Category Archives: Bibliography

Wendy Brown

Still, if we are slipping from liberalism to fascism, and if radical democracy or socialism is nowhere on the political horizon, don’t we have to defend liberal democratic institutions and values? Isn’t this the lesson of Weimar? I have labored to suggest that this is not the right diagnosis of our predicament: it does not grasp what is at stake in neoliberal governmentality—which is not fascism—nor on what grounds it might be challenged. Indeed, the left defense of the welfare state in the 1980s, which seemed to stem from precisely such an analysis—“if we can’t have socialism, at least we should preserve welfare state capitalism”—backfired from just such a misdiagnosis. On the one hand, rather than articulating an emancipatory vision that included the eradication rather than regulation of poverty, the Left appeared aligned with big government, big spending, and misplaced compassion for those construed as failing to give their lives proper entrepreneurial shape. On the other hand, the welfare state was dismantled on grounds that had almost nothing to do with the terms of liberal democracy and everything to do with neoliberal economic and political rationality. We are not simply in the throes of a right-wing or conservative positioning within liberal democracy but rather at the threshold of a different political formation, one that conducts and legitimates itself on different grounds from liberal democracy even as it does not immediately divest itself of the name. It is a formation that is developing a domestic imperium correlative with a global one, achieved through a secretive and remarkably agentic state; through corporatized media, schools, and prisons; and through a variety of technologies for intensified local administrative, regulatory, and police powers. It is a formation made possible by the production of citizens as individual entrepreneurial actors across all dimensions of their lives, by the reduction of civil society to a domain for exercising this entrepreneurship, and by the figuration of the state as a firm whose products are rational individual subjects, an expanding economy, national security, and global power.

That is here. In a book from Princeton. And she has a new book.


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On subjectivity, language and the body

I am plagiarizing this post from the Facebook page of a colleague, and hope that is all right. Look:


Adorno on Benjamin:
“Despite extreme individuation […] Benjamin seems empirically hardly to have been a person at all, rather an arena of movement in which content forced its way, through him, into language.”

Jim Siegel on Clifford Geertz:
“Geertz lectured with an intensity I had never before seen…Geertz to me was not a person but an image of the flow of words through a human body…Geertz, more than anyone else I met as a student, showed me that words need not stay inside the head even if one has no method. All you had to do was connect the parts of your body with them.”


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Vallejo Lorca Spicer Stein Pessoa Drummond

From my dialogues elsewhere.

Person A, quoting Pessoa:

Whether we write or speak or do but look

Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill or thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others’ dreams.

(«35 Sonnets», in Poemas Inglêses)


SMT, I meant to say this long ago. The other great poetry class, comparable to the Lorca-Vallejo-Stein-Spicer combination, is Lorca-Vallejo-Pessoa-Drummond. I will surely never be allowed to do this so you should. Also, I was originally going to run my benighted Vallejo dissertation through the lines of Drummond, Pessoa, Valéry, Borges, Bergson, people like this, and did not get to because it was seen as too conservative — neither postcolonial and hip nor poststructuralist and hip. I continue to believe that this was only because these professors I was dealing with were very concerned about fashion and “productivity” and also had not read the people I was talking about very carefully. All of this has to do with fractured subjects, empty signs, and centers that are either absent or fall away, but it isn’t “anti-humanist” in the slapdash and flashy manner people used to take on when exerpting and patching with Foucault.

Person A:

By chance I also came across these lines from Jack Spicer, riffing off Benjamin (and Baudelaire): “As things decay they bring their equivalents into being […] That is what makes it possible for a poet to translate real objects, to bring them across language as easily as he can bring them across time. Things do not connect; they correspond. That is how we dead men write to each other.”

In the meantime, someone entirely different told me this:

Concerning holographic projections, e.g., smart phones, “holographic protests”, etc., the phenomenon is not quite as mysterious as it first appears. Once one realizes that the hologram is not actually a physical image, floating in intersubjective space, but is merely a subjective, virtual image, that is, *virtual* in merely the sense of Newton’s Opticks (1704) and not so much that of Tim Berners Lee (1989), for example, and that through careful monitoring with lasers that provide continuously updated feedback of information on the focal length vector of each of the observer’s two eyes, a virtual image in the above sense can be easily made to appear and persist anywhere in the observer’s visual projective space – not just hovering above the plane of the smart phone’s screen or on the city street that one’s body is physically facing. One fascinating fact, that holography points up in a somewhat different though related way than perhaps “virtual” reality technology has been doing now for quite a few years, is that our notion of “virtual” is very powerful in this sense: its context is paradoxical in being at once unified and open-ended. Currently, the term, “virtual”, appears to possess three distinct senses, i.e., of “virtual” (optics), “virtual” (virtual reality) and “virtual” (virtual particle/field). With the further advancements in the disciplines of quantum computing, holography and quantum gravity theory, which are expected over the next 30 years or so, these three distinct acceptations of “virtual” will be understood to be just different perspectives on the same underlying process, and this new understanding shall forever more fundamentally blur the boundaries between physical reality, virtual reality and mind.

And this:

The mothership checked in for a moment there.

And I laughed. The idea of the mothership checking in, “souls by gleams,” as Pessoa would have said, sunbeams, slices of blue sky.

This is what it is, today, to feel whole as one once did.


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Soberanía y transgresión: César Moro by Mariela Dreyfus

I will get hold of it.


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“The ‘grain’ is the voice in the body as it sings”

Roland Barthes in Image–Music–Text, here. I was reminded of it because of a piece on Stuart Hall by Homi Bhabha in Critical Inquiry, and I miss reading Critical Inquiry and some other things.

The grain is the voice in the body as it sings, and this is one more road leading to or from Vallejo. Bhabha talks about semiotics, locus of enunciation, intersubjectivity and language.

(Once again I want to say I do not like this behaviorist psychotherapy, that is all about setting little goals, containing yourself, and being good … and where the assumption is that without such containment, you will be incredibly small minded and self serving. I do not know that that is what this psychotherapist intends to do, but when I arrive in late afternoon he is tired and does not need to be sitting any longer, he needs to be stretching, there is pain in his every sinew, and he says formulaic things. He was not like this before and I had been thinking he was getting older but now I wonder: perhaps he is just impatient, tired of me.)

Transference. I do amateur psychoanalysis on myself on the blog because I do not seem to get, or do not think I can get it elsewhere. I claim psychotherapy is about containing oneself, saying the things one is allowed to say so that one can appear deserving of some glimmerings of useful insight or care. Is that, then, what I actually think about people and life? I am myself considered a good and inspiring advisor because I tell people to take what they need and do what they will (and I trust them to be ethical about this). I say it to everyone as a matter of course, but I do not say it to myself, and I probably mistrust myself.

Evidence suggests I am a courageous person.



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Henry Miller and me

Instructions for writing and life.

  1. Work on one thing at a time until finished.
  2. Start no more new books, add no more new material to ‘Black Spring.’
  3. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
  4. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!
  5. When you can’t create you can work.
  6. Cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.
  7. Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.
  8. Don’t be a draught-horse! Work with pleasure only.
  9. Discard the Program when you feel like it—but go back to it next day. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
  10. Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
  11. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.

Miller’s schedule.

If groggy, type notes and allocate, as stimulus.

If in fine fettle, write.


Work of section in hand, following plan of section scrupulously. No intrusions, no diversions. Write to finish one section at a time, for good and all.


See friends. Read in cafés.

Explore unfamiliar sections — on foot if wet, on bicycle if dry.

Write, if in mood, but only on Minor program.

Paint if empty or tired.

Make Notes. Make Charts, Plans. Make corrections of MS.

Note: Allow sufficient time during daylight to make an occasional visit to museums or an occasional sketch or an occasional bike ride. Sketch in cafés and trains and streets. Cut the movies! Library for references once a week.

It is interesting that he is against the movies — I wonder what movies they were, or if it was all movies.

Miller has a whole book, Henry Miller on Writing, and I have it somewhere and must find it: it gives the instructions for life I myself used to follow without knowing I was following him.


I am at a psychotherapeutic impasse I do not have time to write out in detail but that does need note taking. I have not been in a position to lead or even really work all semester in this psychotherapy that I am trying to use as analysis, and I am disappointed, frustrated, and actually quite angry about this. Normally I take a strong lead in what happens to make sure it becomes as psychoanalytic as possible, but when I do not it becomes about mere life management and I have to answer questions that seem to presuppose frivolity. This is partly because I am afraid to ask for more. I am also afraid of comments that open an issue of possible interest but do it in an “off” way, so that I have to make desperate attempts to communicate, to say who I am, and then leave bruised and uncomfortable and then wait a week, and come back unsure whether it is safe or I am strong enough to try to work again. The situation needs restructuring.

Reviewing: why am I in constant emotional pain … why did I seek analysis in the first place? It is an effect of child abuse. Really bad child abuse that I am not even in full touch with. This was why I always wanted help and support, even when I did not know the reason. Since Reeducation, which includes my first job, my parents’ reaction to it and my first analysis, I usually feel as though I had been beaten up and screamed at and thrown into a cell from which there is no hope of escape — yet I have to function normally in regular life in this state.

I am not the person who was desired. If I had been a person who could have healed my parents, I would have played the piano. I would have wanted to attend college at the place I had my first job. I would have been conventional and nice, and above all I would have been born with my own money, so taking care of me would have been free. But I was not that person, and I refused to go to that college, and I did not want to take that job. And it turned out to be even worse than I imagined. And I am incompetent and unemployable and too expensive, just as they always said I was and would be. And my parents were so disappointed that I did not like the things they wanted me to, and that I really was not at all the kind of person they wanted. My existence hurts others. I could have saved them had I died or had I been someone else. But I was myself and did not die, and I have not died yet, so I have to keep trying to be someone else or to die, and this is my life.

That is my story or structure. It is one I must stop telling myself — it is the reason I am as ashamed of myself as I am, and as unwilling to go out in public as I am. Yet it is not the only story or structure that applies to me.

To counter this structure, what has to come first? I have to allow myself as decent a life as I did before Reeducation (where I learned that my abusers had been right and that I should join them). I have to do this even if I do not want to and even if it feels dogged. Many of my problems come from self-torture, in terms of sleep deprivation and the way I speak to myself. In Reeducation I was told I did not feel enough pain and I have since lived life in such a way as to always be suffering some form of pain, often physical pain, muscle pain. Sleep deprivation is a good way to cause pain and to limit one’s abilities, and I use this against myself a great deal. 

What else is fundamental? Authority.That is what Reeducation asked me to give up — authority in my own life and over my own work. I had “too much control” over what happened and it was considered inappropriate. But you MUST exert a certain amount of power and control over your work if you have a professional job, and everyone deserves self-determination in life. I would like to turn the question around: why did Reeducation feel it deserved control over me?

What is eating me at this very moment? My therapist’s use of the word ostracism — which goes directly to my mother’s rejection and her constant threats to “fire” me. The kind of thing I would like to be doing in therapy is meditating slowly on reactions like this, as opposed to setting little behavioral goals and reporting progress on them. I would like to meditate slowly on my recurring dream (the dream about the car full of refugees) and try to understand and change it. I would like to consider who it is I really want to kill when I say I want to die. I would like to actually deal with deep anger and trauma — NOT just learn self control (I have that, but much psychotherapy seems to presuppose that people need to learn it) and NOT just discuss immature and frivolous or egotistical, but above all superficial reactions I might have to the little irritations of life (psychotherapy seems fixated on possible emotions at this level). In practical terms I would in fact like to figure out some things about work (the office), in terms of concrete strategies and yes, even behavioral goals. But once again, I want to think in a thoroughgoing way.

Also, his idea that I am other directed, too much oriented to the service of others. Of course it is true but I have that kind of job, and the entire reason I live here is to serve others. To serve myself I would move away, do different things, live a different life. People who are disappointed that I am serving others have come too late. When I serve others and it works, that is the best situation available and I am not pleased to have the only victory available to me deflated. (This paragraph is an extreme expression and would need qualification to be scientific; of course I can serve myself in this place and should do so more, I am only talking about how it feels to be criticized for being so other oriented after having worked so hard to become this way, because people wanted it. I who do not have feelings, I who am too cold, I am talking about how I feel, may I not do so at least part of the time?)

The problem I always have in psychotherapy is that therapists tend to want to keep things very superficial and they seem to want to focus on tiny practical goals, with progress logged. I did not think this was true of the current person but it has seemed that way lately. That is partly because I have been so busy and distracted, I have surely been hard for him to follow. It is also that I am afraid it will turn out to be true, that I will never get to do any deeper work because that is out of fashion — now one is not to resolve any issues, but only behave. I am afraid that all I can get is my mother: cruelty, mocking, sneering, emptiness, superficiality, poking, bitterness, nudging, criticism.

What my father said last summer: be good to yourself and ask yourself each morning, what can I do for myself today? What shocks me: psychotherapy says (or, I fear it says): question yourself, tear yourself down, admit you are crazy and you have sinned, do not take the power, control, or authority to do anything for yourself today, focus on mere creeping survival as this is all you can do and all you deserve. That is not what my current therapist actually believes, but I am always afraid it will be.

A reason I like this therapist is that he puts up with the fact that I do not like living where I do. Very few people from here would do that and it is really to his credit that he can be patient with this. Another reason is that he is willing to see the importance of work, research, creative life — he is willing to see these things as part of mental health and not as burdens.

On the television program In Treatment, which Hattie has convinced me to become more interested in, most of the characters behave outrageously and the therapist mistreats his wife and his own therapist. His therapist and one or two of the patients are kind and grown-up and self-aware. If people really are like most characters on this show, I can see why mainstream psychotherapy is so interested in catching their lies, making them face these, teaching them basic manners, and shaking them out of their extreme and misplaced senses of entitlement.

The general impression I have, in fact, is that mainstream psychotherapy is about learning to limit yourself, rein in your outrageous behavior, fit in. I, on the other hand, do not need this, as I have been learning it since birth and have always tried to live on as little as possible. I imagine psychoanalysis as a way to free oneself, become free, remove pain from oneself; I often experience psychotherapy as a set of lessons in limits and a straitjacket of convoluted thoughts. I do not know how many times I have sat in a therapist’s office trying to understand their question. Finally it dawns on me: they want to know whether I am about to have some really base reaction, one I do not imagine and must reach to understand (i.e. being disappointed to feel well, being angry at someone else’s happiness, things like this).

Showing you can behave, showing you can see your shortcomings and be generous to others, showing you have feelings but can use logic, showing you can be goal oriented and log progress, seem to be the goals of psychotherapy. If you can do these things you need no more. I do not need lessons in these things and I want far more, but I am afraid to ask. I am afraid it will be considered self indulgent to want to work on dreams, dynamics of old experiences, psychoanalytic things. I am willing to discuss the practicalities of current life but only part of the time. I know some people would say it is a terrible luxury to do what I want to do, but I do not agree.

Look at this contradiction: I am too other-oriented, and I am ostracized, I am told, and these are problems. So here I am asserting myself and demanding to come in the door: I want a form of therapy more serious than certain behaviorist suggestions. Watch me be told I am too demanding, that I want too much. Then, once I retreat and try to live on less, fit in more easily, and serve still more perfectly, watch me receive renewed criticism for being ostracized and other-oriented.

Here is an interesting thought: Undergoing sleep deprivation so I can feel as though I had been beaten up so that I can know I am not using myself well so that I can realize there is something I am dissatisfied with. I am dissatisfied with what has been (not) happening in this psychotherapy lately and if I allowed myself to feel better I would be “mature” and tolerant about it, let things go, accept that what I want is too much to ask, try to get from it what I could.


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Alphonse Daudet’s house of pain

Every evening, a hideously painful spasm in the ribs. I read, for a long time, sitting up in bed – the only position I can endure. I’m a poor old wounded Don Quixote, sitting on his arse in his armour at the foot of a tree.

Armour is exactly what it feels like, a hoop of steel cruelly crushing my lower back. Hot coals, stabs of pain as sharp as needles. Then chloral, the tin-tin of my spoon in the glass, and peace at last.

This breastplate has had me in its grip for months. I can’t undo the straps; I can’t breathe…

Since learning that I’ve got it for ever – and my God, what a short “for ever” that is going to be – I’ve readjusted myself and started taking these notes. I’m making them by dipping the point of a nail in my own blood and scratching on the walls of my carcere duro [punitive imprisonment].

All I ask is not to have to change cell, not to have to descend into an in pace, down there where everything’s black, and thought no longer exists…

The clever way death cuts us down, but makes it look like just a thinning-out. Generations never fall with one blow – that would be too sad and too obvious. Death prefers to do it piecemeal. The meadow is attacked from several sides at the same time. One of us goes one day; another some time afterwards; you have to stand back and look around you to take in what’s missing, to grasp the vast slaughter of your generation…

From time to time, a memory of the active life, of happier times. For instance, those Neapolitan coral-fishermen among the rocks, in the evening. The epitome of physical well-being…

Return to childhood. To reach that distant chair, to cross that waxed corridor, requires as much effort and ingenuity as Stanley deploys in the African jungle…

I only know one thing, and that is to shout to my children, “Long live Life!’ But it’s so hard to do, while I am ripped apart by pain.

This was first published in 1930, although Daudet died in 1897. Here is a related article, and here is the one in which I am finding my Daudet quotations. Here is more.



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