with all illusions. No thanks, budding union bureaucrats: the arsonist is a much better shop steward these days.
And there is no escape for most of us from the drudgery of work and the liberal way it wastes our time and energies. Landlords and grocery stores, mechanics and credit card companies can be strict masters and if you can’t refuse work, the best you can do is try to get the most out of it you can, for your own ends. If that’s not possible, may as well burn it down.
Union of Arsonists - “The Flammable Estates of the Rich and the Class War Fires of Liberation” (via effusionofbiopower)
for the magician, it is essential to obtain a parhedros; one does not become a true magus without such an assistant. To acquire one is thus also a kind of initiatory rite. The papyri supply us with a series of examples- a most characteristic one is taken from the same papyrus in Berlin:
A demon comes as an assistant: he will reveal everything to you, he will live, eat, and sleep with you
(1) Take two of your fingernails and all the hairs from your head. Take a Circaean falcon deify it [drown it] in the milk of a black cow, after you have mixed Attic honey with the milk. And once you have deified it, wrap it with an undyed [that is, pure] piece of cloth and place beside it your fingernails and your hairs; take some royal papyrus, write what follows on it in ink of myrrh, and set it in the same manner along with the fingernails and the hairs, then smear it with uncut frankincense and old wine.
(1a) Here is what you will write on the paper: A EE HHH IIII OOOOO γ γ γ γ γ γ ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ. But write it arranged in two figures.
(2)(a) Take the milk with the honey and drink it before the sun rises, and something divine will be in your heart. Take the falcon, set it up in a temple made of juniper wood, and having crowned this same temple, make an offering of non-animal food, and have on hand some old wine.
(b) Before going to bed, make a prayer before this same bird after you have offered it a sacrifice as you usually do and say this spell: A EE HHH IIII OOOOO γ γ γ γ γ γ ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ, come to my place, good farmer, good demon… come to my place, o holy Orion, you who dwell in the north, who cause the currents of the Nile to roll down and mingle with the sea, transforming them with life as does the sperm of man in sexual union, you who built the world on indestructible foundation, who are young in the morning and old in the evening, you who journey through the subterranean pole and who rise, breathing fire, you who have parted the seas in the first month, who ejaculate your sperm into the sacred figtree of Hermupolis. This is your authoritative name: ARBATH ABAOTH BAKCHABRE.
(c) But when you are dismissed, be shoeless and walk backward, and set yourself to the enjoyment of the food and dinner and the prescribed food offering, coming face to face as companion to the god. This rite demands total purity; hide, hide the procedure and abstain from intercourse with a woman for seven days.
Thou hast many bags of money, and behold now I come as a thief in the night, with my sword in my hand, and like the thief as I am, I say deliver your purse, deliver sirrah! Deliver or I’ll cut thy throat.
The monster was also someone with two sexes whom one didn’t know whether to treat as a boy or a girl, whether or not he/she should be allowed to marry and with whom, whether he/she could become the holder of an ecclesiastical living, whether he/she could take religious orders, and so on.