April 28th, 2010
One happy development in this new epoch of ours is the devaluation of those awful partitions in the arts called ‘genres’. Clearly they have particularized to a point beyond usefulness; those of us who resent their proliferation only have to wait for rumor of their impotence to be made public. Once this fraudulent class of words is disenfranchised they might serve a more parochial function: to describe certain crafts, hobbies, or forms of light entertainment for instance – but no longer should they refer to anything of artistic merit.
If a certain song, or sculpture, or the like, fits nicely into one of these buckets then it is well placed, because it is most probably trash. It has failed to differentiate itself, which in artistic terms means that it has failed utterly. The aspiring screenwriter that means to set the world on fire with his ‘horror movie’ will inevitably only contribute to the heap. The harder it is to pin a word on a thing, logically, the more novel and therefore precious it must be.
While the old genres showed recklessness in fathering so many delinquent children, they themselves have preserved at least a little of their virtue: vagueness. If a certain recording features electric guitar and drums, then it might be called rock music. If one finds a painting decorating a chapel hall it is very likely religious art. The important distinction is that these vague old labels do not carry any kind of qualitative information. Conversely, if you were to hear in advance that a painting you were about to see was a work of postmodern abstract-expressionism then whatever small chance it had of moving you will have been squashed.
The best artists in any medium make use of not one innovation but so many that the antecedents of their work are rendered obsolete, or at least too distant to matter. Let us not do these true artists the careless disservice of appending one or two reductive words to their exalted works. Instead, let us relegate the ever-growing tangle of genres to a mere means of distinguishing one kind of derivative production from another.
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April 21st, 2010
Conspicuously, he bought a daily from the newsstand and a fine cigar with Dechets Savane printed on the band. Then, proceeding to look the proprietor straight in the eye, he gave a point and a wink and said, “Goodbye!”
He took a match to his cigar, and clipped his paper under his arm, and checking his pocket for the time, began to stroll around the park, for the climate was sublime.
He was the picture of a capitalist. At length, he parked his person under a pretty pergola, and puffing his cigar, began to cogitate, “How might I acquire more wares, for it is the getting of goods that best allays cares.”
His only possession I’ve neglected to mention is his nickel-plated pistol that he maintained with attention. And the capitalist clicks his heels, as if to say:
“Oh, happy day!”
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April 14th, 2010
Many find the meaning of life an obstinate mystery; perhaps you are one of these wayward souls? Well, today you are in luck, for life’s meaning is painfully obvious, and I don’t mind sharing. Until recently, the human race’s speculations on the subject produced some confused notions, but modern science has corrected these. The meaning of life is now quite plainly to seek our fulfillment.
The first tenet of science that we must accept is that we are one species, inhabiting one ecology. The second, is that our peculiar species was produced by an extraordinary set of conditions, and the product of an improbable history. As a mass of atoms, at large in the universe, each of us might expect to be a cloud of dust, instead we get to walk for a while as one of these privileged, conscious beings.
As such it becomes incumbent upon us to seek our own fulfillment. This pursuit is not to be taken lightly. Many things that seem to advance us, in truth, set us back. Fortunately, generations past have recorded their experiments which may be of some service; they warn of the danger of certain fleeting pleasures, but give a ringing endorsement of self-directed work, be it raising a garden of horned melons or mastering Nguni stick fighting.
The most potent work in the service of self-fulfillment is that which contributes to the betterment of the species, be it eradicating malaria or giving the rest of your bag of peanuts to a bum. All this seems very plain to me, and yet how easily we get caught up in the failings of others or our own personal tragedies – and somehow see the very meaning of life thrown into doubt.
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April 7th, 2010
I would have bought the Brooklyn Bridge from him if I thought the motorcar would ever amount to anything but a toy for the bourgeoisie. I am speaking of the worthy salesman I happened upon at the bazaar at Baščaršija while on sabbatical from my position at the École. I found his unassuming stall buried amidst the usual sellers, hawking things like clothespins and pennywhistles. The gentleman in both accent an appearance might have seemed Swabian to the untrained ethnographer, but I recognized him as Alemannic.
He had a scandalous amount of curiosities laid out upon his velvet counter. His principle assets were a sampling of Neanderthal artifacts. I must here confess that I first I took them to be common stones, but he elucidated the subtleties in each. Where I saw a hunk of granite he presented a worn hammer. Where I perceived a slab of flint he showed me an elementary chisel. I felt hopelessly embarrassed by my ignorance and my cheeks flushed.
He somehow perceived my chagrin, this noble merchant, but said he felt he could trust me, and with great reticence he brought out his most prized ware; he lay before me a most ornate box, trimmed in gold and encrusted with lapis lazuli. His eyes shot back and forth as he slowly opened the reliquary. “It’s empty?” I said, once again exposing my naiveté. He implored me to examine closer, and there in the folds of crushed velvet within, I spied a twig, though I am now averse to using such a colloquial term for that exquisite prize.
The merchant proceeded to disclose the case of that rarest token, the idiosyncrasies of his use of Alemniac localism adding an element of romance to the tale: In short, the Archduke of Austria had jabbed his toe on that very stem and at that moment, bent over with pain, avoided a sniper’s bullet – thereby averting an international catastrophe. What astonishing provenance I thought! My colleagues at the École would die in fits of jealousy; I acquired it immediately and at a fair price. Excited, I ran home to mother who thrashed me soundly and sent me to bed with no supper.
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