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project XI-XV (removal fantasies) [11 Sep 2019|11:11pm]
XI. pursuit of happiness (moment for life)



‘wow. i don’t know how to fix this. i don’t know how to fix any of this shit. . . . i just wanted to get some pussy.’ – Project X (2012), dir. Nima Nourizadeh

the last failed attempt at keeping the dancefloor free of communicational intrusion was, according to mark fisher, lady gaga’s telephone. it made impact a decade ago, at a moment when a spotify account still could be obtained through invite only, something that now seems a calm before the platform economy storm that holds the current in its dizzying state.

XII. heads will roll (hit this city)



emptying bins in the street, throwing bags of trash, tvs and vacuum cleaners from a speeding car, jumping fences and smashing mailboxes with sledgehammers, tearing down flags, fucking shit up, lighting shit on fire, throwing it into the air to see glowing specks all over, kicking down signs. all property belongs to everyone, nothing is nobody’s. let’s fuck shit up, let’s go fuck shit up, it’s the mantra throughout ryan trecartin’s junior war (2013). a supercut of parties and open airs and parking lot hangouts, as if real life itself isn’t a web of highlights and fast forwarded passages. the senior is at war with the junior, the junior is at war with the senior and the self simultaneously. damage is inflicted on the nothing-things of the suburb streets, to perform a resistance act of teen punk logic against the world bound to swallow you. the real damage is always the self-inflicted, the arrest and the curfew that will never meet its restrictive goals. damaging oneself is nothing to a teenager, even less to a group of them. it must be that way because observing the adult world approaching like an iceberg at the horizon necessitates training in endurance. if life is passages of nothing and points of ecstacy the ‘one night only’ is a fully logical conclusion to the growing up trauma. the parent never understands the worth in ruining your life over one night only, because the parent is wrapped up in only days, forever laid bare in sunlight, stripped of secrets and counterproductivity. the junior recognises the power of counterproducing, of focusing the energy of a lifespan onto a select few early morning summer hours. the real damage is losing touch with damage. it will happen to most of us, to the best of us. at best we’ll, from the other side, subtly observe and approve the mayhem of youth.

XIII. play hard (all of the lights)



the junior-senior war plays out on account of the senior’s admiration of the junior’s recklessness. just as thomas sees his dad’s mercedes getting fished up out of their pool, and just as his college fund has been deducted from him in favor of repairing his parents’ still smoking house, a stroke of pride flashes in the face of his father. It is apparent that, even during his son’s prison sentence, the father, taken aback at the surprise of his son’s unexpected actions (he is heard early on in the film assuring his wife of their child’s nonexistent coolness), will paradoxically cherish the opposition to his own rules. using this moment as an analogy, žižek likens the father to the ultimate one; that is, god, who tells man to have no other god before him, implying that rules are off when he’s not around watching. the father authority seems to walk a fine line between permission and prohibition, one that doesn’t necessarily fluctuate at times but manages to caress and spank with the same hand movement. žižek continues on to point out the “quasi-sacred character of the party: when it runs out of control, it explodes into what one cannot but designate as a collective experience of the sacred, [...] a vulgar adolescent party [...] ‘intensified’ to a sacred orgy”. the party is at first glance, and probably described this way in the craigslist ads and mass texts that attracts the thousands of people attending, an event of beauty–strobe lights over toned and tanned topless teen girls, cocktails in red cups and fireworks. but as easy as it would be to accept this quick sales pitch of a description, the reality of any rave–the sticky skin, stained clothes, ruined shoes, aching feet, lips swollen from early morning stubble, lukewarm red bull–makes an acceptable one night only neither because those aspects nor the experience they form is particularly enjoyable. just like žižek construes of the event of falling in love with a person as an indifference towards physical attributes (you’re pretty because i love you), the one night only is fallen in love with and therefore ‘fucking shit up’ feels so good–the father constrained by his own regulations can do nothing but watch, despair and regard highly.

XIV. stay high (when love takes over)



love is boundless pain. it is surrendering the future, not to capital, but to the hands of beauty, of a perfectly entrancing person. if pain or stress triggers adrenaline, love must be a perpetual intoxication, as it is nothing but the promise of being cut off. you do not truly love a person who can not potentially destroy you. equally, a summer, or merely a summers night, that has not left your liver, your brain cells, your soul or your criminal record fleshed out and ripped apart on the highway, must have been of no importance. what kills you is your passion, and living passion-less is a life of bureaucracy. that is a death sentence, meaning suffering for a lifetime for the sake of suffering. suffering equally as long for love will go by quicker than batting your eyes at a bartender.

XV. one more time (beautiful exit)





endeavours to reach point X are attempts at forging three forms of bodily removal. the teen is pressured into their own body like fossils into oil and conducts any research possible into ways of releasing pressure. the party, while never engaging enough force to perform simultaneous removals, is a platform for removal of the necessary convergence. like oil extraction, the retaining of energy increases in difficulty–commence the fracking of the self. the framework for removal is ignited and cemented by music, as any proper ritual guidelines are. within this space it is possible to envision exit, transcendence and suicide, a triple vision to end dys-morphic dis-reality.
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gnostic incels and disruption of linearity / unfuckable time, cucked history [09 Aug 2019|01:19pm]
"You know that among the young men the ones who turn out to be terrific talkers are the ones who get fucked a lot"
– Ekklesiazousai (113-114), Aristophanes

Sexuality will completely cease to exist. Love will cease to exist. There will no longer be any imprint of such concepts in the human psyche. It is the only way to purify the world
– My twisted world (136), Elliot Rodger

They say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody is loving you
– Video Games, Lana del Rey

In the Incel Manifesto, (now defunct) blogger lolfaggotry asserts the ways in which the ideology of involuntary celibacy, a conspiracy-concomitant online based movement merging monasticism, misogyny and magick, tackles questions of soul, body, will, time, virginity and religion. As made apparent in their way of navigating the complex, hyper-radical philosophy, the incel may be seen as a project of humanist annihilation in an attempt of reconnecting with nature and refresh one's perspective on sex, sexuality and societal factors forcing libidinal conformity. In an alignment of their worldview with gnostic concepts the incel might be about, as lolfaggotry vividly put it, “seeing the face of God in the cute waterpolo boy who nearly bullied you to suicide in 4th grade.” This notoriously murderous community is thus, in my eyes, one of few contemporary spaces available for male emotional processing, and should be closely observed as an example of psychic power being potently purposed.

At its core, incel identification bears the conviction of a societal hierarchy that is entailed by a genetically deterministic view of the foundation for human life. It is key to this movement to assert the ways in which one’s DNA determines traits like IQ, EQ and, perhaps most importantly, appearance. Borrowing ideas from phrenology, physiognomy and cephalometry, the incel focuses heavily on the chin bone to determine discrete categories of people, ranging on a scale of likelihood to have sex, and in extension a scale of societal worth.

The first of the main categories determined is, solipsistically, the Incel, deemed retarded, insufferable and inherently un-fuckable. Not rarely is the incel autistic, an aspie, or just borderline faggot, most likely they’re knee deep in depression and (homi-)suicidal plottings. Mid-scale falls the Normie, a neurotypical non-playable character complete with moderate intellect, skull shape and erotic capital, and arguably this group consists of the wider part of the population. The winners of the biological lottery are the Chads, alpha-beings with charisma and intelligence who are the root of all cuckoldry, and their female counterparts, the Stacys, embodiments of bimbofication and promiscuous inflators of the chad ego.



As the incels relation to gnosticism thus far might seem puzzling, one has to observe the historical ways in which their inherent anti-humanism correlates to ancient ideas of space, time and nature. Camille Paglia claims that western culture has been greatly shaped by the displaced despair experienced by men who are made into sexual outcasts, who suffer identity loss through their inherent incapability of identifying with the cyclical, non-climactic course of nature. As the woman and her inescapable corporeal emulation of natures constant reproduction seems to exist in an impenetrable mode of harmony, men are left to desperate attempts at establishing identity through inevitably evanescent moments of intercourse and eventually the violent imposition of linearity and historic climax. Paglia reminds us, “women accept limited knowledge as their natural condition”, recalling the implications of how the visual evidence of one’s genitalia shapes one’s thinking in adolescence. The male state becomes one of observing, categorizing, defining, linearizing and rationalising nature.

Now, I propose, these ways in which the incel undeniably observes and categorizes nature are not merely a reiteration of the male identity-affirming concentration and projection that Paglia speaks of, but a positioning of one’s respect towards nature, and God, by revealing masculine-social structuredness in an attempt to disrupt it. At this point I have to make it clear that the incel’s attitude is one of constant ambivalence, due to its intimacy with both meta-ironic chan-culture and anti-linearity. The incel itself is simultaneously postulated as genetically inferior and the revealer of truth, deterministically rejectable – unfairly treated, yet worth their treatment. The chad is painted as one of capacity and intelligence, but is, in attempts of gaining control, equally ridiculed and mocked by incels. Intelligence is constantly shifting, blame in flux. Through the instigation of its own existence, a process which importance I will emphasise, the incel presents us with the precarious state that the hierarchies that constitute society is doomed to exist in. The incel rejects this order, albeit in heavy fumes of irony and paradox, through acceptance of the workings of nature. The incel recognising and deliberately affirming their own place as inferior on the scale of human worth should not be seen as compliance with the performative state of said scale. Rather it is a statement on respect of nature, an affirmation of the incel ideology as an anti-humanist, a way of claiming natures total supremacy over any outcome by surrendering one’s agency, actually denying agency as such. Lolfaggotry posits a form of genuine incel as “a retreat into a meditative position, neutral like nature itself”, and by that implies an aspiration towards human reconciliation with the cosmos – or in a more concise and abrasive post: “You know why incels are fat? They are pregnant with the infinite.”



As mentioned, the state of incel is one that is entirely self-instigated, performed, if you will, through the repetition of corporeal signs – it is spoken into existence. In further examining this mode of creating one notices the historical connections through surveying possible metaphors – conjuring through ritual, manifestation through magick, the self fulfilling prophecy. To this vocabulary lolfaggotry also adds the Egregore, an ancient influential psychic entity comprised of collective thoughts. Its foundational self-perpetuating insertion into reality seems like an appropriate similitude to the apparition of new conditions of human existence, exemplified in the incel.

A similarly performative narrative of living is the one of the targeted individual, who perpetually asserts the persecution of government, or even higher authorities, towards themselves specifically, and trying to argue against their lived reality shows how truth isn’t experienced, but claimed. In a talk at new.New festival Daniel Keller puts the community of TI’s in a context of a conspiracy cosmology, a world where truth is lie and lie is truth, where chemtrails and colloidal silver reigns. He reminds us that any form of conspiracy inserted into rational discourse has impact, no matter if one buys it or not – language works as a powerful tool in spreading incurable memetic infections. This is where the power of the Egregore lies, as it consists of a network of ideas and irrationally choses which ones to embed into the canon of reality. What differs the TI from the incel is the level of surrender and paranoia. A genuine incel should, as mentioned, strive towards alignment with nature, harmony, meditation (heavily anti-western values), as opposed to the TI who buys gadgets for radiation protection under ceaseless (self-)surveillance. The TI fights foot and nail against the powers they have generated, the incel embeds surrender into the very core of their ideological project.

In VALIS Philip K Dick contends the phenomenal world as “a hypostasis of the information processed by the mind” – a revelation that enters him through a pink laser beam. He is made aware of the nonlinear nature of time, how the human brain through elimination tricks us into only perceiving one coherent lifetime at a time, while really we’re existing in a continuous present – at all points in history simultaneously. Each person carries the memories of the entire species, future and past, this theophany discloses. Linearity is forced onto humanity, by reptilians or the patriarchy – doesn’t matter, and what it forecloses is the disembodied experience of cosmic harmony; uninterrupted womanhood; a world ridden of Chads and incels. In this way the incel project and its anti-humanist goals of connecting with nature, putting God first, is dependent on feminization. A transgendering recourse to the cyclical must happen.



Beta- is the incel’s ultimate prefix, beta-male is their synonym and suggests the movements longing for sex-reassignment. In its immense insecurity the establishment of male identity must differentiate itself from the female, a performative superiority has to take place at all instances to combat the cosmic female sexuality. Does the incel not simply identify the male longing for the female position? In Is the Rectum a Grave? Leo Bersani points out the faggots inability “to refuse the suicidal ecstasy of being woman” when he finds himself with his legs in the air. The crime of homosexuality, often attributed to “the lifestyle”, Bersani argues lies in the promiscuous ways of gay socialising – promiscuity being cyclically grounded, the nonclimactic climax, a threat towards the phallic climax and linearity imposed on “history.” Again, womanhood is the final recourse for the anti-masculine body or any project of linear destabilization.

Historicizing the attribution of sex disparity to variation in vocal quality, Anne Carson recalls Herakles in finding himself “sobbing like a girl, [...] in pain [...] discovered a woman”. The masculine identity crisis distances itself from the female outcry, a natural response to child birth, to orgasm. As the man hears the woman burst out in a reaction intrinsic to her connectivity with nature’s cycle, nothing but confusion is triggered within him. In his alienation, man renders these natural outcries beastial, whereas their primal quality, in fact, would be useful to acknowledge as the channeling of emotion that he lacks so terribly. Let’s ponder the displacement this repulsion towards the feminine voice has undergone, from Sirens and Gorgons to gossipers and fangirls. The feminine vocal greatly feared by Odysseus is under no less dispute in current times. Hordes of squealing girls at the barricade of sold out pop gigs posited as hysterical, reality stars and housewives being questioned over their nasal enunciation rather than their wealth, Lana del Rey really “felt people weren't taking [her] very seriously, so [she] lowered [her] voice” – a gendered resonation under scrutiny. Gossiping, another word for a conversation men plainly are not engaging in. Might it be too close in proximity to man’s emotive embankments, discussing human relationships, wanting to share? Carson brings forth Plutarch and him retelling the story of a politician’s wife falling for her husband’s test of loyalty. After hearing, from her man, a story to good to not share, the woman’s gossiping with the maid consequently spreads the word to the entire town. A woman talking is a secret perpetually being revealed, and in letting her mouth fling open there’s the threat of her second mouth’s devastating exposure. Emitting noise, the woman’s mouth forces the inevitability of encountering, and the impossibility of conquering, understanding, the vagina onto the man – crisis, envy?

Recourse from repulsion is not to be found at the incel, who has taken on the task of carrying male crisis visibly into the world. The vagina, as much as it would seem to be the ultimate bringer of ecstasy to the incel, is more than frowned upon. Roastie is an epithet awarded to women who have, presumably as opposed to the incel, had sex. Etymologically it is based in the fictitious idea of the decay of the vagina initiated by a deflowering, a simple abbreviation of roast beef – which form is what the female genitals apparently will transmute into. The fear of even being reminded takes over. Logical short circuiting values of purity and dirt, desirability and repulsion, virginity and promiscuity, riddles the incel here. How can a woman be so disgusting, so amoral, to engage in intercourse, even more frightening – several times, and why can I not get laid? How dare she bring to mind this wretched cavity with her carefree blabber, and why is no-one listening to me?

If, as I am inclined to believe, the incel project is one of feminization, the woman – not the chad, not the normie – is the incel’s arch enemy. She’s all one aspires to be, as well as the abiding signifier that one will never be it. It is the panic of transgender. Displaced, then, onto the woman, from themself, the incel’s hatred of the woman in front of him is a result of her appearing as his malevolent mirroring. A woman talking points to the incel’s own inability of meditating on their cosmic relationship, and the promiscuous woman is a stream of salt painfully penetrating the open wound of the ideology at large – one’s unfuckable nature. The desires, as well, are projected onto the woman. Does the incel not place value in the sexual encounter he envies so deeply at the cost of his fundamental yearning for release from dysmorphia? Does he not see in the roastie that repulses him, to the degree that has driven boys to murder and suicide, the body of someone he believes he would have succeeded at life in embodying? The inhabitation of said body being faintly graspable at a point in history where performers of complex surgery and transplants, hormones deliberately or unknowingly ingested, are operating at a level that allows one to, convincingly or not, enter a hyper-virtual mode of utopian being.



reading list

Incel Manifesto. Lolfaggotry.
Free Women, Free Men: Sex, Gender, Feminism. Camille Paglia.
VALIS. Philip K. Dick.
From the Sovereign Individual to the Targeted Individual. Daniel Keller.
Is the Rectum a Grave? Leo Bersani.
Glass, Irony and God. Anne Carson.
My Twisted World. Elliot Rodger.

image #2 is “Spontaneous Catgirlification” by Adept Omega on Deviantart

[this unfinished text was written early 2019 as an attempt of entrypoints into incel discourse that werent initially dismissive, and as first draft for this blog. i see it as a complete dedication to entertaining the ideas of lolfaggotry, whose poetic treatment of incel culture in my opinion was one of few genuinely interesting endeavours toward a complex understanding of the phenomenon. the blog has since been purged multiple times, saved copies are available at https://web.archive.org/web/20160515040852/http://lolfaggotry.tumblr.com/]
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errbody gettin crunk [07 Aug 2019|12:25am]
on this day 10 years ago, august 7th 2009, kesha (then still going by ke$ha) released her massively acclaimed single TiK ToK, which has since proven to be one of the most culturally significant pieces of music of the past decade. not only does it signify the essence of the party-hauntological paradigm to its fullest, but can also, in hindsight, rightfully claim its position as a highly accurate prophecy of the following cultural shifts of the 2010s. keshas debut album animal, featuring TiK ToK, literally inaugurated the new decade by hitting the shelves on january 1st of 2010. it eerily suggested the embedded irony of its own party saturated subject matter by making its presence known to a maximally hungover global population, who had been partying in the new decade. produced by dr luke, one of countless men publicly taken down by metoo, the song could further exemplify the type of inflammation that has come to be central in the representational identitarianism defining both political and cultural discourse of the latter half of this decade. also, hiding in plain sight, is the prophetic projection of TikTok, the social media music platform hybrid that is the most overt product of changes in the music industry symptomatic to technological and algorithmic acceleration. during the summer of 2010 a clip was uploaded to youtube, in which in-service israeli soldiers can be seen performing a choreographed dance to TiK ToK, fully armed in the streets of hebron, palestine. to mtv kesha described the viral IDF clip, as well as the song being featured on an episode of the simpsons, as “dreams”. “dj blow my speakers up” echoes with dissonance, despite the heavy autotuning, against the active war zone backdrop.



the decade as such is ephemeral, and usually not easily captured in a best of-list, but incidentally major cultural shifts instigated by economic, technological and sociological factors happened to take place just around the new decade. the leaks of snowden and manning, occupy wall street and the arab spring are all formative events affecting the general conception of modern society that took place within a period of time with 2010 as the middle point. while culture is a process impossible to construe as predetermined segments, a decade might actually be a reasonable amount of time to let pass in order to more concretely discern the significance of any event or phenomenon. it may generally be an appropriate distance for more contextualised analysis of the effects of innovations. if so, now would be a good time to revisit the artefacts of early 2010 pop culture to see in what ways it points to where we are now. not to set up a definitive narrative as an “explanation” to how weve ended up where we are, but to find points that can be analysed and connected to the contemporary, and our memories of the past.

in an essay titled another grey world mark fisher describes the 21st century domination of party pop music as “party-hauntological”. hauntology as such is a notion, attributed to derrida and written on extensively by fisher, which tries to articulate the ways in which life is haunted by the possible futures that never occurred. it can be argued that this is one of the major coping mechanism for a modern society on the brink of climate destruction, entrenched with anti-radical neoliberalism. what the party-hauntological is then, is when the canon of mainstream pop music is so dense with calls for throwing your hands in the air that it, despite its overt optimism, starts signaling melancholy. fisher references hugely popular tracks like j-los on the floor (2011) and the black eyed peas time (dirty bit) (2010) that both filled countless dancefloors but regardless, through their sampling of older dance tracks (lambada respectively ive had the time of my life), incorporated a paradoxical form of sadness. the actual presence of a fragment of the 80s might be a tool to insert the music into an alternative flow of time – in a hauntological manner; a way of resuscitating the hope for a future that in present time is long dead.

audio retouching, such as the autotune which the utilisation of is perfectly exemplified in TiK ToK, creates a sonic landscape that fisher describes as “a perverse yet ultra-banal normality, from which all flaws have been erased”. the cultural incentive to turn to party music as a proxy for any real life partying continues to escalate in a neo-liberal paradigm that favors free market excess but prohibits any hedonism in praxis. mourning the passing of past rave culture, among increasing regulation and surveillance, is sublimated into a performative cpr of the most streamlined version of the party. to bear living under conditions predicated by platform economic interests on the rise, one has to resort to entrancing oneself by simulating an imagined pre-reagan-thatcher optimism. no matter how little support it may actually give, or how connected it actually is to actual historical social conditions.




TiK ToK, i perceive, was one of the major final gasping breaths of the party-hauntological music paradigm, that soon were to be entirely engulfed by platform agendas. the party-hauntological was concerned with establishing an alternative time frame as relief from the despair and pressures of, among other factors, the integration of the online and the social. the following dominance can be attributed to a music consumption as one part of the desensitising-distracting algorithm driven model of profitable social media feeds. in this new form, music is consumed in snippets, often in company with viral videos, limited to the two minute 20 second limit of a twitter video, the one minute limit of instagram and tiktok, and the even shorter time frames of platforms such as snapchat. the success of lil nas xs old town road has much less to do with whatevers evoked by its nine inch nails sample, and more with its memetic compatibility with the platforms and a general current moral direction of media.

katy perrys last friday night (t.g.i.f.), is another 2010 track that in all its optimism (after a tirade of all the sick things one can recall from previous night the chorus ends by assuring us “this friday night, [we will] do it all again”) showcases the approach of its own obsolescence in plain sight; it really does signify the last friday night. the explosion of early 2010s party-hauntological music marked the end of the party as such and it seems like we now must endure an infinitely stretched out saturday morning hangover where one cant seem to do anything but scroll ones thumb up and down the phone – the festivals are shut down or gentrified, the clubs and raves likewise. by the time lorde sings shes “kind of over gettin told to throw [her] hands up in the air” in 2013, the paradigm shift is already taking place. lorde herself exemplifying the way in which the attention economy easily will disguise the convergence of viral events and its own economic interests as american dream-esque diy culture. in the music video for tennis court she is merely looking into the camera, only lip syncing the scattered “yeahs” throughout the song. it seems nearly avant garde at first glance, maximally effective at second. she sings “its a new art form showing people how little we care”.




today the resampling of old dance music (recently icona pop sang over a remade gypsy woman beat, french montana and city girls rapping over push the feeling on by nightcrawlers which previously also has been sampled by pitbull) seems to be less a depressed longing for the future and more a desensitised accumulation of content. its almost like the past is invoked by random now; the data that happened to be at hand was once a cultural artefact but is incorporated into the present music canon because it was convenient, lucrative and fit for the platform. so what is unfolding here, really? a critique of the state of the current, that is nostalgic for performative nostalgia? besides arguing for the determination of TiK ToK as the defining track of the decade, both in it being the epitome of party-hauntological music and a prognosis of the years it preceded, i would also emphasise the potential of the melancholic streak of its time, if one is looking for tools. a regression to the mindset of a time where a future that wasnt ecologically, politically and culturally disastrous could still be glimpsed at the horizon undoubtedly can, and maybe must, be bound to a depressive repetition – eventually escalating into suicidal tendencies. but the sampling that is emblematic of the party-hauntological may also be a resource towards building better alternatives. as news are consumed from minute to minute instead of week to week or day to day, the speed inhibits the stretches of time that have allowed past generations to cultivate culture and theories. the average lifespan of an internet meme is only a fraction of, say, even the relatively short fashion trends of the 00s, and infinitely shorter than the decade long cultural eras of the 20th century (look, here we are, still pretending that decades exist and havent been replaced by minute-short online time frames). when there is no longer space to let culture develop in slowness like before, turning toward both past and future to collect and assemble fragments that can piece together a culture that is comprehensible and beautiful because of its self aware contextualisation might be the only viable option. such structure, if executed with passion and esthetic engagement, ought to be a prolific one, of wide scopes, spectrums of emotion, full of enjoyable contradiction and inadvertence.




the beauty in TiK ToK lies in the perspective it is perceived from. that is, it now has 10 years of content between itself and us at this point in time, and its position in relation to the entirety of cultural production preceding and succeeding that position stands for its cultural value. as a piece of little over three minutes of recognisably structured 120 bpm pop, it now passes as a definitive representative of pop music around the switch of the decade as an experiment in pushing the threshold of unsophistication. as opposed to the current state of cultural production, in which artists entire lives and personal philosophies are picked apart in order to determine their value as creators based on their (most often optical) morality, a full on disintegration of complex thought was being explored (way before that same tactic would be politically mainstream). kesha and contemporaries of hers churned out music that spoke volumes of the crumbling state of societys stability by blatantly turning its face away from issues, ridiculing them, belittling them. seeing her, and others, attempting to adjust to the newfound value of morality and “taking a stand” during more recent years is uncanny. praying, the ballad released at the close of her contractual dispute with her producer-abuser dr luke, is abruptly disconnected from her earlier output. somewhere along the way of the legal process she dropped the $ from her mononym to symbolise a removal of “facade”. lady gaga transitioned from her space cowboy produced dancefloor anthems like just dance to jazz, high brow acting and abuse awareness projects. nicki minaj pushed the braindead aesthetic to its most unconventional and trollish with stupid hoe. but even as soon as she dropped anaconda in 2014 the (female) rap was now politicised, in a field where the necessity of any given song “empowering” the marginalised was growing more prominent. nicki has since been more concerned with figuring out the attention economy. one of the final death twitches (and perhaps one of the best products) of the hands up pop movement, we cant stop by miley cyrus, was met with suspicion already at its release in 2013 – narratives of cultural appropriation and privileges were already on the rise on social media at the time. miley has since had to (re)turn to country esthetics. as early as 2003 the black eyed peas released lets get retarded, now an obvious hyperstition for the a coming mechanism to cope with the state of the late 00s. they would eventually put out their essential two-part party music odyssey, starting in 2009 with the e.n.d. (short for the energy never dies) featuring indispensable songs like i gotta feeling and boom boom pow. as the beginning dropped one year later, one might wonder if they were not predicting the way their relevance would end at the instigation of a new technological and social paradigm.

when listening to TiK ToK in 2019 its 8-bit nostalgic carefreeness sounds like a trace of what music was before cancelling, before vine trimmed the general attention span to a matter of seconds, before the end of the world was being talked about as a process already well underway. this is what the distance that the past decade comprises charges an artwork with. it becomes crucial, when struck with the potency of well aged art, not to surrender to a nostalgic loop of failed resuscitation, but to incorporate the significance of that distance into conditioning art for a new decade. still, it is 10 years later this very distance that now renders the previously epic TiK ToK a song now on the verge of sublimity.
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candid celibate [23 Jul 2019|12:04pm]
in one iteration of current online sociality there is a dissentive among two factions, the canceller and the cancelled, and it is nagging on the culture. it is like a battle of power, where one side is skilled in attack and one in defense, but the longer the conundrum remains unresolved the side of the attackers moral logic will increase in pervasiveness. on the sidelines, watching in confusion or blatantly keeping on with their own, is a vastness of normies. this battle could be construed as simulating another online based war of ideas, the one between ugly men and men who score pretty women. one wonders, is the canceller the incel, and the cancelled the chad, or vice versa?



differences between the canceller and the cancelled; the prior desires to be cancelled, the latter can never cancel. the canceller; a pessimist disguised as optimist, whose facade displays a variety of traits that are stylistically connected to virtue. playfulness, openness, acceptance, inclusion, trust, creativity. often these signifiers of good morality are performed so intensely they rapidly go transparent, accelerating beyond any threshold of believability. the canceller misses no chance to directly, or as indirectly as they can bear, signal to the world when they have taken stances for the greater good of all, hyperfocused on eliminating any potential semiotic or semantic toxicity from their vocabulary. they are apparently so fond of the world and its people that they will go to distant lengths to make sure everyone else will treat it in the exact same manner as themselves, peculiarly often in the name of anti-authoritarian causes. in short the canceller, like any person, sometimes dislikes things but, unlike many, is shocked to the highest degree when all other people does not actively reprehend said thing. yet, the canceller is simultaneously worked up in another manner. that is, they yearn for the position of the cancelled, the mark of successful transgression, the role of the pariah, in a desperate, almost horny way. the “oh boy i’ll sure be cancelled for saying this but…” hails in between giggles and the clicking of nervous nail biting. why is it so alluring? maybe the canceller wishes someone put as much care as they themselves have put into collecting tweets, screenshots, receipts; into compiling websites and writing open letters; into blocking and muting and, not stopping there, making absolute sure that others do the same – into caring about them. are these people dedicating their lives to combing for tiny signals of amorality maybe yearning for the very attention they force themselves to navigate the world with?

the cancelled; an optimist disguised as pessimist. as in not exactly over enthusiastic towards every little flaccid attempt at conjuring an illusion of progress, and in a loosening up of moral, even just slightly. the intrinsic playfulness of a rude and curse ridden group jargon. the trust in people, and their capacity to balance and decide. the cancelled can never cancel, only look away, pause the youtube video, unfollow the account, and think to themself; and if other people want to, they can too. what else is implied in that, if not trust, meaning optimism. the cancelled moves on, thinks and rethinks, accepts, changes direction, regresses; all in their own pace, it is the unbotheredness of faith in the world.



the moralist and the esthete; one reads the artwork according to a set of guidelines, perhaps even rules, the other just feels it, walks past the stuff that refuses to engage. this is not to say one is to prefer, perhaps the moral direction an artwork takes actually matters the most, carries the heaviest implication of value, perhaps the affective state it triggers, perhaps if it succeeds doing humor, perhaps if its sexy enough we should deem it good. it is always decision, and not necessarily the same one every time. its all subjectivity, moral is subjectivity. nonetheless, the decision for moral good is tricky to deploy in praxis. it is seen to necessitate certain material effects, to instigate processes that make actual life actually better, a massive undertaking that doesnt fit nicely in an art world that comprises a million agendas that stretch in a million directions. it is a risky endeavour to advocate for the greater good, one is so often disrupted by nature and everyday life, carefreeness and joy.

the incel relentlessly weaponises against the chad who, with his dick up some sexy chicks pussy, if not completely oblivious to the attacks at least remain highly unconcerned. the cancelled will, if their predator has devoted enough time to their project, sometimes notice material consequences as result of their cancelling – an employer googled you and found some troubling “information”, your pictures are pushed to the top of google results alongside allegations, sometimes your family and even friends will be put under fire, people you were close to might in moments of confusion be coerced into announce their distancing from you. the cancelled, while of course untenably having to suffer the outcomes of this, will remain highly unconcerned. the dick of the cancelled is their mind, and the hot pussy it is banging is a multiplicity of ideas, a space of multitudes for the mind to exist in. it is the esthetes space, meaning the space of pleasure.

while the incel forms his ideology around a biological determinism, where nose shapes and jaw angles are main factors in forcing the incel into his sexual poverty, there is vocally less weight put on genetics in the arguments of the canceller. they, instead, often resort to terms like safety and inclusion, relying on presumptions of the morally good in coercive combat towards structural injustices. but as cancelling exceedingly is done in the name of social justice, meaning an incorporation of marginalised identities into e.g. circles of creative production, in a world where the marginalisation structurally is based on genetic differences only, it is evidently a rhetoric that utilises genetic dispositions at the core of its argument, while hiding this core by attributing it to the structures and the structures only. the perpetuation of identities tied to genetics is performed honestly by the incel, and dishonestly by the canceller, who continues objecting to a system by its own terms.



so the canceller asserts their right to vigilantism, and puts down great effort to proclaim and sustain their moralities. while the cancelled usually sticks to spending their time creating and consuming art, writing texts, developing critical or political or sexual and esthetical thoughts, the canceller puts all of these processes to a halt in order to critique any minute flaws in the progressions of the cancelled. paradoxically the canceller, being the most vocal proponent of a flourishing creative and intellectual scene, contributes the least to it, if not actively sterilising it. just like the incel projecting his unrequited lust onto the chad, in hopes of ever being, even for just a moment, treated with the same sexual passion, the cancelled resuscitates the medieval thingstead with an unbelievable force, and they wish so badly someone would do the same for them.

for the one who does not care about preserving and entertaining heterogeneous culture, the cancellation must be welcomed; embrace it! cancel what scares you, cancel what excites you! prove youre in it til the end by cancelling the ones you love the most! for the rest, remain unbothered and carry on with your practices. in this setup i am likely to be one of the normies, as i combine the disinterest in the ideological coerciveness of the canceller with an incentive enough to write a thousand words on the matter. and as esthetically compelling chad is, i have the weakest spot for incels in my heart, and i will in the name of coherence try my best to feel likewise for the canceller too.
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notes on sisterhood [13 May 2019|05:36pm]
james charles apologists, do rejoice. christmas time for the platform sociality thirsty is upon. it has arrived to illuminate the limits of gayness, conservatively and rightfully so. do not dwell on the ‘receipts’–what are the ethics of letting your friend behave allegedly abusive and erratic and not actively distancing yourself from them until they intervene in your business, tati?–try not to get stuck there. if gay marriage is an institution that optically works against homophobia but at its kernel is a mere tool for economic and social normativising, the james-gate is a trojan horse in the reverse way. at first glance a personal dispute of business and friendship, necessitated publicly for clarity, but carrying in its belly a homophobia. a phobia in its definitive sense, a fear of gayness, a fear of the disruptions and redefinitions that comes with being gay. a phobia that’s crucial for the continuing survival of both society and whatever, if anything, is left of the queer ‘community’.

a segregation of ‘issues’ has taken place within james-gate. quickly, the woke and the alt-woke has sprung to analysis, exposing the corporate mechanisms of tati’s vitamin supplement business as the only instigator of her sudden outspokenness. she’s critiqued of looking past james’ crudeness and alleged sexual manipulations for years, not bringing issues to light before her brand is personally hurt. i would rather argue that not ‘exposing’ private sexual matters of a man who turned eighteen only a couple years ago is a well advised move inhibiting homophobic optics. when revealing this information at this point, when the story involves more complex details, it is easy to direct the onlookers gaze to what is currently in vogue caring about; influencers are bad, corporations are bad, derp. i say we should refocus on what matters here, what’s been concealed by people terrified to dub all gays predators; the heteromasculine fear of being turned into an (gay) object of desire.

not in the slightest bit is the concern raised, when it is made known that james charles has ‘preyed’ on straight men on instagram, talked about how nobody’s a hundred percent straight, rambled on about cock sucking and sexy waiters at dinner parties, because an alarming, systematic situation is taking place. the panic has been induced not by the very real (and frankly embarrassing) misuse of power perpetuated by james, but by the sexual nature of the sexual encounters. the word cock in the wrong setting is the key trigger here. we have a boy who were barely born in the previous millenia who’s consumed an amount of vulgar drag race seasons and gen z memes, who just has too much money and face recognition (perhaps also too much self doubt and shame) to ever be placed in the contexts he seems to have been made for. decadent sex dungeons and sheltered alleyways have been claimed gay spaces because they are equally hidden and exposed. they tease the outside world, lets a sliver of red light out on the street each time a nervous twink first timer slips in and sweaty ‘working late’ daddy sneaks out, but not more. there’s no time for such activities in the schedule of an instagram star. james is actually quite brave, probably mostly dumb, to let his gay indecencies seep out, but conclusively it does not help queers the slightest.

as much as normal people depends on a small group of freaks to cement what normality is and isn’t, being queer is an existence depending on a transgressivity that is about to be fully inhibited by ‘pinkwashing’ and similar practices. this is why lgbt advocating is a self destructive method, in order to make gay existence ‘safe’ it seeks to diminish gayness entirely. in a world where everyone’s trans there’s no longer high suicide rates among trans women. being queer is struggle, illness, death as much as freedom, emancipation, comfort. being queer in the era of drag race seems to become a play of simplifying signifiers and a cementing of cheap queer theory and centrist heterosexual values as a community goal image. if queerness is disavowing one’s future it is also disavowing one as influencer. the mainstreaming of the dungeon is what leads to its gentrifying closure. the 16 million subscriber faggot can not help the community in any way but one–bring back my… oppressors.

the kind of homophobia tati displays, the one that rejects vulgar jokes and with fear thinks of shit on the dick, have before unified gays. it is the schism wide enough to keep both the normal and the abnormal healthy and thriving in whatever way each community decides to attribute those words. this is the important takeaway. not the abuse of power comes as no surprise platitude, over and over that concern proves to be a purely performative one. not the cries of ‘is profit more important than abuse!?’, remarks that has completely missed to think twice about whether they’re afraid of all sexual encounter– or just gay one’s.

it is becoming increasingly difficult to discern the queers among the masses, the fluoride gazes.


mulholland drive (2002)
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open the noise of trans [02 Apr 2019|01:10pm]


in their coverage of amazon’s new trans alexa out.com are seemingly disappointed in the new queer spokespersons lack of answers to questions about drag race or timothy chalamet, luckily they did not forget to emphasize the actors fondness for oral sex or his versatility in gay sex positioning.

pinknews.co.uk clarifies how trans alexa will speak about his transition and (most importantly?) suicide attempt and eventually direct the listener to sign a change.org petition that calls for some kind of contemplation of the human rights act, or something. at the time of posting pinknews noted the sparse 47 signatures, but now, three days later, the number has skyrocketed to almost 350. when i scroll down the recommended article is a cockyboys actor talking about sucking off his dad at the age of eight.

on them.us there is a call for ‘trans mediocrity’ on tv pointing to the way trans characters never appear on screen if they aren’t in some way required to be trans. this kind of rhetoric of representation that ought to strip identity from character clashes a tiny bit with a contemporary queerness of constant affirmative identification. on the them.us front page i’m told about how queer-affirmative therapist will change my life and how broad city has woven queerness into its fabric.

‘the community’ has viciously been pushing for institutional and corporate representation and reform for years now, which is why the disappointment in the corporations that cleverly applies those methods for marketing purposes baffles at this point. none is to blame for campaigns like amazon’s but the gays who seems to have thought you could intertwine sexual politics with capital driven institutions without ending up with death by opportunism. the victim of this murder is the name of queer liberation. not because what died was the struggle that will free us, that struggle is inherently unnameable and is hopefully brewing under the corpses of deliveroo pride floats and pronoun rounds, but due to the majority of ‘queers’ (and to be fair, this label becomes decreasingly legitimate for each pride month that passes) being won over by a neo-liberalism that flattens them into nothingness. but no, of course there should be more trans women in hollywood – the most safe and pleasant working place on earth as we've learned from the likes of metoo.

lucky for amazon copywriters transgender day of visibility is aligned close enough in proximity to april 1st for attempts at discourse to slightly pass as jokes themselves – no, obviously they would persevere at any time of the year, as they will persevere through perpetuating the most vile dehumanizing and mistreatment of workers too.
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whatever feels good––– [26 Mar 2019|02:01pm]
"Old soul, waiting my turn, I know a few things but I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
– Slow burn (2018), Kacey Musgraves

Sonic catharsis exposes the soul as an accumulation of information, a span of knowledge with its fangs deep in its own tail. In The Divine Invasion Philip K. Dick elaborates his matrixing of the perceptible world in an inter-dimensional drama of holy pregnancy and cryonic time travel. Main character Herb Asher does not realise he’s living as a hallucinated experience until music from a nearby transistor radio bleeds into the block his body’s been frozen in, a moment in which he’s alerted to the precarity of any and all objectiveness. When the strings are transmitted into the world he’s inhabiting they appear only to him, like a song stuck in one’s head, confirming the state of dream the past years of his life has been in.

On the day of Dolores O’Riordan’s death youtube user Cecil Robert uploads The Cranberries- Linger (playing from another room) as a memorial gesture. The meme of equalizing songs into new but familiar ambiences points to the ways in which the phenomenal understanding of art might be the heaviest contextual factor in putting into motion the informational constituents of one as human being. It’s 3 am, you're rolling through the streets with your windows down. there, you see a strange stripclub playing lana del rey tunes... so you stop the car, windows still open, to listen. writes youtube user mabel in the description of their 80 minute video lana del rey playing at a stripclub. The low pass knob on the EQ becomes a tool for rendering what has, in the case of Lana, been described as a power to trigger nostalgia over memories one doesn’t even possess, down to an even more encompassing reality shift.

In the teen room, one is no longer lingering in times one did never have but in an experience as close to objectively real as it gets – the sound waves break through the cryonic plaster and, much like for Herb Asher, forces you to recollect; I am here, but I am also somewhere else. As much as I am sitting in my bed and not in a pickup truck on a dimly lit backstreet, I am opened up to the speculative critique of that fact. A rupturing of an otherwise solid perceptive linearity takes place in the simple possibility of a DIY memory, a history that is built from whatever one finds lying around. This minuscule technical adjustment done to a track before playing it out loud enables a lingering of temporalities that, instead of stacking horizontally, layer on top of each other and play out over and over again simultaneously.

Musics pseudo-primality, tying the ritual nature of being animal to the spiritual undertakings that comprise humankind, triggers cracking of the weak societal membrane that encapsulates our construing of time. It does not necessarily speak clearly, rather it whispers in tongues – and might this be why we hear a song with our eardrum but listen with our entire body? Why movement turned out to be the ultimate way to process music in real time? Old soul as in the core of one’s being as in irreplaceable for the subject as we interpret it to further exist, waiting its turn due to the lack of options one has while suspended in time.
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