Search results for "journal "

Twitter Dérive

Author: joe

Tuesday, 24 March, 2009 - 10:36

With the mass influx of new immigrants to twitter, it is currently popular, especially amongst press journalists, to point out its pointlessness and futility, and the vacuousness of the twit who twitters. 'Twats!' they cry, "with nothing better to do than to tell the world what it is they are doing, since they are never doing anything other than twittering tweets..." How idiotic to tell us that you're waiting for a bus. How naive to think we care about the mochaccino you're sitting down to. How arrogant to think we need to know about the banalities of your life in 140 characters or less. These journalists would much rather we read the 400 words they write about how crap what we're doing is.

The truth (or at least what I like to call the Zizekian switcherooney, in which the dialectic is reversed and shown to be more true than the original thesis) is that actually every paid-for word written by the average journalist is worthless pap. As Aristotle said, "all paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind." The journalist prostitutes the written form in order to propel himself into a world of fiction - the world of minor celebrity, exclusive dining and snide superiority.

Meanwhile the lowly twitterer turns away from her productivity, and rejects the consumption of her time by the demands of capital: instead she considers her existence, and her being, and takes a vestal word-polaroid of something trivial and yet immense: her life moves in and out of representation and is, just for a moment, an examined life: by the self and by the other. Those others, the tweet-readers, too, abscond from their clocked-on time, and explore the psychogeography of the stream of characters that is the new real world. The closeness of disposable reality and its impermanence, the impossibility of its archival and retrieval, is precisely the beautiful opposite of the dead ossification of the world that the journalist strives for.

Categories: detournement, derive, Guy-Debord, psychogeography, Zizek, twitter, journalism, dialectic,
Comments: 2

Journal fiction

Author: joe

Wednesday, 07 May, 2008 - 20:26

She says he found the journal by google. "I want to fucking kill myself" plus "I'm feeling lucky". He went to the root, and found the phone number. Called the phone number - this sort of thing doesn't happen every day, she notes drily.

The last thing she says - she may go to Paris. 6 months ago. So I call the number, because I think she's dead. We'll talk about the hole you fill with junk food and TV, and the way you cover the mirrors. We will, sooner or later, stand together under the shelter, in the rain, and watch the stray drops collect over the iron ornamentation and whorl into a bare stream of hopelessness at our feet.

The phone rings onto voicemail, and the crackle of transatlantic distance deters me. Layering complications onto someone's unsuspecting answer-phone. I try again, some hours later. Her voice is there, faint, surprised (even though this has happened before) - I googled, found the journal, went to the root, and called the number. I wanted to triangulate, as though if I knew she was there, and that he - the first one - was also somewhere, then we'd be three points, marking summits, we could take sightings, and locate ourselves. In the absence of a mirror, I needed to see myself reflected by other means, in the words of someone on the end of a google search. I'm pleased she's alive.

She thanks me. We make valedictions. But we have always made valedictions.

Categories: journal, google, fiction, mirror,
Comments: 0