We are at the center of the unsolvable.

via http://incivility.org/?p=280
“O Globo: Are you part of PRIMER COMANDO DE LA CAPITAL (PCC)?
Marcola: Even more than that, I am a sign of these times. I was poor and invisible. You never glanced at me during decades, while it seemed easy to solve the problem of misery. The diagnosis was obvious: rural migration, rent disparity, few slums, discreet peripheries; but he solution never appeared… What did you do? Nothing. Did the federal government ever made a budget reserve for us? We were just news when a slum in the mountain caved in, or romantic music along the “beauty of the dawn at the mountains” line…
Now we are rich with the drugs multinationals. And you are agonizing with fear. We are the late beginning of your social conscience.

O Globo: But the solution would be….
Marcola: Solution? There’s no solution, brother. The mere idea of a “solution” is already a mistake.
Have you seen the size of the 560 villas miseria (slums) in Río? Have you overseen São Paulo’s periphery on an helicopter? Solution: How? It could only be through millions of dollars spent in an organized manner, with a high level government, an immense political will, economic growth, a revolution on education, general urbanization, and it would have to happen under the leadership of an ‘clear-minded tyranny’ that could jump over our secular bureaucratic paralysis, that could pass over the Legislative accomplice, and the penalty-avoiding Judicials. There would have to be a radical reform of the penitentiary system of the country, there would have to be intelligence communication between provincial, state and federal police forces (we even have ‘conference calls’ between jail inmates…)
And that would cost billions of dollars and would entail a deep psychosocial change in the political structure of the country. What I mean is: it’s impossible. There is no solution.

O Globo: Aren’t you afraid of dying?
Marcola: You are the ones afraid of dying, not me. Better said: here in jail, you can’t come over and kill me, but I can easily have you killed outside. We are human bombs. In the slums, there are a hundred thousand human bombs. We are right in the middle of the unsolvable. You are between evil and good, and in the middle, there’s the frontier of death, the only frontier. We are already a new species, different bugs, different from you. For you, death is this Christian drama lying in a bed, with a heart attack. Death for us is daily bread, thrown over a mass grave.
Weren’t you intellectuals talking about class struggle? About being a martyr? A hero? And then, we arrived! Ha, ha… I read a lot; I’ve read 3,000 books, and I read Dante, but my soldiers are strange anomalies of the twisted development of this country.
No more proletariat, or unhappy people, or oppressed. There is a third thing growing out there, raised in the mud, educated through sheer illiteracy, getting their own diplomas on the street, like a monstrous Alien hidden under the crevasses of the city. A new language has already sprung. That’s it. A different language.
You’re standing right before post-poverty.
Post-poverty generates a new murderous culture, helped by technology, satellites, cellular phones, internet, modern weaponry. It’s all that shit with chips, megabytes.

O Globo: What changed in the outskirts?
Marcola: Mangoes. Now we have them. Do you think someone like Beria Mar, who has 40 million dollars, isn´t in charge? With 40 millions jail becomes a hotel, a desk… Which police force is going to burn down that gold mine? You get me, right? We are a wealthy corporation. If a functionary hesitates he is “placed on the microwave”.
You are the broken state, dominated by the incompetent.
We have nimble ways of dealing. You are low, bureaucratic. We fight on our own terrain. You do so in a strange land. We are not afraid of death. You are dying of fear. We are well armed. You only have .38´s. We are attacking. You are on defense. You have the mania of humanism. We are cruel, merciless. You transformed us on crime superstars. We regard you as clowns. We are helped by the population of the villas miseria, either out of fear or love. You are hated. Your are regional, provincial. Our weapons and products come from outside, we are “global”. We never forget you, you are our “clients”. You quickly forget us, as soon as the scares we provoke pass away.

O Globo: But, what should we do?
Marcola: I´ll give you a hint. Get the “dust barons” (coke lords)! There´s congressmen, senators, businessmen, there´s ex-presidents in the midst of the coke and the weapons. But, who is going to do that? The army? With what money?
They don´t even have enough money for recruits. I am reading “On war” by Clausewitz. There’s no perspective for success. We are devouring ants, hidden in the corners. We even have anti-tank missiles. If you do something wrong, some Stingers will drop by. To end us… only an atomic bomb in the villas. Have you thought about Radioactive Ipanema?

O Globo: But, couldn’t there be a solution?
Marcola: You will only get somewhere if you stop defending “normalcy.” There won´t be any more normalcy. You need to auto criticize your own incompetence. But, to be quite frank, your morality. We are at the center of the unsolvable. The difference is we live here, and you have no way out. Just shit. And we already work in it. Understand me, brother, there´s no solution. And you know why? Because you can´t even understand how widespread the problem is.
As the divine Dante wrote: “Abandon all hope. We are all in hell”

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infrastructure is the undercommons

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I was driving across the burning desert When I spotted six jet planes Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain It was the hexagram of the heavens…It was just a false alarm

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Weather is Dark Magic -Keller Easterling

“WEATHER IS DARK MAGIC. But human constructs are real. Weather threatens the stability of things like buildings and infrastructure. These solids are not supposed to fly around, burn up, or float away. The air, water, and atmospheres in which they are suspended should even seem to be invisible, so that the objects can be more palpable as property. Banks may surround the same objects with obscure mathematical calculations that render them worth less than nothing, but in the end, what could be more reliable than the rational, sensible endeavors of global finance?

More dangerous and imponderable are the mysterious and unpredictable forces of weather. Weather is also haunted by the politics of the global-warming hoax—a hoax that, even if it turned out to be real, would only burn or inundate the radical leftists in coastal blue states and island territories. It is better to bank on a red state like Texas. When Harvey hit Texas, Texas hit back. The human love of fighting and being right is a defiant backstop against the evil of weather. Texans will build back bigger and better than ever. They will never back down. They will create jobs in construction. And they will never retreat from territories that have been conquered with the courage of real estate and the trusted principles of insurance. With the same fiscal foresight, Puerto Rico will work with a congressional budget that only allows for the repair of existing transmission lines rather than the development of an expensive renewable-energy grid. It is important to look ahead. And with the same appetite for a binary fight, the US will begin staking out oil resources in the melting waters of the Arctic. Across the world, media outposts, together with social media, also provide some defense against the weather, packaging daily predictions and dramatizing storms with stock epic plot lines that are exciting and entertaining.

But before the word media became associated with these communication technologies, it referred to the elements: to the surrounding atmospheres of air, water, earth, and fire. And if focus were given to the medium—to the field instead of the object, the ground instead of the figure—our sense of the world would be inverted. Rather than humans, those familiar bounded entities that like to fight, be righteous, and own things, organisms would develop capacities related to the medium. Seen with the naked eye, the movement of clouds in the atmosphere would be a wet information system more common than a digital cloud. Data-transmitting digital devices would satisfy a Fitbit appetite for remote-sensing the state of the planet in the images and sounds of ice floes or selected habitats. The air, earth, and water that are tight up against all the urban solids would present more palpable potentials, and more tangible risks and rewards, than the mathematical weather of financial quants. Rather than merely repairing infrastructure systems that topple even in a tropical storm, islands would relish wind and photons. A network of reinforced wind turbines in the sea could generate energy while actually dissipating all but the most severe hurricane winds. Solar power would start to come back online as soon as storm clouds pass. The banking and real-estate structures that currently leave stranded houses physically and financially underwater would respond to changing geological boundaries as a matter of prudence and practicality. Reverse-engineering the global mortgage that produced invasive development would allow for retreat from eroding floodplains and forest edges. More stable economies could then generate employment and profit from both the construction and destruction of buildings. Attuned to ebbs and flows of development and environment, this more kinetic and cosmopolitan urbanity would be most successful when in a constant state of imbalance. Human constructs are a form of economic occult. Weather is real.”


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The Coming Desert: Kropotkin, Mars & the Pulse of Asia



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Brian Holmes: EMPATHY MACHINES. Emergent organs for an eco-body?

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The Girl With the Bomb, The Guardian of Dynamite: Notes on the politics of becoming-woman

The Tragic Community

poetical licence

[Excerpt from a piece on D&G, gender, struggle, and communism as the real movement that abolishes itself and the present state of things]

In the tenth chapter of A Thousand Plateaus, ‘1730: Becoming-intense, becoming-animal…’, one is presented with a sequence of memories and drawn from such a diversity of individuals and conceptual-personae that the sequence itself appears to make very little sense if read as one single extended argument for Deleuze and Guattari’s particular understanding of becoming. Rather, what we encounter are the memories of a Spinozist, a theologian, a sorcerer, and a plan(e) maker, among others. However, buried near the middle of the chapter, in the section entitled ‘Memories of a Molecule‘, where we encounter a discussion on the role of becoming-woman and the figure of the (universal) girl as they relate to both becoming in general and becomings within the domain of politics and history…

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Technology Now: Sonic Feminisms

Helen Hester, Amina Gichinga,Eleni Ikoniadou and Frances Morgan

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