Thanks Michael I liked the ConnorNot so much about agreement throughout
but touched by itfinding it alluring Here is what it made me think of
some words from a piece I have written about object, especially
transformational ones. .
Is it that philosophy now is failing us? What bold thoughts for overwhelming
abuse?
What comforting thoughts in the shameful shades of family violence?
In our biopolitical state of governance has a necropolitics brought philosophy
to an end?
Or must it come undone and begin again? From “the dust of this planet,” a
start?
Start again, the philosophers are saying, with objects withdrawn from all
relations.
Start again with no presumed correlations between human and world, reason and
life. Start again on a groundless ground, in a negation of negation.
And I?
I try to hide. I go inside myself
where some few objects are put away:
A rubber doll with washed out eyes,
a stuffed yellow dog nearly life-sized,
so dirty from being dragged along the street,
outside the window
where no one sits.
And the clock and the metronome--
time machines, mysterious to me,
and the books of fairy tales and poetry
All beloved
the objects more to me
than any of the humans can be
The objects still
awaiting me
there always
therefore, me.
Attending objects
truly being,
only being,
glistening in the shine
of the bright lights of a dissociation.
We who have been forced to insight might perhaps have the foresight to see
objects
otherwise before we see with only human eyes, seeking an ontograph and
discompose of hurt in the objects of a childhood faith.
From: empyre-boun...@lists.cofa.unsw.edu.au
[empyre-boun...@lists.cofa.unsw.edu.au] On Behalf Of Michael O'Rourke
[tranquilised_i...@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, June 19, 2012 8:32 PM
To: soft_skinned_space
Subject: Re: [-empyre-] Smelly Objects
You're welcome Tim.
Now that we're talking about affect and transitional objects I thought I would
link to this new talk from the always wonderful Steven Connor:
http://www.stevenconnor.com/feelingthings/
It concludes: Let me say again what I have said with as little circumstance as
possible: we need things, because only things can guarantee for us the
sovereign status of the no-thing we are and wish to be. And, precisely because
that relation is a need, a matter of life and death, and not a mere abstract
congruence, it hums with passion and pathos. Our relation with the world, which
only the things of the world can keep alive, is a daredevil, do or die, midair
thing, full of rapture, peril and unexpected comforts. So our dependence on
objects is not one source of emotion among others – it is emotion (= ‘moving
out’) itself. Things bear our weight, the weight they accord to us. They take
the strain.
Michael.
--- On Tue, 19/6/12, Timothy Morton timothymorton...@gmail.com wrote:
From: Timothy Morton timothymorton...@gmail.com
Subject: Re: [-empyre-] Smelly Objects
To: soft_skinned_space empyre@lists.cofa.unsw.edu.au
Date: Tuesday, 19 June, 2012, 5:46
Wow Jack that is amazing.
Michael I didn't thank you yet for introducing
me to Christina McPhee.
Tim
http://www.ecologywithoutnature.blogspot.com
On Jun 18, 2012, at 7:46 PM, Judith Halberstam
halbe...@usc.edu/mc/compose?to=halbe...@usc.edu wrote:
Lauren:
I have read your post several times, watched the video by Jennifer Montgomery,
read some Winnicott and also looked again at Alison Bechdel's graphic novel
memoir, Are You My Mother? which contains several episodes revolving around her
readings of Winnicott and even has a chapter titled Transitional Objects.
Homay mentioned Bechdel last week also.
So, here are my short comments in response, I won't go on since this is not
even my week but i loved your post and found that it opened up lots of new
doors...
1. Bechdel's book is brilliant and each chapter begins with a dream and then
uses material from her endless conversations with her mother to make sense of
the dream. In the book's opening sequence for example, she dreams that she has
trapped herself in her house's cellar while doing a home improvement project.
She escapes through a small window and then jumps into a deep brook to try to
find her way home again. This dream about being trapped and then getting lost
recurs throughout.
After the dream, there is a mesmerizing cinematic sequence within which Bechdel
is driving in heavy traffic and having a conversation with her mother. The
panels tightly frame her upper body behind the wheel of the car and then slowly
pull back until by the fourth panel we see that the passenger seat is empty.
She has been rehearsing a conversation with her mother but in this scene the
mother is (and she remains throughout the book) absent. This is a stunning
illustration of what Lauren calls the generative potential of withdrawn
objects and like the dreams that do not resolve, the absent mother keeps
things moving
