about dragging

About life down this hill

Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.


From "Spring," by Edna St. Vincent Millay

something about Christopher Hitchens' "No One Left To Lie To: The Triangulations of William Jefferson Clinton"

In The Trial of Henry Kissinger, Christopher Hitchens assailed the supposedly murderous ambition of one American politician. In No One Left To Lie To: The Triangulations of William Jefferson Clinton, he tackles another. But Clinton does not have as much blood on his hands. Instead, most of Hitchens' blitzkriegs target Clinton for being a peerlessly sleazy, corrupt, debased fraud. Clinton seduced and raped women, then hushed them with threats. He pretended to be a populist, but pushed policies that benefited the elite at the expense of the people, especially the disadvantaged. He played to racial fears and stereotypes, and still managed to gain favor among minority voters. He and his wife, Hillary, pushed healthcare reform that favored the top four or five insurance companies. He tapped soft money resources and intentionally confused those secretive donations and private funds with public financing so he could use all the money to achieve his ends. He ordered bombing campaigns in Sudan, Afghanistan, and Iraq to provide political cover during his impeachment. He told lie after lie after lie. Hitchens is merciless here, peppering his insults with wit and delivering this diatribe in pointed prose. His sourcing leaves something to be desired, but Hitchens fires off good arguments that should give pause to any Clinton supporter.


Note: 
I sometimes come across conspiratorial claims about Clinton (and his political machine) murdering opponents or anyone capable of implicating his family in a crime. There is no such content here.

"The Wizard of Oz" and "Mad Men"

The classic film "Wizard of Oz" depicts a young farm girl journeying through the fantasy land of Oz; the highly rated TV show "Mad Men" follows Don Draper, a highly successful executive in the golden age of advertising. What do the two have in common?

Oz is a magical place; when she first awakes there, Dorothy is dazzled by all the rich color and imagination-defying people and places. But soon she encounters Oz's darker passages, the bends in the road populated by witches and angry trees. Dorothy herself is believed by the populous to be a witch capable of and gifted with extraordinary ability. But, of course, she's really just a simple farm girl. Her journey through--and eventually out of--Oz is a a journey of self discovery. The land of Oz proves to be a dream, a world of false promise. Dorothy tries to find her heart's desire only to discover she had it all along back home with her family.

Advertising in 1960s-era New York City is widely considered the industry's golden age. Don Draper starts life as dirt-poor Dick Whitman, a farm boy who spent much of his formative years meekly in a whorehouse. But during the Korean War, he takes up the identity of a fellow soldier who, unbeknownst to most of the world, actually died in combat. With this identity, and entering the world of advertising, the new Don has the chance to escape his troubled, humble past and build a new life with his confident good looks and intelligence. But the business of advertising, while high in status and flush with cash, hides a competitive world of illusion, promising a life of fulfillment and happiness that can never be delivered. Don's journey on "Mad Men" is proving to also be one of self discovery in which our protagonist returns to his roots and his family.

So Oz and advertising are both worlds of illusion. Both Dorothy and Don are thought of as something they are not. Both characters journey though a land seeking something that ultimately they had all along. Etc ... you can figure out the rest.

Notes:

• There could be (and probably are) more specific correspondences between the film and TV show. For example, Don's partners could fit the roles of the talking lion, tin man, and scarecrow; Pete Campbell is the Cowardly Lion, Roger Sterling is the Tin Man, and Peggy Olson (and maybe Joan Holloway) is the Scarecrow.
• When we last saw Don Draper, he had returned with his family to the whorehouse-home Dick Whitman grew up in. Similarly, at the end of her journey, Dorothy ends up back home in Kansas, surrounded by the family who loves her.

about the slept-in Impala

something about "The Trial of Henry Kissinger" by Christopher Hitchens

British-American author, intellectual, and journalist Christopher Hitchens spent most of his political life on the left, but spent much of his later years defending neoconservatives. Ideologically he seemed to move from socialist to constitutional republican with Marxist sympathies. Despite this shift, Hitchens consistently attacked abuses of power. One great abuser, in Hitchens' view, was Henry Kissinger.

Kissinger served as National Security Advisor and Secretary of State under Presidents Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford. For Hitchens, Kissinger's Realpolitik approach to foreign policy led him eventually to violate international human rights law, the law of armed conflict, international criminal law, and US domestic law. In The Trial of Henry Kissinger, Hitchens seeks an indictment; in fact, he expects it.

Hitchens organizes his case against Kissinger neatly, addressing each crime separately, giving crisp narratives describing the immediate contexts, characters, and instances of moral failings for which Kissinger should be held accountable. Kissinger's six worst crimes as detailed by Hitchens: mass killings in Indochina (Vietnam and places nearby), killings and assassination in Bangladesh, coup and killings in Chile, coup and violence in Cyprus, genocide in East Timor, plotting to kidnap and/or kill a journalist in DC. Hitchens thinks Kissinger guilty of all this (and more) via his complicity or direct responsibility, depending on the case and how much we feel comfortable deducing from the evidence.

Before reaching a verdict about Kissinger's guilt, I'd argue a jurist would need at least two things: (1) an understanding of Realpolitik in light of American foreign policy, and (2) a briefing on the broader Cold War context in which much of these events occurred. But Hitchens doesn't give us this context; for him, this has nothing to do with either. This a time to exact punishment on a man who acted out of pure, cold ambition.

This is a short, fast read, and Hitchens' style goes down smoothly. A good read for a quick primer on some very dirty politics.

(or posts) Kreator, "Stream Of Consciousness"

There is no difference between death and life
Just a circle to be closed by time
Creatures comforts in this earthly plane
Have become more hallowed than wisdom today

In the stream of consciousness, we cannot see the truth
Play your role so perfectly no matter which life we choose

Emotional terror confusing our minds
Love and hate keeping us blind
Pretend death is the end of the line
Expect reward in paradise

In the stream of consciousness, we cannot see the truth
Play your role so perfectly no matter which life we choose

Living in an ice age, emotions gone numb
The truth once so near, but now so far away
So turn another page, get our daily work done
All the nightmares are clear and happening today

Mindless fools obey all rules
Lost all worth, born to serve

Emotional terror confusing our minds
Hate and love is keeping us blind
Creature comforts in this earthly plane
Have become more hallowed than wisdom today

There is no difference between death and life
Just a circle to be closed by time
Pretend death is the end of the line
Expect reward in paradise

In the stream of consciousness, we cannot see the truth
Play your role so perfectly no matter which life we choose

Rocky Balboa and baptism under fire

In the film "Rocky Balboa" (aka, "Rocky VI"), our protagonist, Rocky, is now a retired former heavyweight champ almost two decades past his prime; the reigning heavyweight champ is Mason Dixon. But pundits say the current roster of boxers lacks true champs, leaving Dixon plagued by doubts about his legacy and legitimacy. The implied message here is that his fighting Rocky would give him credibility and, unofficially, it would harken a new boxing era. At one point in the film, Dixon's trainer delivers this: 

Martin: You got everything money can buy, except what it can't. Its pride. Pride is what got your ass out here, and losing is what brought ya back. But people like you?, they need to be tested. They need a challenge. 

Dixon: But you know that ain't never gonna happen. There ain't anybody out there, Martin. 

Martin: There's always somebody out there. Always. And when that time comes and you find something standing in front of you, something that ain't running and ain't backing up and is hitting on you and you're too damn tired to breathe; you find that situation on you--that's good. 'Cause that's baptism under fire! Oh, you get through that and you find the only kind of respect that matters in this damn world: self-respect.

Alan Parsons Project lyric

The sun in your eyes made some of the lies worth believing.

briefly about "Mortality" by Christopher Hitchens

British-American author and public intellectual Christopher Hitchens was diagnosed with cancer in the summer of 2010 and died December 2011. Mortality is his final work, a meandering collection of essays penned during his painful physical decline. Mentally and emotionally, however, judging by this book, Hitchens stayed the picture of health. In these pages he imparts the experience of dying slowly, offers up a couple memories and lessons learned, and renews his atheism. Hitchens subtly urges us to appreciate health--our speaking voice, in particular. And, about that health, he aims to disabuse us of the idea that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. This last point is not to say that Hitchens regrets his steady flow of cigarettes, scotch, wine, and the late nights he spent with friends; it just seems that life--his especially--necessitates many loosely calculated risks. In the way of an end-of-life perspective, he writes,

So we are left with something quite unusual in the annals of unsentimental approaches to extinction: not the wish to die with dignity but the desire to have died.

The lyrics to "Polar Opposites"

Polar opposites don't push away.
It's the same on the weekends as the rest of the days.
And I know I should go, but I'll probably stay.
And that's all you can do about some things.

I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.
I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.

Two one-eyed dogs, they're looking at stereos.
Hi-fi gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground.
These vibrations oil it's teeth.
Primer gray is the color when you're done dying.

I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.
I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.

"Dogs"

Who was born in a house full of pain?
Who was trained not to spit in the fan?
Who was told what to do by the man?
Who was broken by trained personnel?
Who was fitted with collar and chain?
Who was given a pat on the back?
Who was breaking away from the pack?
Who was only a stranger at home?
Who was ground down in the end?
Who was found dead on the phone?

Who was dragged down by the stone.

about "The Courage of Truth" by Michel Foucault

This is another installment in the newly published series of lectures (and lecture notes) given by Michel Foucault at the Collège de France. This one, however, was the last one he gave there before dying. These lectures were recorded during February and March, 1984. He died June 25, 1984.

This book is subtitled "The Government of Self and Others II" because it picks up where his previous string of lectures, "The Government of Self and Others" (published in this same series by Picador), left off. So we begin again with the concept of parrhesia: free-spokeness, or, defined more emphatically, truth-telling. A few high-profile truth-tellers, just to give you an idea, might include Americans Mark Twain or Will Rogers (more recently, some people might include Jon Stewart). But rather than seeing parrhesia in merely the presence of a few pop culture figures, Foucault drills the concept of parrhesia to mine for its broader, deeper significance and implications.

In Foucault's late lectures, he is imparting an ontology of true discourses. First, "The Government of Self and Others" established parrhesia as originally a political notion. But here, through Foucault's reading of Plato (on Socrates) and his study of Cynicism, it expands into philosophy.

Foucault established parrhesia as a necessary component in effective democracies; the best political system will be the one run by virtuous men. In "The Courage of Truth," parrhesia differentiates the man, the leader, from the masses. A leader's truth-telling not only shows his moral/ethical worth, it also is part of the speaker's self conception. So, as established in ancient philosophy, the best political system is run by virtuous men who can uncork the discourse of truth. In this analysis, Foucault is running the technologies of power (and government), knowledge, and subject formation through the gauntlet. These things are intertwined in ancient philosophy, and so they are in most of Foucault's texts.

This lecture's opening focuses on Plato's "Apology," the story of Socrates death, and "Leches," a work exploring courage. With these works, we first find that parrhesia and indeed all of ancient ethics revolve around the care of the self (i.e., self development, self government, self discipline, etc.). Furthermore, parrhesia is bound up in one's existence and formation of self. The latter portions of "The Courage of Truth" examine the Cynics--a people who denied themselves even basic comforts to strip away any artifice that might stand in the way of Truth. This drastic lifestyle eventually showed people that there was another life: an other life, or, the other life (varies by interpreted experience).

Christianity blended the Platonic concept of care of self--the work of purifying the soul ahead of its eventually authentic existence in another world--with the Cynics' quest to defy "temporal customs" in search of basic values.

So you take the two parts of "The Courage of Truth"--the way truth-telling separates the speaker from the masses and the philsophic introduction of the possibility of the other (better) life promised by the Cynics and their successors--and you find that, since the dawn of Western philosophy with the Ancients, the hallmark of the True is Otherness: that which makes a difference and opens the possibility of another reality. This, according to Michael Foucault, is what philosophy is, what it does. There is no establishment of the truth without an essential position of otherness; the truth is never the same; there can be truth only in the form of the other world and the other life.

This is a poignant book; the editor's notes go to lengths to drive this home; Foucault, knowing death would come soon, like Socrates, practiced philosophy and kept his eye on Truth until the end.

Loss

Philip Seymour Hoffman, 1967-2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Heiligenstadt Testament

In 1802, Beethoven's doctor prescribed a stay at Heiligenstadt, a small village north of Vienna. The young composer was in crisis: his relationship with his beloved Giullieta Guicciardi was dying, and his hearing had been deteriorating for six years. His troubles led him to live a lonely, solitary life far away from people that he feared already misunderstood his aloofness for insolence. In October of that year, Beethoven wrote of his despair and isolating deafness to his brothers Carl and Johann; he also wrote of his desire to persevere and pursue his art. Writing desperately, he rejects suicide and soon starts to work on Symphony No. 3, Eroica. Beethoven hid this pseudo-legal letter with his private papers, so it was not discovered in Beethoven’s room in March 1827, after his death. This letter is now known as the Heiligenstadt Testament.

For my brothers Carl and [Johann] Beethoven

Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me? You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. From childhood on, my heart and soul have been full of the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great things. But, think that for six years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse by senseless physicians, from year to year deceived with hopes of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible). Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was soon compelled to withdraw myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried to forget all this, oh how harshly I was I flung back by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing. Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, "Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf." Ah, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed. Oh I cannot do it; therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would have gladly mingled with you.

My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished; I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, and I fear being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last six months which I have spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing as much as possible, my intelligent doctor almost fell in with my own present frame of mind, though sometimes I ran counter to it by yielding to my desire for companionship. But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing. Such incidents drove me almost to despair; a little more of that and I would have ended me life--it was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched existence--truly wretched for so susceptible a body, which can be thrown by a sudden change from the best condition to the very worst. Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done so--I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not; I am ready. Forced to become a philosopher already in my twenty-eighth year, oh it is not easy, and for the artist much more difficult than for anyone else. "Divine one, thou seest me inmost soul thou knowest that therein dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good." Oh fellow men, when at some point you read this, consider then that you have done me an injustice; someone who has had misfortune man console himself to find a similar case to his, who despite all the limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become accepted among worthy artists and men. You, my brothers Carl and [Johann], as soon as I am dead, if Dr. Schmidt is still alive, ask him in my name to describe my malady, and attach this written documentation to his account of my illness so that so far as it possible at least the world may become reconciled to me after my death.

At the same time, I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called); divide it fairly; bear with and help each other. What injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven. To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown me of late. It is my wish that you may have a better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks to it and to my art, I did not end my life by suicide. Farewell and love each other--I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky's and Professor Schmidt--I would like the instruments from Prince L. to be preserved by one of you, but not to be the cause of strife between you, and as soon as they can serve you a better purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if can still be helpful to you in my grave--so be it. With joy I hasten to meed death. If it comes before I have had the chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite my harsh fate, and I should probably wish it later--yet even so I should be happy, for would it not free me from a state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall meed thee bravely. Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead; I deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of ways to make you happy--please be so.

Ludwig van Beethoven

Heiligenstadt,
October 6th, 1802

Note:
(translation)

Kings Of Convenience, "I'd Rather Dance With You"

"Young Folks" by Peter Bjorn & John

If i told you things I did before,
told you how i used to be,
would you go along with someone like me?
If you knew my story word for word,
had all of my history,
would you go along with someone like me?


I did before and had my share;
it didn't lead nowhere.
I would go along with someone like you.
It doesn't matter what you did,
who you were hanging with.
We could stick around and see this night through.


And we don't care about the young folks
talkin' 'bout the young style
And we don't care about the old folks,
talkin' 'bout the old style, too.
And we don't care about their own faults;
talkin' 'bout our own style.
All we care 'bout is talking--
talking only me and you.


Usually, when things have gone this far,
people tend to disappear.

No one will surprise me unless you do.


I can tell there's something goin' on,
hours seems to disappear.

Everyone is leaving; I'm still with you.

It doesn't matter what we do,
where we are going, too.
We can stick around and see this night through.

And we don't care about the young folks,
talkin' 'bout the young style.
And we don't care about the old folks,
talkin' 'bout the old style, too.
And we don't care about their own faults;
talkin' 'bout our own style.
All we care 'bout is talking,
talking only me and you.


And we don't care about the young folks,
talkin' 'bout the young style.
And we don't care about the old folks,
talkin' 'bout the old style, too.
And we don't care about their own faults;
talkin' 'bout our own style.
All we care 'bout is talking,
talking only me and you--
talking only me and you.

Talking only me and you.
Talking only me and you.

quickly, on Charles Baudelaire

French poet, essayist, and critic Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) fits in between the Romantics and the Modernists--he's actually credited as the first to refer to modernity as a movement and condition of life in the increasingly urbanized world. Though still considered hugely influential, Baudelaire is not in style today.

As a Romantic, he's inspired by rich emotions, gives priority to aesthetics and nature, and--this makes him tricky to read--makes allusions to classical, medieval, and exotic stories, all while revolting against industrialization. But as a Modernist, he aimed to say and represent something about his time and defy orthodoxy. For this, he became a bit of a lightening rod, slapped with labels of indecency in his life and work. He lived hard and died at 46.

I first read Artificial Paradises, a sort of meditation on the effects of wine, hashish, and opium--all substances he indulged in until near his death, and perhaps taken in some part to medicate himself while suffering gonorrhea and syphilis. This text is neither the boasting of a stoned teenager nor the cautioning of a burnout; no, it reads like a devout aristocrat--which Baudelaire was--sunning himself in his talent for writing prose while recording for posterity a slice of his life and the strength of his intellect, hopefully to the offense of the reader.

Next I read two of his books of petry, The Flowers of Evil and Paris Spleen (combined in one volume by BOA Editions, Ltd.). The Flowers of Evil is Baudelaire's best-known work; here he glides beautifully over a range of subjects. And while he can summon fine porcelain words to capture the mood that strikes on a particular lovely evening, he can also express a healthy sense of disgust for things, and this I enjoy very much. The works in Paris Spleen are considered prose-poems, which are basically short, stream-of-conscious vignettes and random blurbs.

Artificial Paradises I can take or leave, but the The Flowers of Evil and Paris Spleen collections proved enjoyable, though only after a couple evenings spent flipping through them over again.

Notes:
(from The Flowers of Evil)

"The Grateful Dead"
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

Somewhere, in a country lush and fat with snails,
I wish that I might myself a narrow grave
Where my old bones, at leisure, could stretch out a while
And sleep, oblivious like sharks beneath the wave.

Last wills and testaments I hate, and tombs I hate;

And rather than implore the world to weep for me,
While I'm still living I'd be happy to invite
The crows to drain my blood from my carcass's debris.

O worms! black comrades without ears or even eyes,
Behold, there comes to you a free and joyful prize;
You philosophic wastrels, children of putrescence:

Within my ruins carry on without regret,
And tell me what is still to come, what novel torments
For this, my soulless corpse, this dead among the dead!

(from Paris Spleen)

"Get Drunk"
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

Always be drunk. That's it! The great imperative! In order not to feel Time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way.

On What? Wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk.

And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the porches of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the dismal loneliness of your own room your drunkenness gone or disappearing, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you: "Time to get drunk! Don't be martyred slaves of Time, get drunk forever! Get drunk! Stay drunk! On Wine, poetry, virtue, whatever."

"Concubine/Fault and Fracture" by Converge

something about the documentary film "Into the Abyss" by Werner Herzog

In his review of "Into the Abyss," Roger Ebert starts off with this:

"Into the Abyss" may be the saddest film Werner Herzog has ever made. It regards a group of miserable lives, and in finding a few faint glimmers of hope only underlines the sadness.

Well said. And here, at this cross-stitch of crime and poverty, the value of life runs threadbare.

Herzog documents the people and events surrounding a triple homicide in the small city of Conroe, Texas. The crime is violent and pointless, the sentences inconsistent and accidental. We hear from the convicted suspects, the families, investigators, and prison staff. With this crowd, Herzog has stumbled into a special kind of poor--a subculture of white, angry desperation that doesn't seem to know any other way. Herzog's approach is distanced, and he rations his usual pithy but insightful commentary.

When I think of an abyss, I think of a space in which blackness persists where the eye looks for light. The film's most glaring abyss is death row inmate Michael Perry: Seeing his youthful face, we expect--almost demand--him to show us something redeeming, something innocent. But it never comes. He is incapable probably of redemption or innocence.

But an abyss is also marked by its limitlessness, and even in this senseless loss, the victims' family attempts to salvage something. And another glimmer of hope (for those opposed to capital punishment) comes from a Death Row guard's turn away from death in favor of a universal right to life.

This is a very fine documentary, an effective and subtly powerful example of the form. Through Herzog's lens, overarching pointlessness and defeat lie naked. Presented with the abyss of the human soul, we find two thoughts juxtaposed: (1) No one has the right to take a life, and (2) some people don't deserve to live. There is no answer. Just traces of a spirit deeply buried within flaws and sad stories.