[the disturbance of the] Political Economy of Language Identity

[Alan Sondheim]

[the disturbance of the] Political Economy of Language Identity


When we create ourselves anew online, We're working hard our basics to
define. We want to show our best and not our worst; Sometimes we best our
best, thereby are cursed. Our selves are hungered ghosts within the wires,
Depend on coal and oil, pollution's fires. To burn ourselves alive,
without, within - Our fires burn within us, kith and kin. Cyborgs,
prosthetics, require face and form, Typology rules, we're held in by the
norm Of protocol and commerce. Once again We find ourselves enthralled to
other men. Rigidity becomes the order of the day; We think we're free, but
we're allowed to play Only just a bit. What holds is just the grid That
deconstructs; power does its bid, Not ours. Not for hours. Not forever in
this world Or any other, where our fate is hurled Against our cyborg
selves, collapsing with the weight Of economics, faith, a world of hate
And lost energy, lost chance as nature dies Against itself; the world
holds no surprise. Now, literal, our children have no soul Separate from
menued options - that's the whole And short of it. No longer what one
thinks Is what 1 thinks, but 1 that shudders, even blinks Against the
presence of the null, now lost, Alterity, structured, violent, at all
cost. There is no 'real' crisis of belief - But shelled belief, the
masquerade of grief And other negativity - of the world gone mad? Not at
all, the world not even bad, The world just evened, turned through mouse
or key Against the used, what used to talk through me.

Question authority. Trust no one. Your pronouns are hacked. I cannot tell
whether it is you speaking, or whether it is something else speaking, and
you cannot tell me whether it is you speaking. They took the newbies to a
locked room in the MOO and silenced them. Invoke the catastrophic. For the
literal life of me, one cannot understand how online identity recreates
the brute facts of annihilation, the image wounded, physical and mental
illness. The websites went down in New Orleans; so much for redundancy.
"Herons have no URLs." (Let's give them one!) "Der emes shtarbt nit, ober
er lebt vi an oreman." ("Truth never dies but lives a wretched life.")

[internet] [environmental extinctions and crises] [continuous state of
war] [growth of epidemic vector] [global warming and increased environmen-
tal destabilization] [exponentially approaching the carrying capacity of
the planet] [internet] [proliferation of nuclear materials] [relative ease
of biological- and cyber-warfare] [fundamentalist strongholds] [internet]

"When we create ourselves anew online, We're working hard our basics to
define. We want show best and not worst; Sometimes best, thereby are
cursed. Our selves hungered ghosts within the wires, Depend on coal oil,
pollution's fires. To burn alive, without, - fires us, kith kin. Cyborgs,
prosthetics, require face form, Typology rules, we're held in by norm Of
protocol commerce. Once again find enthralled other men. Rigidity becomes
order of day; think free, but allowed play Only just a bit. What holds is
grid That deconstructs; power does its bid, Not ours. for hours. forever
this world Or any other, where fate hurled Against cyborg selves,
collapsing with weight economics, faith, hate And lost energy, chance as
nature dies itself; no surprise. Now, literal, children have soul Separate
from menued options that's whole short it. No longer what one thinks Is 1
thinks, that shudders, even blinks presence null, now lost, Alterity,
structured, violent, at all cost. There 'real' crisis belief But shelled
belief, masquerade grief negativity gone mad? all, bad, The evened, turned
through mouse or key used, used talk me. Question authority. Trust one.
Your pronouns hacked. I cannot tell whether it you speaking, something
else me speaking. They took newbies locked room MOO silenced them. Invoke
catastrophic. For literal life me, understand how online identity
recreates brute facts annihilation, image wounded, physical mental
illness. websites went down New Orleans; so much redundancy. "Herons
URLs." (Let's give them one!) "Der emes shtarbt nit, ober er lebt vi an
oreman." ("Truth never lives wretched life.") [internet] [environmental
extinctions crises] [continuous state war] [growth epidemic vector]
[global warming increased environmen- tal destabilization] [exponentially
approaching carrying capacity planet] [proliferation nuclear materials]
[relative ease biological- cyber-warfare] [fundamentalist strongholds]"

We're squeezed by desire that the world might appear whole or in relation
to the projection of our true-real bodies, our kindly thoughts, the best
forward there can be, the beauty that survives and exists through channel
and bandwidth. We are ignoring the lowered ceiling at our peril, Nikuko.
We want to fuck dirty and messy, dead hippos going for $50 each. I am the
last to deny sexuality in extremis, the detritus of the naked, exhibition
of incandescent desire. The bodies of Abu Gharayb for example. The child
at the keyboard. The infinitely satiated, infinitely satisfied. The
consump- tion of resources, bloated bandwidth. The
exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine on
the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we?:Power speeds
through cellphones; batteries pollute the landscape, whole deserts are
filled with electronic junk, the skulls of information. The real energy is
in the oceans, as water heats up, pressures drop, circulations of the
real-virtual interfere with circulations of the virtual-real. Or is it the
other way around? Without a videophone, the one-eyed man is king in the
land of the site-less.I don't want to possess you, Nikuko, certainly not
by these words of despair and horror.  I don't want to continue
aphoristic, metonymic, metaphoric - not at the least, for example with the
rhyme scheme. We are running out of time...:I'm trying to give a name to
my identity, to the crisis of identity. Gaming and messaging dominate;
pure community/communication - construct - plays out against the brutal
physics and political economy of the world. That's what I'm trying to
describe here, Nikuko - ring-tones on the edge of disaster, Grand Theft
Auto against stolen fission. Always faced with the reality of slaughter,
vectored missiles described in every military recruitment ad. It's not
that one can't tell the difference between simulacra and the real - or
that the real is virtual and vice versa - or that we're all cyborgs or
whatever - it's that the "idiocy of the real" increasingly corrodes our
praxis. Theoretical efficacy or a lien on truth? The brutality makes no
difference vis-a-vis language or gaming. Remember: The power runs out.
:plastic:silicon

Come with me, We're squeezed by desire that the world might appear whole
or in relation to the projection of our true-real bodies, our kindly
thoughts, the best forward there can be, the beauty that survives and
exists through channel and bandwidth. We are ignoring the lowered ceiling
at our peril. We want to fuck dirty and messy, dead hippos going for $50
each. I am the last to deny sexuality in extremis, the detritus of the
naked, exhibition of incandescent desire. The bodies of Abu Gharayb for
example. The child at the keyboard. The infinitely satiated, infinitely
satisfied. The consumption of resources, bloated bandwidth. The
exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine on
the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we?, beautiful
wetware on a dying planet.

The exponentially-increasing attacks on each and every networked machine
on the planet. Yes, yes, yes, we all want to continue, don't we? and 20907
and 11870 - and you knew that all along! you turn me on Script done on Mon
Sep 26 00:39:12 2005

"Give a name to your hunger! I'm trying to give a name to my identity."
I'm tired of your identity. Your politics are killing us. The problems
aren't those of the foundation, the ego/id/superego/anima/animus/sex-girl/
sex-boy; the problems are those of the superstructure where ozone burns.
Is that relevant? That is most relevant; that is the only relevant. What
remains beneath/below is the charred residue of culture. (All cultures are
on the way out:

heroin drugs me down with the girl onto the floor where we fuck down there
on the wood while she ties my cock to cocaine-you-know-me coming into the
needle world where i get codeine dreams and lost among junkie heavens
unbearable ecstasy you kill me way i like to be drawn down to you in
within inside put-you-in-me in-me in-you within-you inside-you
put-you-inside crawled on floors for impossible highs incandescent you get
me into you all the way down to those floors squeezed your needle juice
into me baby heroin inside your dreams babe APPEND "Come with me, $name,
beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND
"Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name,
beautiful wetware! APPEND "Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! APPEND
"Come with me, $name, beautiful wetware! EXIT:


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