lunes, 25 de junio de 2012

Why Is the U.S. Selling Billions in Weapons to Autocrats?

Escultura por León Ferrari (1965)
Estados Unidos siempre ha sido un Costco geopolítico de efectos bélicos, pero en los últimos años, especialmente en el 2011, la venta de armas aumentó significativamente. Así quedó demostrado en un interesante artículo publicado el pasado 21 de junio para la revista Foreign Policy. Zach Toombs, R. Jeffrey Smith y The Center for Public Integrity colaboraron en la pieza. Además del significativo aumento en las ventas de armas a más de 170 países, Estados Unidos de América vendió armas a naciones como Bahrain, Arabia Saudita, Israel, etc. - todas ellas con claros problemas en derechos humanos. Hillary Clinton - Secretaria de Estado - lo niega:
"The issue of arms exports to countries engaged in repression of their own populaces has been debated recently by top U.S. and Russian officials. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton on June 12 accused Russia of shipping attack helicopters to Syrian President Bashar al-Assad's regime, charging that those weapons were being turned against Syria's own people. In a retort, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov said, "We are not supplying to Syria or anywhere else things that are used in fighting with peaceful demonstrators, in contrast to the United States, which is regularly sending such special means to countries in the region."
Cuelgo una tabla navegable usada en el artículo. Aquí se visualiza lo que el texto describe:

domingo, 24 de junio de 2012

Reseña | Slaughterhouse-Five (Hill, 1972)

Afiche vía
[Hacer un peregrinaje hasta la más alta montaña; 
llegar a Tralfamadore y a las tetas de Montana Wildhack…] 

El tale of woe de Kurt Vonnegut está cabrón*. Dan cuenta de ello: un chrono-synclastic infundibulum, el material Ice-9 y religiones como The Church Of God The Utterly Indifferent y el Bokonism. Razones demás hay para leerle; pero confieso que no he leído Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children’s Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death (1969). La que leí fue The Sirens of Titan (1959), por tanto, esto es una reseña cinéfila que aspira a ser bibliófila. [Para continuar leyendo la reseña en Puerto Rico Indie, favor hacer click aquí.]

miércoles, 20 de junio de 2012

sábado, 9 de junio de 2012

Instituto de Subcultura Puertorriqueña: Un recorrido por el lado bélico de la creatividad.

Artefacto de Acción Chrysanthemum
Supe que llegué a C787 Studios cuando vi una ejkei, patinada por un pie mecánico. Cyborg shit. No fue la última ejkei de la noche… Vi más bicicletas que en el parque LMM; una muchaha me flachió sus pantiestenían un fucking conejito dibujado. C787 Studios–ese recoveco que es más Hoare que Cerra–fue el venue. Había un chorro de títeres. También vi a Teófilo, tempranito. La exhibición estaba compuesta por varios artistas–Ana María, Ibarra, Gómez, Bousquet, Velázquez, Charrón, La Ele–; éstos curados muy bien. Las piezas hablaron entre sí, mejor de lo que hubiesen hablado políticos puertorriqueños; pues no divagaron, no perdieron el hilado belicoso. Tampoco ignoraron el contexto – determinado por el problemático concepto de “subcultura”. [Para seguir leyendo la reseña de la exhibición en Pernicious Press, favor hacer click aquí.]

lunes, 4 de junio de 2012

Phillip K. Dick: Sci-Fi Philosopher (I, II, III)

Cuelgo un ensayo de tres partes por Simon Critchley, publicado en The New York Times (en la sección The Stone). El autor comenta sobre The Exegesis of Phillip K. Dick - un delirante libro de más de 800 páginas. Confieso que soy un Dickhead: 

The Religious Experience of Phillip K. Dick (Robert Crumb)

Part 1: Meditations on a Radiant Fish 

When I believe, I am crazy. 
When I don’t believe, 
I suffer psychotic depression. 
Philip K. Dick

Philip K. Dick is arguably the most influential writer of science fiction in the past half century. In his short and meteoric career, he wrote 121 short stories and 45 novels. His work was successful during his lifetime but has grown exponentially in influence since his death in 1982. Dick’s work will probably be best known through the dizzyingly successful Hollywood adaptations of his work, in movies like “Blade Runner” (based on “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”), “Total Recall,” “Minority Report,” “A Scanner Darkly” and, most recently, “The Adjustment Bureau.” Yet few people might consider Dick a thinker. This would be a mistake. Dick’s life has long passed into legend, peppered with florid tales of madness and intoxication. There are some who consider such legend something of a diversion from the character of Dick’s literary brilliance. Jonathan Lethem writes — rightly in my view — “Dick wasn’t a legend and he wasn’t mad. He lived among us and was a genius.” Yet Dick’s life continues to obtrude massively into any assessment of his work.

Everything turns here on an event that “Dickheads” refer to with the shorthand “the golden fish.” On Feb. 20, 1974, Dick was hit with the force of an extraordinary revelation after a visit to the dentist for an impacted wisdom tooth for which he had received a dose of sodium pentothal. A young woman delivered a bottle of Darvon tablets to his apartment in Fullerton, Calif. She was wearing a necklace with the pendant of a golden fish, an ancient Christian symbol that had been adopted by the Jesus counterculture movement of the late 1960s.

The fish pendant, on Dick’s account, began to emit a golden ray of light, and Dick suddenly experienced what he called, with a nod to Plato, anamnesis: the recollection or total recall of the entire sum of knowledge. Dick claimed to have access to what philosophers call the faculty of “intellectual intuition”: the direct perception by the mind of a metaphysical reality behind screens of appearance. Many philosophers since Kant have insisted that such intellectual intuition is available only to human beings in the guise of fraudulent obscurantism, usually as religious or mystical experience, like Emmanuel Swedenborg’s visions of the angelic multitude. This is what Kant called, in a lovely German word, “die Schwärmerei,” a kind of swarming enthusiasm, where the self is literally en-thused with the God, o theos. Brusquely sweeping aside the careful limitations and strictures that Kant placed on the different domains of pure and practical reason, the phenomenal and the noumenal, Dick claimed direct intuition of the ultimate nature of what he called “true reality.”

Yet the golden fish episode was just the beginning. In the following days and weeks, Dick experienced and indeed enjoyed a couple of nightlong psychedelic visions with phantasmagoric visual light shows. These hypnagogic episodes continued off and on, together with hearing voices and prophetic dreams, until his death eight years later at age 53. Many very weird things happened — too many to list here — including a clay pot that Dick called “Ho On” or “Oh Ho,” which spoke to him about various deep spiritual issues in a brash and irritable voice.

Now, was this just bad acid or good sodium pentothal? Was Dick seriously bonkers? Was he psychotic? Was he schizophrenic? (He writes, “The schizophrenic is a leap ahead that failed.”) Were the visions simply the effect of a series of brain seizures that some call T.L.E. — temporal lobe epilepsy? Could we now explain and explain away Dick’s revelatory experience by some better neuroscientific story about the brain? Perhaps. But the problem is that each of these causal explanations misses the richness of the phenomena that Dick was trying to describe and also overlooks his unique means for describing them.

The fact is that after Dick experienced the events of what he came to call “2-3-74” (the events of February and March of that year), he devoted the rest of his life to trying to understand what had happened to him. For Dick, understanding meant writing. Suffering from what we might call “chronic hypergraphia,” between 2-3-74 and his death, Dick wrote more than 8,000 pages about his experience. He often wrote all night, producing 20 single-spaced, narrow-margined pages at a go, largely handwritten and littered with extraordinary diagrams and cryptic sketches.

The unfinished mountain of paper, assembled posthumously into some 91 folders, was called “Exegesis.” The fragments were assembled by Dick’s friend Paul Williams and then sat in his garage in Glen Ellen, Calif., for the next several years. A beautifully edited selection of these texts, with a golden fish on the cover, was finally published at the end of 2011, weighing in at a mighty 950 pages. But this is still just a fraction of the whole.

Dick writes, “My exegesis, then, is an attempt to understand my own understanding.” The book is the most extraordinary and extended act of self-interpretation, a seemingly endless thinking on the event of 2-3-74 that always seems to begin anew. Often dull, repetitive and given to bouts of massive paranoia, “Exegesis” also possesses many passages of genuine brilliance and is marked by an utter and utterly disarming sincerity. At times, as in the epigraph above, Dick falls into melancholic dejection and despair. But at other moments, like some latter day Simon Magus, he is possessed of a manic swelling-up of the ego to unify with the divine: “I was in the mind of God.”

In order to understand what happened to him on 2-3-74, Dick used the resources that he had at hand and that he liked best. These were a complete set of the 15th edition of Encyclopedia Britannica that Dick purchased late in 1974 and Paul Edwards’s arguably unsurpassed “Encyclopedia of Philosophy,” published in eight handsome volumes in 1967, one of the richest and most capacious philosophical documents ever produced. Dick’s reading was haphazard and eclectic. Encyclopedias permitted an admittedly untutored rapidity of association that lent a certain formal and systematic coherence to his wide-ranging obsessions. 

Skimming through and across multiple encyclopedia entries, Dick found links and correspondences of ideas everywhere. He also stumbled into the primary texts of a number of philosophers and theologians — notably the pre-Socratics, Plato, Meister Eckhart, Spinoza, Hegel, Schopenhauer, Marx, Whitehead, Heidegger and Hans Jonas. His interpretations are sometimes quite bizarre but often compelling.

This leads me to an important point. Dick was a consummate autodidact. He survived for less than one semester at college, at the University of California, Berkeley, in 1949, taking and quitting Philosophy 10A in the space of a few weeks. Dick left the class in disgust at the ignorance and intolerance of his instructor when he asked his professor about the plausibility of Plato’s metaphysical theory of the forms — the truth of which was later proven for Dick by the experience of 2-3-74. Dick was evidently not trained as a philosopher or theologian — although I abhor that verb “trained,” which makes academics sound like domestic pets. Dick was an amateur philosopher or, to borrow a phrase from one of the editors of “Exegesis,” Erik Davis, he was that most splendid of things: a garage philosopher.

What Dick lacks in academic and scholarly rigor, he more than makes up for in powers of imagination and rich lateral, cumulative association. If he had known more, it might have led him to produce less interesting chains of ideas. In a later remark in “Exegesis,” Dick writes, “I am a fictionalizing philosopher, not a novelist.” He interestingly goes on to add, “The core of my writing is not art but truth.” We seem to be facing an apparent paradox, where the concern with truth, the classical goal of the philosopher, is not judged to be in opposition to fiction, but itself a work a fiction. Dick saw his fiction writing as the creative attempt to describe what he discerned as the true reality. He adds, “I am basically analytical, not creative; my writing is simply a creative way of handling analysis.”

Parte II: Future Gnostic
Parte III: Adventures in The Dream Factory