A Conspiracy Against the World: Comments on Andrew Culp’s “Dark Deleuze”

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“We do not lack communication,” Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari wrote in What Is Philosophy?, their final joint text. “On the contrary, we have too much of it. We lack creation. We lack resistance to the present.”[1] During the course of an interview with Antonio Negri, Deleuze raised a similar point, one that appears to have slipped past the autonomist: “The quest for ‘universals of communication’ ought to make us shudder… Maybe speech and communication have been corrupted. They’re thoroughly permeated by money—and not by accident but by their very nature. We’ve got to hijack speech.” In a similar mode of thought, the philosopher of the rhizome suggested in his infamous “Postscript on the Societies of Control” that the way power organized itself was transforming, moving away from the disciplinary societies that Foucault had so intently studied and towards the figure of the “continuous network”.

Deleuze’s interview with Negri had occurred in 1990, and What Is Philosophy? debuted in 1991. The “Postscript” appeared in the pages of October in 1992. This timing provides crucial context: the fall of the Soviet Union and the victory of a capitalist system entering its globalizing stage. The spread of information-communication platforms and the advent of the Dotcom Economy. This was the time in which the bi-polar world of the Cold War era was dissolving into a multipolar world, steered primarily by the first truly neoliberal regimes in the United States and the European, professing as they did the coming utopia of fluid trade, inter-state co-operation, and unlimited, global communication and knowledge sharing. It was this backdrop that Deleuze suggested to Negri that perhaps the way forward was a rekindling of new forms of resistance, forms that would take the techno-social substrate, deform them, break them, and ultimately “create vacuoles of noncommunication, circuit breakers, so we can elude control”.

For those familiar with Deleuzian thought, that non signals an interesting change in the philosopher’s perspective: it is a looming negativity, one that seems to stand in contrast to Deleuze’s life-long commitment to affirmation, to saying yes, and to cultivating joy. It is from this small glow of negativity, and the dozens of others scattered about Deleuze’s corpus, that Andrew Culp fashions a philosophical figure for our time: a Dark Deleuze.

I have to say it: this is an incredible book, and despite clocking in at a mere seventy pages, it is probably one of the most important books in the Deleuzian canon that I have read in a long time. What makes it stand out so much from other works is not simply its sense of political intransigence (much more on that momentarily), but that it doesn’t treat Deleuze like so many commentators have in the mad-rush to transform Continental, post-structuralist thinking into an academic cottage industry. Deleuze and This. Deleuze and That. Now, Culp’s work can read as part of the academic debate on Deleuzian philosophy and its future, but it is not reducible that. Unlike these other works, it takes up the challenge that Deleuze himself set out – to draw out from a thinker that which is present in the text, but not said, to take a philosopher and give him “a child that would be his own offspring, yet monstrous.” Indeed, Culp excavates the negative buried in Deleuze and brings it fully into the open: the insistence in Anti-Oedipus that the purpose of schizoanalysis is to destroy, Deleuze’s reflection Difference and Repetition that the book constitutes apocalyptic science fiction, his fascination with Artaud and the Theater of Cruelty, his identification of the body’s scream as the very center of philosophy itself. Sometimes we can even glimpse the negative lurking in plain sight by merely shifting perspective: what is becoming but the un-becoming of something else, a small death in its own right?

My politics differ a bit from Culp’s, and perhaps a bit from his Dark Deleuze. Dark Deleuze breaks with the celebration of connectivity and communication, while I believe that connectivity is intrinsic to revolutionary goals – though I fully agree that fighting for such a thing might require a step backwards or two. The ultimate goal of Dark Deleuze, Culp writes, is “full communism”. My position is rooted in anarchism-without-adjectives, with a strong lean towards market anarchism (so when a brief dismissal of ‘Proudhonism’ is offered, I cannot but protest). When he urges a move from “technoscience” to “political anthropology”, I want both – I have cast my lot with technoscience. In a critique of Landian accelerationism, Culp suggests that “Deleuze and Guattari’s ‘accelerationism’ has been too tarnished to rehabilitate”; as an accelerationist I again have to raise my hand in protest.

[I suppose I should point out, however, that my accelerationism stems neither from what was cooked up in the CCRU or aligns absolutely with the social democratic ‘left accelerationism’. If anything, it falls under what Land has recently described as “fundamentalist accelerationism” – and I strongly suspect that Culp’s Dark Deleuze falls squarely in this (non)tendency as well. Sorry, Andrew!]

Despite these perhaps very important political differences, I concur wholly with Culp that cultivating the negative is a task of utmost importance. The ultimate goal of this task, we read, is not the creation of concepts (per the traditional reading of Deleuze), but the destruction of worlds. Some might recoil in horror at such a notion. Worlds are destroyed everyday by the police and the military and even by the do-gooders of capitalism; the world itself may very well be destroyed under the ecological forces we arrogantly signify with the term “Anthropocene”. But these things are of the world as it is, because of the world as it is, and it is for this reason that this world must be destroyed. To talk of the “destruction of worlds” is to talk of the learning how to say no to this world, to refusal that which it offers and that which it stands posed to say. The impulse of negation, the specter of Dark Deleuze insists, is the only reasonable course of action “in an era of generalized precarity, extreme class stratification, and summary executions of people of color.”

It’s not too much of a leap from the classic Deleuzian focus on cultivating joy to developing hatred for this world. Joy and hatred are not necessarily elements on the opposite end of some spectrum. “His teeth were ground down to points”, Greil Marcus scrawled in Lipstick Traces, mashing up Johnny Rotten’s mouth, the Dadaist parody of the savagery of war, and the Situationist’s declaration the great town planners of the Fordist era were nothing more than builders of ruins.[2] Even though each has long since been recuperated, the affective register emanating from the negative runs through all, each reflecting a disgust with the world that became a hatred of the world, ultimately becoming a refusal of the world and steps to actively changing it. “We are here”, they answered in their own ways, to the question posed by Deleuze 1977: “who are our nomads of today?” To this, Culp adds that “[t]he nomads that will dissolve capitalism will are not cowboys but barbarians.” Barbarians indeed! Musty history aside, we find that joyous barbarism, that will to be against alive and well today. It’s present every time a mask donned, a window deliberately broken, a police force stymied, a fascist rally disrupted.

I don’t want to give the impression that Culp’s work operates merely at the affective level (though affect, as anyone familiar with Deleuze will tell you, is vitally important to developing political processes). In order to cobble together Dark Deleuze, it becomes essential to carry out a critique of the more common bearers of the Deleuzian flame. Chief amongst these are those that collapse A Thousand Plateaus’s celebration of the rhizome, the self-organizing principles of the war machine, and the dynamic geophilosophies into little other than a coded discourse on complexity theory. Such is the case with the tendency running from Manuel DeLanda down through the so-called “new materialisms”; while these works – and complexity theory writ large! – often do pose valid insights, they often interface with Deleuzian thought in a way that sheers off the sharp, political edge. Beyond this, however, there is an unfortunate tendency towards the sort of naturalistic thinking akin to that I have diagnosed in the works of Lewis Mumford. Culp writes that the slippery metaphor of complexity frequently “culminates in a ‘flat ontology’… [that] often leads to a ‘uniformization of diversity’ and “equalization of inequality”. The new materialisms, in other words, fold everything together into the same processes, and thus eliminate difference.

Dark Deleuze’s solution is an asymmetry between the elements or forces working in a system, or between relations of multiple systems. The purpose of this asymmetry is to allow difference to proliferate – and also to allow us to carry out critical separations between things. The immediate concerns of Dark Deleuze aside, such a notion would serve as quite useful a device in navigating the murky waters of complexity and emergence in general, as a kind of second-order mechanism that allows us to remain partially embedded in a system (say, a regional ecology, insofar as we can actually talk of such things) while also working against beyond it and against it (the movement of society at the infrastructural level). Such a mechanism would serve as “an indivisible asymmetrical relation”, to quote Deleuze from Difference and Repetition, “established between series of heterogeneous terms and expresses at each moment the nature of that which does not divide without changing its nature.”[3]

Also to be warded off are the democratic Deleuzians, a banishing that formally brings the figure of Dark Deleuze into the canon of delicious Negri-bashing that had been innovated by Tiqqun and their conspiratorial offshoot, the Invisible Committee. One doesn’t even have to read deeply into Deleuze and Guattari to put the silly notions of Deleuze-as-liberal to rest, and it is worth quoting Culp at length on this matter:

Deleuze and Guattari viciously criticize democracy in their collaborations, usually by calling it the cousin of totalitarianism. They discuss democracy, fascism, and socialism as all related in Anti-Oedipus. In A Thousand Plateaus they discuss “military democracy”, “social democracy” as the complementary pole of the state to “totalitarianism”, “totalitarian-social democracy”, and a poverty-stricken “Third World social democracy”. In What Is Philosophy? they speak of Athenian “colonizing democracy”, hegemonic democracy, democracy being caught up with dictatorial states, a social democracy that “has given the order to fire when the poor come out of their territory or ghetto”, and a Nazi democracy, which all lead them to conclude that their utopian “new people and a new earth… will not be found in our democracies”. Together, they can be neatly summarized: no matter how perfect, democracy always relies on a transcendent sovereign judgement backed by the threat of force.

Thus what Dark Deleuze ultimately draws out is what Deleuze and Guattari always were all along, but seemed so recalcitrant to admit it: anarchists of the most radical form. The figure of Dark Deleuze itself is not one of the future society, nor even the revolution which could deliver it; it is a ghost of an anarchist conspiracy haunting our current society. Anti-Oedipus was itself a great book of conspiracy, drawing its energy the Nietzsche that was revealed by Klossowski: the Nietzsche that formed a conspiracy “not only against his whole class, but also against the existing forms of the human species as a whole.”[4] It goes without saying that this conspiracy against humanity is not one of extermination, but of a Death of Man to follow the Enlightenment’s Death of God. The proclamation “God is dead” illustrates how under the march of civilization, the former power of theology was unmoored and lessened; with the proclamation “Man is dead!”, the dissolution of the power relations that set humans over humans.

In its short space, Dark Deleuze moves through these concepts and many others very rapidly. Just when one begins to feel out the argument being made, the next argument is already being deployed. Such treatment makes for fast reason, and is well suited for the excellent aphorisms that Culp drops along the way (I’m very jealous of “temporary autonomous zones have become special economic zones”). But I do hope we get a larger and more in-depth treatment down the line – yet perhaps this is precisely the sort of academic navel-gazing that Dark Deleuze intends to avoid. Culp tells us that “the ultimate task of Dark Deleuze is but a modest one: to keep the dream of revolution alive in counterrevolutionary times.” It is a book for the barricades.

[1] Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari What Is Philosophy? Columbia University Press, 1994, pg. 108

[2] Greil Marcus Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the Twentieth Century Harvard University Press, 1990, pg. 27

[3] Gilles Deleuze Difference and Repetition Athlone Press, 1994 pgs. 237-238

[4] Pierre Klossowski Nietzsche and the Vicious Circle Continuum, 2005, pg. xiv

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Orders of Technics: Considerations on Lewis Mumford

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In my previous post, I illustrated how Deleuze and Guattari drew upon Lewis Mumford’s figure of the “megamachine” to flesh out the relationship between capitalism and the state, and to detail in particular how the state props up capitalism by ‘capturing’ – or reterritorializing – the system’s deterritorialized flows. Deleuze and Guattari were not the only critical theorists to turn to Mumford’s work in order to better explore industrial civilization; the insights of the historian of technology and critical urbanist haunt the pages of many of Herbert Marcuse’s most important writings, including “Some Social Implications of Modern Technology”, Eros and Civilization, and One Dimensional Man. In a similar vein, Mumford’s writings became popular in certain wings of the 60s counterculture – especially in ‘radical engineering’ circles, as described by Matthew Wisnioski in his fantastic book Engineers for Change: Competing Visions of Technology in 1960s America. (If you haven’t read this book, do yourself a favor by picking up a copy and treating it like a Christmas present *ahem* to yourself).

Today, Mumford seems to be primarily associated with primitivist, anti-civ, and other anti-tech/tech-skeptical discourses and tendencies. I’ve heard more than one primitivist use the word “megamachine” and lump Mumford together with Jacques Ellul, everybody’s favorite anti-technology theologian. And indeed, if someone was to pick up just one work of Mumford’s, say, The Myth of the Machine, Vol. 2: The Pentagon of Power, then yes, one could easily interpret Mumford as being anti-technology, and would one have to be forgiven for it. This book in particular is a deeply pessimistic tome, and never fails to remind me of the loss of hope Benjamin Tucker experienced near the end of his life, uttering apocalyptic dirges like “We may last a couple of centuries yet; on the other hand, a decade may precipitate our finish. … The dark ages sure enough. The Monster, Mechanism, is devouring mankind.”

And it is true that in many respects, Mumford did tend to engage with some rather conservative sentiments, valorizing localism and traditionalism in a way that whitewashes any of the toxicity that can easily develop when the abstract ‘community’ is valorized as the end-all-be-all. In these passages he brings to mind the perspectives offered by Kirkpatrick Sale, an otherwise fine scholar when you set aside his fixation on the hyper-local and condemnation of organized agriculture. I would also lump Murray Bookchin in here too, though perhaps to a lesser extent; it seems clear enough to be that we can evacuate “libertarian technics” (a concept with its origins in Mumford’s writings) and even social ecology from the parochialism that pervades his municipalism.

But I digress. What is important is not Mumford’s dalliances with regressive ideas (insofar as we can expunge them while leaving other elements intact), but the other sides of his discourse. The very notion of the “megamachine” is still, I would argue, vitally important in that we 1) continue to be governed by an increasingly cumbersome regime marked by expansionist bureaucracies and technocracies; 2) are the subjects and targets of a vast surveillance apparatus and 3) are embedded into an global-scale technological superstructure that stands, in preliminary investigations, some 30 trillion+ tonnes. That this third element is plugged into, and operates in autopoietic conjunction, the first two tells us that the megamachine is alive and well in the current era. Maybe it goes by a different name (Bratton’s Stack and Stack-to-Come, perhaps?), or maybe it’s not even worth trying to tie down a hyperobject down with a single name. But aside from this, even, Mumford’s work has another side in that it hints towards another word, a new earth, that could have been – and maybe still can be! – had the unity of the state and technics not seized upon the very notion of development and redeployed it to its own ends (or, to put in Deleuzeguattarian parlance, had everything that escapes not been subjected to capture and overcoding). This is the same space where we might run afoul of Mumford’s conservative traditionalism, but with these elements effectively scrubbed one can find a toolkit of important ideas and concepts.

As J. Jesse Ramirez points out in his essay “Marcuse Among the Technocrats”, Mumford, during the 1930s, was associated with an informal network of writers, thinkers, and engineers that composed the left-wing of the Technocracy movement. With its roots in the writings of Edward Bellamy and Thorstein Veblen, among others, the Technocrats looked to push the then-current phase of technological development to its ultimate conclusions. This was, of course, the time of early Fordism and the Great Depression. The first ushered in a new division of labor around the assembly line, with a de-skilled labor force monitored and regulated by the prototypical “knowledge worker” – the earlier “industrial engineer”. The latter, meanwhile, put forward the figure of the social engineer and pragmatic administrator. Take both together, add in Veblen’s arguments for a “Soviet of Engineers” tasked with running the industrial economy, and you have the Technocracy movement.

Under Howard Scott, founder of the Technical Alliance in 1919 and Technocracy Incorporated in the 1930s, the movement would carry out its inevitable chug towards fascistic forms of politics. The left-wing of the Technocrats remained a marginal fringe overall, and had from the beginning been antagonistic towards the mainstream of the movement. Mumford himself, for example, attacked Veblen’s notion of the Soviet of Engineers because of its association with top-down processes – though he nonetheless found that many of the Technocrats ideas were “legitimate conclusions”, they were muddied by “the political callowness, historical ignorance and factual carelessness” by individuals such as Scott (Technics and Civilization, 469). If a just and peaceful society was to emerge, it would not stem naturally from the actually-existing path of development, as the Right Technocrats would argue. It would have to be assembled in contradistinction to it, right down to the levels of values:

…no working ideal for machine production can be based solely on the gospel of work: still less can can it be based on upon an uncritical belief in constantly raising the quantitative standard of consumption. If we are to achieve a purposive and cultivated use of the enormous energies now happily at our disposal, we must examine in detail the processes that lead up to the final state of leisure, free activity, creation. It is because of the lapse and mismanagement of these processes that we have not reached a desirable end; and it is because of our failure to frame a comprehensive scheme of ends that we have not succeeded in achieving even the beginnings of social efficiency in the preparatory work. (Technics and Civilization, 379)

To these ends, Mumford developed a schematic of modern technological development that unfolded through three partially overlapping periods:

  • The Eotechnic phase, spanning 1000-1750 AD and marked by “a greater intensification of life: color, perfume, images, music, sexual ecstasy, as well as daring exploits in arms and thought and exploration.” (Technics and Civilization, 149)
  • The Paleotechnic phase, spanning 1700-1900, and marked by “an upthrust into barbarism, aided by the very forces and interests which originally had been directed toward the conquest of the environment and the perfection of human nature.” (Technics and Civilization, 154)
  • The Neotechnic phase, spanning 1900 through present day, which “bears the same relation to the eotechnic phase as the adult form does the baby”, while nonetheless being marked by “compromises with… the weight of vested interests that continue to support the obsolete instruments and the anti-social aims of the middle industrial era [i.e. the paleotechnic].” (Technics and Civilization, pgs. 212-213)

Each phase constitutes a unique technological complex (or assemblage, if you speak Deleuzeguattarian) of labor relations, social relations, and technical devices. Trending dangerously close at times to the ‘happy serf’ trope that is shared with other intellectuals of this period (looking at you, Karl Polanyi!), Mumford emphasizes the way small-scale craft production was the foundation of the economy, empowered by renewable resource such as water and wind, captured via mills. This was not only the period of guild systems (and of free cities and all those other fun things Kropotkin liked to talk about), but of immense technological discovery. It was, Mumford writes, “important period of preparation, when all the key inventions [of the paleotechnic and neotechnic] were either invented or foreshadowed”.

So how did we get from the eotechnic to the paleteochnic, from the “greater intensification of life” to the “upward thrust in barbarism”? Mumford places blame at the feet of the technological acceleration that occurred under the interests of the great centralizations of power, such as the militaries and armies, strong state, and mercantile interests – in other words, many of the various elements he would later assimilate in his far-broader schematic of the megamachine. The mining industries opened the gates for coal and iron to supplant water and wind as resources vital to the production of production; the invention of the steam engine ushered along with it an entirely new organizational system governing production itself. Thus we find ourselves at Marx’s history written “in letters of blood and fire”, but whereas Marx probed the relationship between classes in within “hidden abode of production”, Mumford was interested in the relationship between man, machine, and productive output as it occurs technically and organizationally. To quote him at length:

…the steam engine tended towards monopoly and concentration. Water and wind power were free; but coal was expensive and the steam engine was a costly investment; so, too, were the machines that turned it. Twenty-four hour operations, which characterized the mine and the blast furnace, now came into other industries which had heretofore respected the limitations of day and night. Moved by a desire to earn every possible sum on their investments, the textile manufacturers lengthened the working day… Since the steam engine requires constant care on the part of the stoker and engineer, steam power was more efficient in large units than in small ones: instead of a score of small units, working when required, one large engine was kept in constant motion. Thus steam power fostered the tendency toward large industrial plants already present in the subdivision of the manufacturing process. Great size, forced by the nature of the steam engine, became in turn a symbol of efficiency. The industrial leaders not only accepted concentration and magnitude as a fact of operation, conditioned by the steam engine: they came to believe in it by itself, as a mark of progress. With the big steam engine, the big factory, the big bonanza farm, the big blast furnace, efficiency was supposed to exist in direct ratio to size. Bigger was another way of saying better. (Technics and Civilization, 161-162)

When the neotechnic era was imminent, Mumford suggested, there was an opportunity to exit the intrinsically authoritarian and bureaucratic frameworks that the paleotechnic necessitated. “[A] true mutation”, the neotechnic stood poised to resume where the eotechnic had left off and continue onwards with its largely decentralized model for production and distribution. The advent in electrical power – and the electrical motor in particular – opened a space where the gigantism of the coal-and-steam powered factory could have been rendered obsolete, making possible again a way to avoid concentration and monopoly. Likewise, decentralized production based on electricity had the potential to break wholesale with the incredible energy demands of the paleotechnic era, with water and wind once again emerging as completely renewable resources. Yet this was not to be:

Paleotechnic ideals still largely dominate the industry and the politics of the Western World: the class struggles and the national struggles are still pushed with relentless vigor. While eotechnic practices linger on as civilizing influences, in gardens and parks and painting and music and the theater, the paleotechnic remains a barbarizing influence… To the extent that neotechnic industry has failed to transform the coal-and-iron complex, to the extent that it has failed to secure an adequate foundation for humaner technology in the community as a whole, to the extent that it has lent its heightened powers to the miner, the financier, the militarist, the possibilities of disruption and chaos have increased. (Technics and Civilization, 213)

It is Mumford’s vision that the technological capacity of the modern era could be deployed in a decentralized, non-monopolistic, and ultimately bottom-up manner that makes both him, and his analysis of technological history, so important today. Against the situation wherein “the new inventions and devices have been frequently used to maintain, renew, and stabilize the structure of the old order”, he asks us to consider the ways in which a properly deployed “neotechnic design promises so much greater efficiency than the old” – if only those “who control the destinies of industrial society, the bankers, the business men, and the politicians” would get out of the way or be overcome (Technics and Civilization, 266-267)

In Mumford’s time, Ralph Borsodi was the great tinkerer with the possibilities offered by the emergent neotechnic era. A staunch critic of industrialized mass production and the top-heavy society that it generated in its wake, Borsodi argued that the new technologies were better suited to decentralized industry and demand-based production, as opposed to the dominant mode of production that required demand to be artificially created (a Situationist critique of the Spectacle lurks in this direction). Experimenting extensively with ‘at-home production’ via small electrical machinery, he determined that goods could be created at a lower cost per unit that massive factory production when combined with a shrinking distance between production and consumption.

Today, Kevin Carson has extended the arguments of Borsodi (who he does draw heavily on, as well as Mumford) in books like The Homebrew Industrial Revolution and The Desktop Regulatory State. As he draws out in extensive details, new developments in the possibility of desktop manufacturing make possible more dynamic and agile forms of microenterprise than ever before. When coupled with the growth of ICT platforms that could potentially replace many of the bureaucratic and obstructive – and almost always corrupt – regulatory divisions of the capitalist state, there appears, in the underbelly of our time, the possibility of an entirely different way of organizing the economy as well as social life. Such a scenario is a precise example of the possibilities that Munford insisted was contained within the technological evolution of the neotechnic society.

It’s worth saying a few words about the basis of Munford’s philosophy. Not only did he privilege the bottom-up and side-to-side over the top-down in terms of social relations, economic development and technical discipline: it was the very concept of design itself that had to be shifted, away from megamachinic stamp and towards the “processes of life, growth, reproduction” (“Landscape and Townscape”). Design needed to move within natural processes, not against it. The root of this discourse was the same as analyses of technological and social missteps: organicism. Leo Marx points out in his essay “Lewis Mumford: Prophet of Organicism” that Mumford had been profoundly influenced by Alfred North Whitehead’s 1925 Science and the Modern World, even writing to his mentor Patrick Geddes that the book was “of first importance”, having provided “an ingenious solution to the problem of mechanism versus vitalism”.

To reduce it down to its most basic essentialism, the “mechanism versus vitalism” debate was a debate over the very functioning of the cosmos, or more specifically, how different aspects of the cosmos – typified by difference scientific disciplines – linked together. Vitalism, emerging prominently in medieval medicine, posed that there existed some non-physical force than animates living organisms and renders them distinct from non-living organisms. This would be replaced in the 16th and 17th centuries, primarily through the advent first of Cartesian dualisms, followed by Newtonian physics, with mechanism, “according to which matter is inert and all interactions in nature are produced by the impact of particles.” (quoted in Marina Banchetti “Ontological Tensions in 16th and 17th Century Chemistry: Between Mechanism and Vitalism”, 10) Yet as Donna Haraway illustrates clearly in Crystals, Fabrics, and Fields: Metaphors of Organicism in Twentieth-Century Developmental Biology, the debate was far from settled, and throughout 1800s and early 1900s the borderlands between mechanism and vitalism ebbed and flowed in the clashes between biology, physics, and chemistry.

The organistic turn, which Whitehead spearheaded, posed to solve this feud by suggesting an image of the cosmos in terms of an organic whole composed of many different parts, with these parts bound up in play and interaction with one another. Developed further by individuals Joseph Needham and the other members of his Theoretical Biology Club, this methodology avoided the mechanistic temptation to break everything down into individual objects that could be in turn reduced down into further discrete particles, but also avoided the vitalist impulse to inscribe all things with a metaphysical telos. To discuss processes would automatically entail other processes, opening the door to later forms of second-order cybernetics and systems thinking. But we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves there – what does this have to do with Mumford?

For Mumford, proper design would be one that is carried out in conjunction within an organicist framework, as opposed to a purely mechanistic framework. Paleotechnical (and neotechnical) forms of development – and the megamachinic schema as a whole – exemplify the mechanistic worldview: every elements atomized and isolated, reduced down to its barest function. If systems are to emerge properly, they emerged from the give-and-take of the variables in play, not through the overcoding and management of these variables. “In so far as modern architecture has succeeded in expressing modern life,” he wrote in a 1962 article for Architectural Record titled “The Case Against ‘Modern Architecture’”,

it has done better in calling attention to its lapses, its rigidities, its failures, than in bringing out, with the aid of the architect’s creative imagination, its immense latent potentialities. The modern architect has yet to come to grips with the multidimensional realities of the actual world. He has made himself at home with mechanical processes, which favor rapid commercial exploitation, and with anonymous repetitive bureaucratic forms, like the high-rise apartment or office building, which lend themselves with mathematical simplicity to financial manipulation. But he has no philosophy that does justice to organic functions or human purposes, and that attempts to build a more comprehensive order in which the machine, instead of dominating our life and demanding ever heavier sacrifices in the present fashion, will become a supple instrument for humane design, to be used, modified, or on occasion rejected at will.

A more proper form of design would be that akin to landscape architecture of Ian McHarg, who garnered praise in the bibliography of Mumford’s The Pentagon of Power. In works such as 1969’s Design With Nature, he ushered in an understanding of environmental planning based on the principles of working with the natural environment; positioning himself starkly against industrial civilization, his approach entailed not only attention paid to social dynamics of the community in question, but a hyper-focus on the ecological substrate that upholds communities, ranging from soil composition to natural hydrology. Only by achieving a working understanding of the ecosystem could the design unfold organically. This was profoundly different from the dominant discourses of design, which privileged verticality, mastery, and Promethean excess.

Such a vision of design is as utterly essential to our current world as is the economic paradigm that runs from Mumford and Borsodi down through Carson. But this is also where Mumford runs into some problems, in that he seems to step sideways into some naturalistic fallacies. If design, development of productive forces, and unfolding of social life appear as bubbling up from the negotiations between forces operating in the environment, Mumford seems to be suggesting that they are outgrowths of the natural process. On one hand, this is correct, though in the broad and generalizing sense that development always entails a transformation of nature. On the other hand, Mumford ignores the way that “Nature”, with a capital-N, was itself socially constructed, right around the time nature (lower case-N) became the raw materials for the paleotechnic take-off, i.e. the advent of capitalism and the modern nation-state (see: Jason Moore’s Capitalism in the Web of Life: Ecology and the Accumulation of Capital). Mumford thus valorizes natural processes in a Naturalistic register that is not wholly aligned with the actual unfolding of the nature-civilization relationship.

It follows, from here, that Mumford neglects the fundamental aspect of development and design itself: that they are artificial, general speaking. No matter how much the designer follows McHarg’s template and studies soil erosion, traces the effects of climate, shapes buildings to form to contours of the landscape, this development is not a natural outgrowth of the ecological system itself. Capturing water in a mill is not naturalistic either; it is still a Promethean act, though one of considerably less magnitude than that of the gigantic blast furnace and factory complex. Mumford’s thought rightfully positions us within nature, but neglects that as long as we build enclaves in the face of entropy, we will always be against nature. The only thing that varies in the passage from a paleotechnic framework to an eotechnic and/or neotechnic framework is the degree of friction between civilization and nature.

This critical misstep also leads Mumford to make all sorts of unfortunate suggestions regarding society. In the final pages of The Pentagon of Power he condemns Dadist art, the 60s counterculture, psychedelic drugs, and all sorts of other forms of world-bending experimentations. Particularly egregious is his suggestion, contra the vision of revolution laid out by Marcuse in Eros and Civilization, that “all human activity” is bound to “the constant organic interplay (not dialectic) of repression and expression, of patriarchal and matriarchal factors” (The Pentagon of Power, 455). C’mon, Lew! We can do much, much better than that. Had he noticed the necessity of that friction between civilization and nature (to the degree that we can speak of these forces beyond abstraction), or that social, productive and economic developments stems from that undeniable drive “widen our aperture of freedom” through process of reengineering and transforming, as the Laboria Cuboniks wrote in the Xenofeminist Manifesto. Indeed, if nature is unjust, change nature – and there is no reason that this project must extend by way of paleotechnic or megamachinic logic.

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The Distinction Between Markets and Capitalism in Deleuze and Guattari’s “Capitalism and Schizophrenia”: Some Preliminary Thoughts

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A fruitful exchange via Twitter the other night has led me to type up some thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head for some time – namely, that the vision of capitalism presented by Deleuze and Guattari in the two volumes of Capitalism and Schizophrenia must be rendered distinct from simple market exchanges and systems, and that this distinction is implicit in the texts. Capitalism is indeed a system that does rely on market mechanisms, but they are mechanisms that are almost exclusively dominated by monopolistic competition. While this state of affairs is often depicted by CNN financial gurus and even Reason magazine pundits as being the ‘free market in action’, scratching past this surface level read reveals a system wholly contingent on the state’s intervention in order to prop itself up and reproduce relations equitable to itself. It is my contention that approaching Deleuze and Guattari’s depiction of capitalism from this perspective, and not from the more common perspective of capitalism as complete and total deterritorialization, is essential to making sense of some of their woolier passages.

This distinction, between markets on one side and capitalism on the other, is hardly new. Just take a look at the anthology volume Markets, Not Capitalism, which presents writings on market-oriented individualist anarchism ranging from Proudhon’s writings in 1850s up through present day. Even before Proudhon, however, pro-market anti-capitalists wore the badge of socialism, with pre-Marxist theories of class struggle and capitalist development based on the writings of the classic economist David Ricardo. In our more contemporary time, Fernard Braudel of the Annales School of historiography has argued that capitalism is a system of anti-markets, based on the refusal to specialize and protection by the state, that dominates, disrupts, and lords over more organic and bottom-up market systems. While Deleuze and Guattari do not mention Proudhon at all (though many have pointed out the similarities between Deleuzian and Proudhian thought), both Ricardo and Braudel are reoccurring figures Capitalism and Schizophrenia’s pantheon of thinkers – particularly wherever the historical development of capitalism is concerned.

Just as Marx saw capitalism as a modernizing force, melting all that is solid, profaning all that is holy, shattering old national industries and with them isolated, localized identities, traditions, and cultures, Deleuze and Guattari (henceforth D&G) see capitalism as first and foremost following a path of deterritorialization. Flows become unhitched from their territorial grounds, be they flows of goods, money, people, raw materials, and even libidinal energies; they proceed to break through limits and barriers. Marx saw at the endpoint of the great capitalist deterritorialization the construction of the world market, but D&G go further: “This tendency is being carried further and further, to the point that capitalism with all its flows may dispatch itself straight to the moon: we really haven’t seen anything yet!” (Anti-Oedipus, pg. 34) The more it deterritorializes and decodes, the closer it tends towards the final limit, which is composed of the very tools that make deterritorialization possible in the first place. Capitalism thus, in the first instance, tends towards its dissolution. Yet it will never get there. Just as deterritorialization is fundamental to capitalist growth, reterritorialization is essential for its survival. As D&G write early on in Anti-Oedipus:

…capitalism constantly counteracts , constantly inhibits this inherent tendency while at the same time allowing it free rein ; it continually seeks to avoid reaching its limit while simultaneously tending toward that limit. Capitalism institutes or restores all sorts of residual and artificial, imaginary, or symbolic territorialities, thereby attempting, as best it can, to recode, to rechannel persons who have been defined in terms of abstract quantities. Everything returns or recurs: States, nations, families. That is what makes the ideology of capitalism “a motley painting of everything that has ever been believed.”… The more the capitalist machine deterritorializes, decoding and axiomatizing flows in order to extract surplus value from them, the more its ancillary apparatuses, such as government bureaucracies and the forces of law and order, do their utmost to reterritorialize, absorbing in the process a larger and larger share of surplus value. (Anti-Oedipus, pgs. 34-35)

These observations are unpacked further in the work’s most difficult and controversial segment, “The Civilized Capitalist Machine”. What makes this section controversial is that it culminates in the notorious ‘accelerationist fragment’, where D&G suggest that instead of fighting capitalism through the traditional leftist platforms, perhaps the proper route is to pursue absolute deterritorialization, without the subsequent reterritorialization:

…what is the solution? Which is the revolutionary path?… Is there one?-To withdraw from the world market, as Samir Amin advises Third World countries to do, in a curious revival of the fascist “economic solution”? Or might it be to go in the opposite direction? To go still further, that is, in the movement of the market, of decoding and deterritorialization? For perhaps the flows are not yet deterritorialized enough, not decoded enough, from the viewpoint of a theory and a practice of a highly schizophrenic character. Not to withdraw from the process, but to go further , to “accelerate the process,” as Nietzsche put it: in this matter, the truth is that we haven’t seen anything yet. (Anti-Oedipus, pgs. 239-240)

While people have interpreted this passage as an urge to cataclysm or even a sneaky pro-capitalist entryism, it is clear, with a proper reading, that there is no contradiction between this fragment and the radical post-Marxist praxis espoused elsewhere in the text. As my friends over at Obsolete Capitalism have shown, D&G are presenting here a very complicated form of Nietzschean anarchism that is truly beyond the scope of this meager article to unpack – though I invite all who are interested to take a look at their work. Alongside this, however, I would like to put forward the suggestion that we understand deterritorialization, as presented in this fragment, to entail the development of an anti-capitalist market system (or systems, more properly), that attacks capitalism in that it evades reterritorialization.

Let’s turn to reterritorialization now.

For D&G, capitalism is profoundly unstable. It can be very bad at allocating resources internal to itself with the speed and efficiency necessary to match its rapid development. Hiccups in its rate of profit are capable of setting off devastating spasms and crises. Capital within corporations can accumulate to the point where they outstrip the capacity of investments to re-circulate it, and goods can be produced well beyond market over-saturation. If these arguments sound like they are straight from Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy’s Monopoly Capital, they are: Deleuze and Guattari, shortly before the accelerationist fragment, affirm at least a partial agreement with Baran and Sweezy. Where they differ is that D&G are less concerned with how crisis comes about, but with how Baran and Sweezy analyze the way that capitalism avoids and/or lessens them, which is through the state taking excess capital and excess production, be it through social programs, war, or any other mechanisms that proceed by way of taxation and expropriation. Through these systems, capital and goods are allocated elsewhere or destroyed outright, priming the pumps of both production and consumption.

This is one example of the way flows of capital and goods – and even people – are reterritorialized. In these specific examples, D&G speak of capitalist reterritorialization as being bound up in the process of adding and subtracting axioms that allow flows to be modulated for the sake of the whole system. They write in Anti-Oedipus that

It is easy to list the principal modes of absorption of surplus value outside the spheres of consumption and investment: advertising, civil government, militarism, and imperialism. The role of the State in this regard, within the capitalist axiomatic, is the more manifest in that what it absorbs is not sliced from the surplus value of the firms, but added to their surplus value by bringing the capitalist economy closer to full output within the given limits, and by widening these limits in turn-especially within an order of military expenditures that are in no way competitive with private enterprise , quite the contrary (it took a war to accomplish what the New Deal had failed to accomplish). The role of a politico-military-economic complex is the more manifest in that it guarantees the extraction of human surplus value on the periphery and in the appropriated zones of the center, but also because it engenders for its own part an enormous machinic surplus value by mobilizing the resources of knowledge and information capital, and finally because it absorbs the greater part of the surplus value produced. The State, its police, and its army form a gigantic enterprise of antiproduction, but at the heart of production itself, and conditioning this production. (Anti-Oedipus, pg. 235)

This is drawn out further, and in far sharper relief, in A Thousand Plateaus:

There is a tendency within capitalism continually to add more axioms. After the end of World War I, the joint influence of the world depression and the Russian Revolution forced capitalism to multiply its axioms, to invent new ones dealing with the working class, employment, union organization, social institutions, the role of the State, the foreign and domestic markets. Keynesian economics and the New Deal were axiom laboratories. Examples of the creation of new axioms after the Second World War: the Marshall Plan, forms of assistance and lending, transformations .in the monetary system. It is not only in periods of expansion or recovery that axioms multiply. What makes the axiomatic vary, in relation to the States, is the distinction and relation between the foreign and domestic markets. There is a multiplication of axioms most notably when an integrated domestic market is being organized to meet the requirements of the foreign market. Axioms for the young, for the old, for women, etc. A very general pole of the State, “social democracy,” can be defined by this tendency to add, invent axioms in relation to spheres of investment and sources of profit: the question is not that of freedom and constraint, nor of centralism and decentralization, but of the manner in which one masters the flows. (A Thousand Plateaus, pg. 462)

Sensitive to the way certain tools and mechanisms develop, D&G link these ‘reterritorializing axiomatics’ to a process that developed far earlier in history, that of overcoding. To put it most succinctly, overcoding is what happens when fairly autonomous, organically-developed codes (tribal alliances, bottom-up cultures, and things of this nature) are seized and imprinted upon by a different code that assigns them a place and function in a wider system.[1] Overcoding can only take place by way of some external force and pressure. The axiomatic, for example, is a kind of overcode for flows that is deployed by the state, and it is clear that a state – or something like a state – is responsible for pre-capitalist forms of overcoding. To describe this more general and abstract state of affairs, D&G turn to Lewis Mumford’s “megamachine” as that which overcodes. In Mumford’s philosophy and history of technology, the megamachine is a despotic system that encompasses authoritarian governance dedicated to managerial protocols, an array of technical machines at their disposal, and a raw mass of humanity to be woven together with these technical machines in a system of control. His famous example is the vast assemblage that lorded over Egyptian society to build pyramids and sculptures to the gods. D&G go back a little further:

Immemorial Urstaat, dating as far back as Neolithic times, and perhaps farther still. Following the Marxist description: a State apparatus is erected upon the primitive agricultural communities, which already have lineal-territorial codes; but it overcodes them, submitting them to the power of a despotic emperor, the sole and transcendent public-property owner, the master of the surplus or the stock, the organizer oflarge-scale works (surplus labor), the source of public functions and bureaucracy. This is the paradigm of the bond, the knot. Such is the regime of signs of the State: overcoding, or the Signifier. It is a system of machinic enslavement: the first “megamachine” in the strict sense, to use Mumford’s term. A prodigious success in a single stroke; other States will be mere runts measured against this model. (A Thousand Plateaus, pgs. 427-428)

Some commentators have bristled at D&G’s turn towards this conceptual plane. Christian Kerslake, for instance, writes that “Absorbed in birdsong and speculations about ancient history, Deleuze and Guattari sound like they have checked out of historical and social reality. But history continued regardless; and the turbulence of Anti-Oedipus now seems more relevant than the static eternity of A Thousand Plateaus”. Such an assessment, I believe, is profoundly unfair, and misses the mark entirely on what is happening in this discourse. For starters, the seeds of this turn are on full display in Anti-Oedipus, containing as it does esoteric and profane passages such as “Flows of women and children, flows of herds and of seed , sperm flows, flows of shit, menstrual flows: nothing must escape coding. The primitive territorial machine, with its immobile motor, the earth, is already a social machine, a megamachine, that codes the flows of production, the flows of means of production, of producers and consumers”. (Anti-Oedipus, pg. 142)

Kerslake seems particularly peeved at the perceived loss of Marxism in the movement from Anti-Oedipus to A Thousand Plateaus, which is correlated to the so-called disappearance of “turbulence” and “social reality” in the text. Indeed, the same sections of the book that contain D&G’s reflections on both megamachine and reterritorializing axiomatics feature a distinctive decline of Marx, and sport an interesting engagement with economic marginalism and neoclassicalism that was not present in the previous work. But here, too, Kerslake seems to be missing the mark. “…the interest of marginalism resides not in its economic theory, which is extremely weak,” write D&G, “but in a logical power that makes Jevons, for example, a kind of Lewis Carroll of economics.” (A Thousand Plateaus, pg. 437) The reference to Lewis Carroll is the key point here; if we return to Deleuze’s own discussion of Carroll in his earlier work The Logic of Sense, we learn that Carroll’s work is a schizophrenic exploration of the surface – that is, the level at which we most immediately engage with what is. “One could say that the old depth having been spread out became width” is how Deleuze describes Carroll’s work (The Logic of Sense, pg. 9) – which is perhaps the perfect way to describe marginalism. The historical consciousness that was contained in classical economics, running from the Physiocrats up through Marx, disappeared into abstract conceptualizations of how capitalism worked. Models were developed that were treated in isolation; economic activity became separated from every other form of happening or event. If anything appears as a “static eternity”, it is capitalism as depicted in the work of the marginalists – which is precisely the image of capitalism as a market, unabated by interference or distortions from the state.

Contra Kerslake, A Thousand Plateaus engages with the marginalists only to move below that surface, to reveal the contours of history that continue bubble up to disrupt the tranquil sea of contemporary economic theory. It is telling, then, that if we turn to the footnote of the book, references to classicalism dominate. Marx and Engels are common points of reference, but the content is admittedly far less Marxist than Anti-Oedipus. It is Ricardo, in particular, who haunts D&G’s pages at this stage, and references to Marx are often tapered by the neo-Ricardian interpretations of Piero Sraffa on one hand, and by the distinctively non-Marxist perspective offered by Braudel.

So what does this have to do with reterritorializing axiomatics and megamachines?

In addition to overcoding and axiomatics, D&G introduce a third reterritorializing force: capture. In order to be overcoded or modulated via axiomatics, flows are captured through particular apparatuses – namely, ones utilized by the state. The recognition of the “apparatus of capture” in A Thousand Plateaus constitutes the mature version of the analysis of the state and capitalism that began in Anti-Oedipus. In the earlier work, D&G cite Bernard Schmitt (a French neoclassical economist and founder of the quantum economics school of economic theory) as a source for their vision of capitalism being composed of flows – “Bernard Schmitt finds strange lyrical words to characterize this flow of infinite debt: an instantaneous creative flow that the banks create spontaneously as a debt owing to themselves.” (Anti-Oedipus, pg. 236) In the later work, Schmitt also becomes the figure who recognized the apparatus of capture in action: “Bernard Schmitt has proposed a model of the apparatus of capture that takes into account the operations of comparison and appropriation.” (A Thousand Plateaus, pg. 455) Schmitt himself had been a student of Sraffa, and thus his own economic vision was indebted to neo-Ricardian thought. It is unsurprising, then, that when D&G look to construct a historiography of the apparatus of capture they look back to Ricardo – and Marx as well, at the points in which most engaged with the classicalist legacy.

When overcoding takes place, D&G tell us, something always escapes – such is the nature of deterritorializing. The particular coding of land led to its decoding in the form of private property, exchangeable by titles; the decoding of the land led to the deterritorialization of the people who worked the land and lived upon it, leading to the creation of the modern working class. Along with the deterritorialization of money flow, the tendency was set off for half of capitalism to tend towards its dissolving limit, and for the other half to stave off that limit. Hence the vision of capitalism as not simply a system, but a machninic force – a hydraulic machine channeling liquid flows, with the state acting as the regulator making sure the flows do what they need to do. In this context, D&G, following Ricardo, Marx, and Schmitt, identify three modes of capture corresponding to three different types of flows. For the flow of land, rent constitutes the capture; for the labor of people, profit by the entrepreneur; and for the flow of money, taxation. The first constitutes the “[m]onopolistic appropriation of land”, the second the “[m]onopolistic appropriation of labor, and the third the “[m]onopolistic appropriation of the means of comparison, the issuance of currency”. (A Thousand Plateaus, pg. 444) At this point D&G are able to tie together the various threads of discourse that have been coagulating:

That assemblage is the “megamachine”, or the apparatus of capture, the archaic empire. It functions in three modes, which correspond to the three aspects of the stock: rent, profit, taxation. And the three modes converge and coincide in it, in an agency of overcoding (or significant): the despot, at once the eminent landowner, entrepreneur of large-scale projects, and master of taxes and prices. This is like three capitalizations of power, or three articulations of “capital”. (A Thousand Plateaus, pg. 444)

What D&G are drawing our attention to, and what Kerslake mistakes as timelessness, is that the seeds of capitalism are intrinsically planted within Mumford’s depiction of the megamachine, and the most statist elements within the megamachine continue onwards within the core of capitalism. The development of capitalism, in Marx’s theory, required the state to unleash the flows of land, people and money, acting like the catalyzing agent in a complicated chemical reaction. D&G’s depiction of the megamachine’s apparatus of capture aligns with what Marx described as primitive accumulation, that force required for capitalism to take off in the first place; what they argue in contradistinction to Marx, however, is that these forces never disappeared. They occur at every single moment that capitalism remains intact and expanding. They are the element within and to the side of capitalism that allows it to maintain relative stability and to achieve expansion.

Capitalism, for D&G, is nothing less than a mode of civilization in which the flows of land, money, and people are monopolized by certain class formations, aided and abetted wholly by state apparatuses. Their vision of escape, accordingly, is one in which flows pursue a deterritorialization without being captured and rechanneled by the state – markets beyond capitalism.

[1] It would be interesting to put Deleuze and Guattari’s discussion of overcoding, particularly in the context of Mumford’s megamachine, into dialogue with the dialectic of “metis” and “techne” laid out by James C. Scott. For Scott, metis is “represents a wide array of practical skills and acquired intelligence in responding to a constantly changing natural and hum an environment” (Seeing Like a State, pg. 313), that is, rules of thumbs and second-order knowledge systems that are developed by people navigating and acting within and against the environment around them.

“Technical knowledge, or techne,” meanwhile, “could be expressed precisely and com ­ prehensively in the form of hard-and-fast rules (not rules of thumn), principles, and propositions. At its most rigorous, techne is based on logical deduction from self-evident first principles. As an ideal type, it radically differs from metis in term s of how it is organized, how it is codified and taught, how it is modified, and the analytical precision it exhibits. Where metis is contextual and particular, techne is universal… The universality of techne arises from the fact that it is organized analytically into small, explicit, logical steps and is both decom posable and verifiable. This universality m eans that knowledge in the form of techne can be taught more or less completely as a formal discipline.” (Seeing Like a State, pgs. 319-320)

Scott has analyzed how power tends to align itself with techne, and has constantly used techne to supplant metis, often with disastrous results. This replacement of metis with techne, which almost always requires at least a partial absorption of metis, is an example of overcoding par excellence. It is thus very telling that Scott links colonization by techne to despotic state formations such as the Soviet Union on one hand, and to the take off of mass industry through the standardization of raw  materials on the other.

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Badiou & the Accelerationists

Inventing the Future: Postcapitalism and a World Without Work
Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams in conversation with Alain Badiou

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Jean-Luc Nancy’s The Techno-Economical-Machinery

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Masha Gessen on Donald Trump’s Lessons in American Democracy


see also http://societyandspace.org/2016/12/05/post-factual-readings-of-neoliberalism-before-and-after-trump/

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Extrastatecraft -Colonization of Infrastructure


“This seminar brings together Keller Easterling and two scholars from Diyarbakır, architect/planner Zeynep Akıncı and Mezra Öner; to discuss the relation between state and infrastructure on the basis of different spatial examples.
In her recent book Extrastatecraft, Easterling claims that infrastructure is an active form: “Infrastructure space is a form, but not like a building is a form; it is an updating platform unfolding in time to handle new circumstances, encoding the relationships between buildings, or dictating logistics.” As a zone, infrastructure is a “form of extrastatecraft, which far from overwhelming state power,” becomes “a new partner that strengthens the state by serving as its proxy or camouflage.” Akıncı’s work focuses on forms of “extrastatecraft” grounded in the design of ecological infrastructures. Öner works on waste /garbage management as urban infrastructure.”

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Cyborgology: Entering the Factory @mayameme

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“Two very different kinds of thoughts were running through my mind on the way to Leipzig to the BMW factory and on the way back. On the way there, I was thinking about how and why factories are relevant to the study of artificial intelligence in autonomous vehicles, the subject of my PhD; and on the way back I was thinking about the work of Harun Farocki, the German artist and documentary filmmaker who left behind an astonishing body of work, including many films about work and labour. These two very different thought-streams are the subjects of this post about the visit to the factory. They don’t meet at neat intersections, but I think (hope) one helps “locate” the other.”
rest @ https://thesocietypages.org/cyborgology/2016/10/28/entering-the-factory
see also https://bodyofwork.in/

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Welcome to the Authoritarian Kleptocracy

Sarah Kendzior

We are running out of time. My interviews and articles about what awaits, written since Election Day:

A fascist’s win, America’s moral loss (11/9/16) — Globe and Mail

We’re heading into dark times. This is how to be your own light in the age of Trump (11/18/16) — De Correspondent

CBC, “Trump nation” (11/10/16)

Al Jazeera “Normalizing Trump: The US media whitewash” (11/19/16)

Who What Why “A dark view from flyover country” (11/18/16) ) <– long interview with a lot of detail on what’s coming

NPR, “The Scramble has some questions about our new Trumpian reality” (11/21/16)

TRT World, “Interview with Sarah Kendzior on the Trump presidency” (11/25/16)

MSNBC, Joy Reid, Interview on Trump and kleptocracy (11/27/14)

KFPA, Interview on Trump and kleptocracy (six minutes in) (11/28/16)

There is a lot more where that came from, but I’ve been posting it on Twitter, because it’s…

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