Rage can be a catalyst for both sweeping social change but can provoke backlash. And both situations are unnerving to liberals of the professional classes, who are comfortable within the present system, hence, deep down, don't desire a shake up of the system that might threaten the privileged positions they hold within it.
As a consequence, liberals, oblivious of their own buried, selfish motivations, have difficulty understanding laboring class anger and resentment and how it is channeled and displaced by conservatives.
"Hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside." --William S. Burroughs.
In the theatre of this faux republic, Republicans are effective at selling their imperialist wars of choice and their class-stratifying economic policies because they have become convinced the roles they are playing are real.
Regarding this situation, Konstantin Stanislavski, considered to be the father of modern theatrical conventions, is reported to have instructed, when an actor becomes so deeply merged with the role he is portraying that he begins to believe he is that character, it is time to escort him from the theatre.
In contrast, Democrats can't seem to find a way into their roles; therefore, they give less than convincing interpretations of the characters they are playing. As a result, their line readings are listless and lack conviction.
And what does this reveal about the rest of us, the supernumeraries in our national tragicomedy, who believe we are central to the plays outcome -- this amateur production of Marat Sade -- otherwise known as -- daily life in our corporate state/militarist imperium?
"Psychoanalysis has to get out of the consulting room and analyze all kinds of things. You have to see that the buildings are anorexic, you have to see that the language is schizogenic, that "normalcy" is manic, and medicine and business are paranoid."--James Hillmam
In May 1974, the German artist, Joseph Beuys (Born: May 12, 1921, Died: January 23, 1986) arrived in New York City to present a work he titled, "I Like America and America Likes Me."
Upon arrival at Kennedy Airport, although in good health, he disembarked the jet, secured upon a gurney, and then was transported by ambulance to a room in the Renà © Block Gallery on East Broadway. Throughout the commute, Beuys, wrapped in a large swath of felt, remained on the gurney, keeping to his vow not to "set foot on US soil" until the US ceased its illegal, immoral war in Southeast Asia and withdrew its combatants from the region.
Once ensconced at his quarters at the gallery, for three days, Beuys shared the space with a wild coyote. At intervals, he would rise to his feet, covered in the swath of felt, and, as he steadied himself on a shepherd's staff, Beuys would induce the coyote to tear at his covering of felt, inciting the animal to rend the fabric to tatters.
Other times, he would simply lie upon a bed of straw, watching the coyote as the coyote watched him"man and beast appraising each other.
During the performance piece, Beuys would engage in ritual acts, such as playing percussion on a large triangle and playfully tossing a leather glove to the coyote.
After three days, alone in the room, with the animal, Beuys hugged his companion (who appeared to have accepted the artist's strange behavior) and bid him goodbye.
Project completed, Beuys returned to Kennedy Airport, transported, once again, by ambulance, making good on his promise of exiting the US without having set foot upon it.
As Beuys would later aver, "I wanted to isolate myself, insulate myself, see nothing of America other than the coyote." --Uwe M. Schneede, Joseph Beuys Die Aktionen. 1998, p. 330
Thus Beuys identified with and symbolically merged with the psyche of his coyote co-art conspirator and opened himself to the cunning, death-devouring spirit of the much-scorned animal (The coyote is an animal that lives on carrion) to gain the creative wherewithal to renounce the death-drunk spirit of US Empire.
This is art done not as portfolio building. Beuys did not shirk from his vision as an artist by avoiding what is painful (thus, the ambulance deployed as symbol) and ugly about the world and about himself; instead, he delivered himself directly to its carrion-reeking maw, but refused to have his soul devoured by it.
"A terrorist is the product of our education that says that fantasy is not real, that says aesthetics is just for artists, that says soul is only for priests, imagination is trivial or dangerous and for crazies, and that reality, what we must adapt to, is the external world, a world that is dead. A terrorist is a result of this whole long process of wiping out the psyche." --James Hillman
In the last few days, I've noticed a marked rise in the levels of anxiety and apprehension in the minds of many of the folks with whom I have contact. Images of irradiated rains and bombing campaigns have left many riddled with dread, haunted by the uncertainty of it all"gripped by the feeling that events are hurtling at an exponential rate of speed towards some ill-defined but tragic reckoning.
Once at an amusement park, when I was three years of age, I released a cherry flavored lollipop from the apex perch of the carriage of a Ferris Wheel. Entranced, I watched its speed accelerate, as it fell in a plummeting spiral, then shatter to crimson shards on the pavement below.
Enchantment broken, stricken with mortification, I recoiled into the coaster's car"aware, in a flash, of the fragile nature of life. How life and death are bonded together. An eggshell, in which, neither outer shell nor what is contain within can be revealed to each other without a violent intrusion into the other's sanctity.
Even a singular conversation, like a popular uprising or an encounter with a work of art, can be similar to this. One cannot realize the presence of another nor open oneself to real change (in contrast to, hackneyed commercial come-ons and political campaign legerdemain versions of such) without giving oneself over to a small death.
As a rule, we remain un-shattered by the presence of others because we cleave to the quotidian shell of selfhood"the habit of remaining intact superseding the eros of the other's immediacy.
Yet there have been moments when I let myself fall"have been shattered to shards"a broken soul among vast constellations of broken souls"and have forgotten, momentarily, my own aloneness"wandering in a unifying wilderness of glinting shards.
"There is a secret love hiding in each problem." -- James Hillman
I find this heartening: With the uprisings across the Islamic world being partly a result of secrets brought to light by WikiLeaks, we have a good illustration of an "unknown variable factor" in play.
As a consequence, liberals, oblivious of their own buried, selfish motivations, have difficulty understanding laboring class anger and resentment and how it is channeled and displaced by conservatives.
"Hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside." --William S. Burroughs.
In the theatre of this faux republic, Republicans are effective at selling their imperialist wars of choice and their class-stratifying economic policies because they have become convinced the roles they are playing are real.
In contrast, Democrats can't seem to find a way into their roles; therefore, they give less than convincing interpretations of the characters they are playing. As a result, their line readings are listless and lack conviction.
And what does this reveal about the rest of us, the supernumeraries in our national tragicomedy, who believe we are central to the plays outcome -- this amateur production of Marat Sade -- otherwise known as -- daily life in our corporate state/militarist imperium?
"Psychoanalysis has to get out of the consulting room and analyze all kinds of things. You have to see that the buildings are anorexic, you have to see that the language is schizogenic, that "normalcy" is manic, and medicine and business are paranoid."--James Hillmam
In May 1974, the German artist, Joseph Beuys (Born: May 12, 1921, Died: January 23, 1986) arrived in New York City to present a work he titled, "I Like America and America Likes Me."
Upon arrival at Kennedy Airport, although in good health, he disembarked the jet, secured upon a gurney, and then was transported by ambulance to a room in the Renà © Block Gallery on East Broadway. Throughout the commute, Beuys, wrapped in a large swath of felt, remained on the gurney, keeping to his vow not to "set foot on US soil" until the US ceased its illegal, immoral war in Southeast Asia and withdrew its combatants from the region.
Once ensconced at his quarters at the gallery, for three days, Beuys shared the space with a wild coyote. At intervals, he would rise to his feet, covered in the swath of felt, and, as he steadied himself on a shepherd's staff, Beuys would induce the coyote to tear at his covering of felt, inciting the animal to rend the fabric to tatters.
Other times, he would simply lie upon a bed of straw, watching the coyote as the coyote watched him"man and beast appraising each other.
During the performance piece, Beuys would engage in ritual acts, such as playing percussion on a large triangle and playfully tossing a leather glove to the coyote.
After three days, alone in the room, with the animal, Beuys hugged his companion (who appeared to have accepted the artist's strange behavior) and bid him goodbye.
Project completed, Beuys returned to Kennedy Airport, transported, once again, by ambulance, making good on his promise of exiting the US without having set foot upon it.
As Beuys would later aver, "I wanted to isolate myself, insulate myself, see nothing of America other than the coyote." --Uwe M. Schneede, Joseph Beuys Die Aktionen. 1998, p. 330
Thus Beuys identified with and symbolically merged with the psyche of his coyote co-art conspirator and opened himself to the cunning, death-devouring spirit of the much-scorned animal (The coyote is an animal that lives on carrion) to gain the creative wherewithal to renounce the death-drunk spirit of US Empire.
This is art done not as portfolio building. Beuys did not shirk from his vision as an artist by avoiding what is painful (thus, the ambulance deployed as symbol) and ugly about the world and about himself; instead, he delivered himself directly to its carrion-reeking maw, but refused to have his soul devoured by it.
"A terrorist is the product of our education that says that fantasy is not real, that says aesthetics is just for artists, that says soul is only for priests, imagination is trivial or dangerous and for crazies, and that reality, what we must adapt to, is the external world, a world that is dead. A terrorist is a result of this whole long process of wiping out the psyche." --James Hillman
In the last few days, I've noticed a marked rise in the levels of anxiety and apprehension in the minds of many of the folks with whom I have contact. Images of irradiated rains and bombing campaigns have left many riddled with dread, haunted by the uncertainty of it all"gripped by the feeling that events are hurtling at an exponential rate of speed towards some ill-defined but tragic reckoning.
Once at an amusement park, when I was three years of age, I released a cherry flavored lollipop from the apex perch of the carriage of a Ferris Wheel. Entranced, I watched its speed accelerate, as it fell in a plummeting spiral, then shatter to crimson shards on the pavement below.
Enchantment broken, stricken with mortification, I recoiled into the coaster's car"aware, in a flash, of the fragile nature of life. How life and death are bonded together. An eggshell, in which, neither outer shell nor what is contain within can be revealed to each other without a violent intrusion into the other's sanctity.
Even a singular conversation, like a popular uprising or an encounter with a work of art, can be similar to this. One cannot realize the presence of another nor open oneself to real change (in contrast to, hackneyed commercial come-ons and political campaign legerdemain versions of such) without giving oneself over to a small death.
As a rule, we remain un-shattered by the presence of others because we cleave to the quotidian shell of selfhood"the habit of remaining intact superseding the eros of the other's immediacy.
Yet there have been moments when I let myself fall"have been shattered to shards"a broken soul among vast constellations of broken souls"and have forgotten, momentarily, my own aloneness"wandering in a unifying wilderness of glinting shards.
"There is a secret love hiding in each problem." -- James Hillman
I find this heartening: With the uprisings across the Islamic world being partly a result of secrets brought to light by WikiLeaks, we have a good illustration of an "unknown variable factor" in play.
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
2
1
1
