While Harold Jaffe’s writing has been dubbed “literary terrorism” by numerous critics (and even his own publishers), one would find it difficult to categorize Induced Coma: 50 and 100 Word Stories, his most recent volume of docufiction, as terroristic. Rather, Jaffe’s meticulous deconstructions of mainstream “news” articles and various other online and print sources demonstrate the consciousness of an artist who is struggling with, as he calls it, “writing in a dying world.”
Harold Jaffe’s revised futurist novel Othello Blues will be published by JEF Books in December 2013. Please stay tuned for publication news, and browse the contents below. Critics have said:
Othello Blues is a classic.
Nobody does what Jaffe does. There are just pale imitations.
A Novel by Harold Jaffe
In memory of Robert Johnson, bluesman, 1912-1938
Gillette Gillette: A corporate money manager
Otis Crawford: [Black] blues musician, founder of Crawfish / insurrectionist
Iago: A blues musician / Machiavel
Michael Cassio: [Cajun] blues musician
Desdemona: Daughter to Gillette Gillette / wife to Otis
Son Chatmon: [Black] blues musician
Rosetta Nurse: [Black] insurrectionist / mistress to Son Chatmon
Emily: Mistress to Iago
Blanca: [Puerto Rican] ‘exotic dancer’ / mistress to Cassio
Jim Bob: An out-of-work musician / gulled by Iago
Baum: [Jewish] booking agent for Crawfish
Swen: A restaurateur / mocker of Iago
The Body : [also known as the corporate fathers]
The mega-rich in their bunkers
The miscellaneous poor
Scene: The U.S. dominion
Time: 20 minutes into the future
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago
I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear
I took by the throat the circumcised dog
Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk
Oh monstrous world! Take note, take note
Iago and Cassio on Pretoria Street
Revolutionary Brain and Jesus Coyote are now available for download in Kindle format for a limited time at a reduced introductory price of $2.99 from Amazon.
By Harold Jaffe
The end of a life is always the end of a life. Even bad guys were once swaddling babes. Since 1976, the State of Texas has executed 493 people – not all of them bad, or even guilty. But bad is not the point. “Thou shall not kill.” The State kills. In cold blood.
In his latest book, Revolutionary Brain, Harold Jaffe fires an opening salvo – and indeed it is a rocket shot – with a text called “Death in Texas.” Jaffe quotes the last words of 15 executed inmates. The 16th murdered prisoner, Jimmy Blackmon, refuses to speak.
In fiction, non-fiction and docu-fiction, Jaffe has taken on aspects of our society before – celebrity, serial killers, violence, addiction. Now he is taking aim at the entire contemporary culture.
We live in a time of radical disjuncture, discontinuity and disruption. Social media and, especially the Smart Phone, have created the Instant Society. Conversations are disrupted by the beep of an incoming text message. Wonder what movie won the Best Picture Oscar in 1983? You can look it up – right away! Power is concentrated, but farther away than ever – even recalling Steinbeck’s famous line near the beginning of Grapes of Wrath: “Well, who do I shoot then?”
The sound of the last century was the clang of machinery; the sound of this one is the ever-present beep.
We have lost our ability to relate and engage. The result is greater marginalization – more distance, not less – and a focus on trivia and entertainment, yielding a further rupture of meaning.
Nothing matters more than info-tainment – not our friends, not politics, not the planet.
Jaffe faces the onslaught – our “hugger-mugger” culture, as he calls it.
“Truth-Force” opens with an interrogation about whether to execute a torturer or release him, and it ends with a recitation of ten repeating “couplets:” “Avert your eyes. Don’t avert your eyes.”
Several lists of “Things to Do” include taking a bath while on Ecstasy; drinking cognac; and, collecting female hair from airline baggage, then encoding your fantasies on your Smart Phone.
“Pet Girl’ mimes an internet-style news item in which a girl on a leash held by her boyfriend is kicked off a London bus for being a “freak.” She concludes by saying what she does “isn’t hurting anyone.” The bus company issues an apology.
It’s the way Jaffe cants and assembles the pieces that packs the power. It’s Julia Kristeva’s “abjection,” with an even further twist. Our empathy is pulled towards justice – but through shock and mud. And more than a small part of the shock is simply how quotidian shock has become in the age of “entertainment for profit,” as Jaffe describes in an interview with novelist Joe Haske.
Jaffe’s response employs a montage technique. (Indeed he treats Andrei Tarkovsky and James Whale in the volume.) What he achieves is a kind of postmodern Plato’s Cave. Jaffe re-orders false reality; he then re-layers reality so we actually see it.
An archetypical Jaffe inversion occurs in his piece “Freeze-Dry:”
“Doctors are attempting to freeze-dry a severely disabled girl, 9-years old, to keep her child-size at her parents’ request. Born with static encephalopathy, she can’t walk or talk, and has the mental capacity of a month-old infant.
“Watch the child twist her mouth grotesquely and emit animal noises: [Video]”
Of course, there is no video; it is a book. The reader is left to ponder this crazy conundrum. Above all, Harold Jaffe makes you think.
Los Angles-based artist, Guillermo Bert had a recent exhibition, called “Encoded Textiles,” at the Pasadena Museum of California Art (PMCA). Bert traveled to his native Chile, and collected traditional stories there from native peoples. Then, using special software, the artist translated their stories into barcode patterns, which were woven into textiles by indigenous weavers. The results appear strikingly similar to the patterns and forms of historical Native American weavings. Bert turns the symbol of price, of commodity, into story. The effect is powerful.
Though dissimilar in its deployment of technology, the project struck me as similar in vein to Jaffe’s: to use formal innovation to turn technology against itself in the service of genuine story and real meaning.
Similar to digesting visual art, Jaffe’s book forces us to see anew. As in the plastic arts also, Jaffe uses form to serve content, and vice versa. The “essays and quasi-essays” in the book vary from a few lines to 12-page pieces; from do-lists to interviews; from Q&A to exposition. In each case, Jaffe adjusts the form precisely to match the social and aesthetic purpose – eye-opening in every case.
Revolutionary Brain does not content itself solely with cultural critique; it also moves towards prescription.
Perhaps my favorite text, while not prescriptive per se, is the title piece. Jaffe describes the authorities’ removal of the brains of the three top leaders of the revolutionary German group, the Red Army Faction (RAF). All three allegedly committed suicide in German prisons in 1976 and 1977. The RAF, also know as the Baader-Meinhof Gang, fractured post-WWII European capitalist hype with a series of bombings and kidnappings of industrialists – parallel to, but more dramatic than, the Weather Underground in the United States. The radical German group spoke of “Nazi capitalism” — an eerie echo in these times of record inequality between rich and poor.
Elsewhere and throughout the book, Jaffe advocates engaged art and animated activism.
“Crisis Art” begins with a quote from Woody Guthrie: “This guitar kills fascists.” Jaffe then points to a number of artist-activists – Chilean women making protest tapestries to depict the harsh brutality of the Pinochet regime; a Thai artist who set up temporary food and shelter spaces for the homeless; Welsh women setting up a “peace Camp” to demonstrate against nuclear weapons.
The piece concludes with an imperative for artists and non-artists alike: “The primary obligation is not to avert your eyes; to bear witness.”
Perhaps with Harold Jaffe bearing witness to our times, we may be able to hear the screams above the constant din of our century’s seminal beep.
Larry Fondation is the author of the novels Angry Nights and Fish, Soap and Bonds, and of Common Criminals, a collection of short stories. His fiction focuses on the Los Angeles underbelly. His two most recent books feature collaborations with artist Kate Ruth.
Fondation has lived in LA since the 1980s and worked for fifteen years as an organizer in South Central Los Angeles, Compton, and East LA. His fiction and non-fiction has appeared in a range of diverse publications including Flaunt (where he is Special Correspondent), Fiction International, Quarterly West, the Los Angeles Times and the Harvard Business Review. He is a recipient of a 2008-09 Christopher Isherwood Fellowship in Fiction Writing
The following is forthcoming in the Journal of Experimental Fiction (JEF).
Revolutionary Brain: A Review
Tyrone Nagai (February 28, 2013)
Reading Harold Jaffe’s Revolutionary Brain: Essays and Quasi Essays should be done with both a wide arc that considers the multiple interconnections among the 19 texts as well as precise focus on the book’s epigraph by Julia Kristeva: “as abject—so the sacred.” Throughout Jaffe’s tome, which covers a broad spectrum of topics from “Anal Acrobats” to “Salvation Mountain,” the common denominator is Kristeva’s notion of the “abject.” Kristeva defines the “abject” as the physical and emotional reaction to disintegration in meaning caused by the disruption of the relationship between subject and object, or self and other. In Kristeva’s theorizations, reactions to the abject in the form of horror, vomit, or fear come naturally from experiencing shit, sewage, gaping wounds, or a human corpse. And as the epigraph suggests, Jaffe’s essays and quasi-essays attempt to show this breakdown in the established hierarchies of meaning, social structure, and power relations as not only abject but perhaps as sacred too, for Kristeva argues that one of the means of purifying the abject is through art. Moreover, by reimagining the essay through docufiction, verse, memoir, and agitprop, Jaffe articulates an unrestrained polemics on contemporary political, social, and cultural dogma. His innovative use of form melds with the provocative content to push readers out of their comfort zone and into a space where the intellectual and imaginative must work together to form understanding.
The opening narrative, “Death in Texas,” consists of a list of last statements by death row inmates. Their date of execution, name, prison identification number, and county are the only details given besides their last statement—which must be completed in three minutes or less according to Texas law—yet Jaffe is able to evoke a range of ethnic identities, spiritual orientations, and emotional states. Varying combinations of guilt, love, forgiveness, acceptance, and justice all intermingle in the prisoners’ words, and perhaps this ultimately serves as an indictment of not only the use of capital punishment in Texas, which leads the U.S. in executions, but also the silencing of dissenting voices that come from the margins.
“Crisis Art” reads like a more traditional essay in terms of its form, and it seems to extrapolate from Kristeva’s words in the epigraph. In this text, Jaffe provides numerous examples of crisis art—or “the use of cultural means to effect social change or a wider social awareness”—in order to make the case for more activist-oriented art work. Jaffe’s knowledge and understanding of crisis art’s history and effectiveness especially illuminate his abilities as a writer, scholar, and political thinker. While some may view crisis art as something ephemeral and in need of a “cause” in order to harness its energy, Jaffe instead makes the case for crisis art as a response to the dominant culture that can endure and inspire long after the immediate crisis fades away.
“Freeze-Dry” is a compact text of 48 words about attempts to freeze a nine-year-old girl with severe developmental problems that have left her with the mental capacity of a one-month-old. Perhaps what’s most startling is the last line: Watch the child twist her mouth grotesquely and emit animal noises [Video]. By imitating a hyperlink, this line is suggestive of Guy Debord’s notion of the spectacle and contemporary culture’s turn to an actuality mediated through abstract imagery enabled by technology: “Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.” In other words, the girl’s predicament is broadcast for the world to watch, yet genuine sympathy or compassion remains inhibited while the possibility of individual emotional catharsis remains, like drivers passing a fatal accident on the highway.
In a related way, “Anal Acrobats” amplifies this concept articulated in “Freeze-Dry” by focusing on U.S. culture as a whole, which Jaffe describes as “pocked with noise, blandishments, spectacle, shameless contradictions, brazen lies, squalid apologies.” In turn, Jaffe suggests that the people enveloped by this culture “need extremity beyond extremity to dodge the collective torment we are forbidden to acknowledge.” And how does this extremity express itself? And what is forbidden? Through mainstream acceptance of anal acrobats (porn stars engaged in anal sex), Jaffe proposes that “anal” has become a substitute for “death,” which, in his words, is officially suppressed in the U.S. One can think not only of the silenced inmates on death row in Texas but also the prohibition against filming the flag-draped caskets of soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. And in a world of “beautiful people wannabes (who may be Tea Partiers in real time)” the destruction of the natural environment caused by “profit-mad industry” with assistance from cynical politicians becomes the impending death we are all too scared to face.
“Pet Girl” is a brief text about a young woman who is led around on a leash by her boyfriend. It serves as a set up for the following story “Animals,” which also seems to connect with “Anal Acrobats” in the sense of interrogating the juncture where “surplus profit metastasized electronically.” Here, notions of property, sexism, slavery, and animal rights intermingle as a trickling thought in the background of the story rather than the forefront, and the text makes a logical transition into the next essay.
“Animals” makes leaps from Jorge Luis Borges’ mythical creature, the A Bao A Qu, to Sri Ganesh, elephant-son of Lord Shiva, and to the poaching of elephants and other animals on the African savannah. From there, Jaffe makes a series of quick turns, touching on Clarice Lispector, Buddhist monks, Upton Sinclair, Gandhi, and “Lord Rama, whose animal familiar was Sri Hanuman, a monkey, infinitely superior to human kind.” The rapid fire references and images accumulate and intersect like a montage to build a larger, more evocative scene. In some ways, Jaffe is pointing to human beings as creatures without conscience and animals as the ones with true dignity and wisdom.
“Fear” is a one-page exchange of questions and answers between two unidentified voices that pontificate about cognac and how it inspires them to become “unafraid.” It is through this imbibing of spirits that one of the characters is able to ultimately lose their fear and becomes merciful, thus suggesting an inhibition against such sympathetic feelings.
“Iso” seems to be linked to “Fear” through the character Qa, whose name evokes the question-and-answer format of the latter story, yet Qa seems to serve as an alter ego that is forced to navigate the strife and anxiety of the present. In terms of style, “Iso” reads like a long jazz riff with the rhythm and burst of a poem. The stream of consciousness associations flow freely, encompassing red-winged blackbirds, Mississippi, Robert Johnson, alienation, Oedipus, zombies, cinema, “the 1%,” and dissident art.
“Sacrifice” initially draws on Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1986 film of the same title to bob and weave its way through a discussion of the meaning and purpose of both real and ritualistic sacrifice in the context of a “diseased earth is in the throes of dying.” Antonin Artaud, Marquis de Sade, Adolf Hitler, the Holocaust, Gustav Mahler, John Brown, slavery, and Pierre Paolo Passolini all appear in “Sacrifice” as Jaffe uses brief anecdotes to illustrate different forms and outcomes derived from both actual and perceived “sacrifice.”
“Bride of Frankenstein,” based on the 1935 film, questions the idea of who or what is a monster by closely following the plot of James Whale’s iconic work. In the process, Jaffe reveals glimpses of the inner lives and personalities of three writers: Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron, all of whom appear as characters in the film.
“Things to Do” (1) is a short text with a strong poetic, and it suggests ingesting Ecstasy (uncut), taking a warm bath, and sitting “naked, cross-legged on the Navajo rug loving the world and everything in it” for two hours and forty-five minutes. Perhaps Jaffe is pointing out an ironic truth in that the much maligned ingestion of Ecstasy comes precisely at a historical juncture where the commoditization of time has become an omnipresent, 24/7 actuality in which even love can be ingested in pill form and measured with a clock.
“Truth Force” takes a darker turn in that it deals with torture, violence, and execution as political practice. The story appears to take place in a Spanish-speaking country in Latin America where a military junta has seized power, enlisted a professional torturer from the U.S., and commenced abducting, interrogating, and executing poor and indigenous insurgents. What makes the story stand out is that Jaffe adopts the perspective of the insurgents, and he excavates the process of how they transformed from being nonviolent protesters using Gandhi’s philosophy to being violent revolutionaries in the mold of Che or Trotsky. In short, the insurgents quickly realize that they must fight state-sanctioned violence with their own righteous violence. In their case, there is no other way to work for political change.
“Hijab” continues in a political direction, but the focus is on the anti-Islamic micro and macro aggressions perpetrated by national governments, such as those in France and the U.S. “Hijab” involves two alternating refrains that reset the discourse each time. The first one, “French technocrat and Muslim teenager at the entrance to the lycée outside Paris,” grounds a discussion about the politics of forcing Muslim girls to remove their hijabs before entering public schools. The Muslim teenager only known as Mille, a girl wearing a hijab, rightfully points out to the French technocrat that other African and Caribbean students in France are not required to remove their dashikis, bubas, kaftans, jubbahs, or dreadlocks when they attend public schools. In addition, Catholic nuns are never asked to remove their head coverings. Interspersed with this conversation is a second refrain, “Two global reprobates slouching outside the Bourse, in Paris.” Here, two characters wax and wane about 9/11, McCarthyism, genocide, the internment of Japanese and Arab Americans, female and male circumcision, Nicolas Sarkozy, William James, and the veil as metaphor for various political “curtains,” such as the Iron curtain, bamboo curtain, etc. But, when the discussion reaches the so-called Muslim curtain, one reprobate explains to the other that “the greatest horrors will be wreaked by the other side,” i.e., the West.
“Russian Roo” opens with “See the wizened humanoid in his motorized wheelchair flying a tattered American flag, the flag that maimed him in the war and afterwards.” The disembodied voices of the story discuss the writer Graham Greene’s anti-war novel The Quiet American and the rumors that he played Russian Roulette and smoked opium. But, embedded within this narrative is another one about disappearing the so-called “robotic leaders” and deleting the “corrupt institutions,” which seems to circle back to the opening line: “See the wizened humanoid in his motorized wheelchair flying a tattered American flag, the flag that maimed him in the war and afterwards.”
“Things to Do” (2) veers away from the explicitly political subject matter of the previous three texts by presenting a type of fetish involving women’s hair taken from lost or delayed airline luggage. The last line encourages one to “Encode your fantasies of the hair-owner’s most intimate gestures on your smart phone.” While this tale may seem like a non sequitur, it could be read as an inverted metaphor about corporate surveillance, the invasion of privacy, and the U.S. obsession with air travel security and terrorism in the post-9/11 environment.
“Salvation Mountain” is an interview with Dewey Birdsong, the creator of Salvation Mountain in Slab City, California. In some ways, this text echoes “Crisis Art” in the sense that Dewey has no formal training as an artist, sculptor, or painter, but he is nonetheless making art as a spiritual act in much the same way that crisis artists make art for a political cause. For Dewey, he wants to spread the message that “God is love,” and Salvation Mountain is his testament to Jesus. He survives on the donations and charity of others, and he lives simply in an old truck on the site of the mountain. While Revolutionary Brain often slashes at dominant discourses to peel away their veneer and reveal the fundamental rot and ugliness beneath the surface, “Salvation Mountain” offers a rare glimpse of the sublime.
Like some of the other far-ranging essays in the book, with their intellectual leaps and cultural bounds, “Weep” crisscrosses various persons and political causes to interrogate both the fear and anguish that can move one to tears. From Marlon Brando crying at the casket of assassinated Black Panther leader Fred Hampton to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, and many points in between, “Weep” ultimately ends with what may be considered the overarching thesis of Jaffe’s book: “Weeping animals, plants and stones, traverse the benighted globe, commencing in the west, swaying south, east, north. Even as I walk hand-in-hand / hand-in-paw, weeping, I stand sad-eyed by the gravest, the worst-suffering. I pass my hand over their heads. They are impressive in their weeping. Tormented, restless, they weep until bloody, fruitless wars are over. Climate change acknowledged and addressed. Dehumanizing post-capitalism hacked, disempowered. The invisible colored poor made visible. The twisted made sound. Enslaving technology disappeared. How long will all that take?”
“Revolutionary Brain,” the title essay of the book, explains the odd but true story of violent revolutionary Ulrike Meinhof, whose brain was preserved and studied, without her family’s permission, by neurologists after her alleged suicide in prison in 1976. Psychiatrist Bernhard Bogerts had secretly examined Meinholf’s brain for 15 years, and he concluded that surgery in 1962 to remove a brain tumor may have influenced or even caused Meinholf to co-found the revolutionary organization Red Army Faction, which led a series of political killings and kidnappings intended to overthrow the German state in the 1970s. While the surreal nature of this tale makes it interesting by itself, its placement alongside the other essays raises questions about the nature of political resistance and the extremities that dominant actors in the state will go to medicate, sanitize, suppress, or otherwise deflect attention from the inequality, oppression, alienation, and exploitation—all byproducts of dysfunctional governmental and economic systems—that lead to insurrection and revolt. What’s more, Jaffe ends this story with a section titled Revolution Post-Mill, which might appear to be a separate text, but it is actually the second part of “Revolutionary Brain.” Revolution Post-Mill is a list of pornographic web sites, but Jaffe treats them in a way to emphasize their not so hidden racism, sexism, and homophobia. While, on the one hand, the dominant culture casts pornography in a questionable moral light, it is simultaneously a multibillion dollar business controlled by similarly structured corporate entities that administer other sections of the mass media. When placed so close to the story about Meinhof, one can’t help but see how direct political action, such as that carried out by the Red Army Faction, becomes nothing more than a distraction given the heaps of attention paid to online pornography, and this seems to return to the issues raised in Jaffe’s “Anal Acrobats.”
The final text, “Things to Do” (3), offers not a call for liberation through revolution, escape through self medication, or inner peace through meditation, but an enunciation by Joseph Roth: “The world worth living in is doomed. The world that will follow deserves no decent inhabitants.” While some may see this as fatalistic and pessimistic, prolonging the status quo is no longer an option for writers like Jaffe. The Earth is dying. Sustaining our current political and economic trajectories will not result in continuous ascent into greater wealth and prosperity for all. Rather, we are rapidly consuming our way into oblivion. If there is a hope, perhaps it resides in Revolutionary Brain.
Tyrone Nagai received his MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. His work has appeared in Fiction International, The Strip, New Verse News, and Armageddon Buffet.
His review of Revolutionary Brain, forthcoming in the Journal of Experimental Fiction.
Harold Jaffe was recently interviewed by Joe Haske of Rampike Magazine. The following is to be published in September 2013:
Joe Haske: You refer to the texts in Revolutionary Brain as “essays and quasi-essays.” I’ve read some of these texts previously in various journals where you have referred to them as “docufiction.” Could you describe your take on genre distinctions? Why do you classify these texts as “essays and quasi-essays,” as opposed to fiction? How does genre and the mixing of genre inform the structure and style of the texts in this “essay” collection?
Harold Jaffe: Official culture is seemingly comprised of multiple discourses: news, sports talk, tech talk, political rhetoric, prayer breakfast talk, health talk, art talk, etc. In fact these are all blandishments, versions of entertainment for profit, intended to further insulate Americans from what remains of problematic real time.
Mimesis does not strictly mean photographing the time and place you inhabit. Nonetheless, we’re all fastened to our dying culture, and some of us at least feel compelled to inscribe it. In Revolutionary Brain I am aping official culture to plunder it. Hence, I interface ostensible genres, so that there is no hard and fast distinction between prose, verse, fiction, non-fiction, theory, everyday bullshitting; and I am montaging these seemingly different genres to tease out their ideological subtexts.
By montage I mean that I pile sometimes incongruous seeming images and tropes one upon the other as, say, Eisenstein does in Battleship Potemkin, or October, to mimic the hugger-mugger information overload in the culture; but like Eisenstein, my intention is dialectical, namely to dramatize the cultural transformation of so-called information and manifold discourse into entertainment for profit.
Readers and reviewers have asked questions about the lengthy porn site list which I title “Revolution Post-Mill.” With the triumph of technology, lists (or catalogs) are among our principal discourses. To verify, just scan any MSN site. The most obscure data are now recoverable, and with all of that condensed “information” the appearance is of substantiality. Of course it is just another version of entertainment-consumerism. You will observe a list on ESPN, such as how many Dominican baseball infielders younger than 26 eat a carne burrito between the seventh inning stretch and the top of the ninth. The list, appearing more than it is, takes 90 seconds, then comes a seven minute commercial break.
Revolutionary Brain is filled with lists and partial lists and catalogs. Note Animals, Weep, Iso, Crisis Art.
But the porn site list, much of which I “treat”, works especially in contrast to the opening “list” of humans on death row in Texas permitted 3 minutes to recite their last words then be executed. Each of these lists is officially prohibited, except that the porn list is prohibited deliberately to be trespassed. With young people sexing (then “sexting”) they are in effect insulated from doing much else, which is what official culture wants, even as it condemns the enormous multi-billion dollar pornography industry.
JH: You begin Revolutionary Brain with one of those lists, “Death in Texas” and conclude with the other, the pornography list, “Revolution Post Mill.” You have frequently explored the concept of eros/thanatos or thanatos/eros in your work, so one might infer that something similar is at play with the placement of these two texts in Revolutionary Brain. By ending with “Revolutionary Post Mill,” an eros of sorts, are you conveying ironic optimism? A sincere optimism? Is our society/culture worth salvaging? What is the revolution you propose through the juxtaposition of the various types of discourse you assemble in Revolutionary Brain?
HJ: The literal ending of the volume is not “Revolution Post-Mill” but the third brief “Things to Do,” this one featuring Joseph Roth’s enunciation” The world worth living in is doomed. The world that will follow deserves no decent inhabitants.”
The contrast between “Death in Texas” and “Revolution Post-Mill” is meant to exemplify the degradation of ethical dissent. Online pornography, like sex-selling commercials, is alleged to be taboo, but is actually there for our delectation. As I write above: With young people having bionic sex they are in effect insulated from doing much else; this is what official culture wants, even as it nominally condemns pornography, which is sponsored in good part by the corporate sector. Like Nazis, sharks, crocodiles, and serial killers, online porn sites are condemned even as they are consumed.
On the other hand, the dissent of the poor is nipped at the bud, with the three minutes the Mexican-American and African-American inmates are given to utter their last words on death row in Texas. What the inmates end up saying is anything but trivial, but naturally they will be unheard. I’ve given them the right to become visible and speak.
The culture-consumption porn sites also function as another venue to smuggle racism and sexism into the public forum, disguised as erotic ecstasies. I’ve “treated” the porn site listings so that they are manically rhythmic, exhibiting a kind of lurid elegance.
I am attempting to represent revolution’s public misrepresentations. With the world perishing from global warming a new and improved institutional ruthlessness has been loosed. We see it in the genocidal wars, one after another, and in the “extraordinary rendition” (torture) camps spread throughout the globe. We see it in the unapologetic avarice and cruelty of “public servants.” We see it in the scapegoating of Muslims. We see it in the militarization of urban space, so that peaceful protesters are pushed far away from their righteous target, then ignored or lied about in the corporate media.
It could be that a somewhat different approach to ethical dissent and revolution are necessary. What the lineaments of this response will be is not yet clear; though the online interventions by Anonymous and other dissident groups that employ advanced technology have made some impact. Anony-mous has devised an up-to-the-nanosecond tactic to expropriate the expropriators, but one imagines that most of the Anonymous infidels are young, even very young, so it is difficult to predict its outcome.
JH: Given the historically significant role of literature in prompting social change, do you believe that contemporary literature will ultimately yield progress in a “culture of ten-year-olds,” as one voice refers to our society in your text, “Animals?” What is the potential of literature for inciting revolution in a time when the masses are primarily influenced by visual effect and digital media? Is art itself in crisis, in danger of extinction, when official culture is trending toward the “practical” in mainstream culture and in our educational system?
HJ: The distinction between serious and frivolous art has been eroded. Read aloud a passage from Yeats then a passage from some contemporary versifier and many Americans will prefer the versifier. A similar erosion has taken place in visual art, music, and film. Art, where it is considered at all, is defined otherwise than it was. “Intellectual” to many people signifies adroitness in technology, with little or nothing to do with art, philosophy, history, language, etc.
Serious art, which has always existed at the margins of American culture, has lost its charge. Disheartening but inevitable given the devolution we are living through. I prefer to think of art-making in the Buddhist sense of “right occupation.” If you are an artist, you create. What happens to your art is almost entirely out of your hands. Social activist art wants at the very least to bear witness. Like secreting a poetic message into a bottle during a tsunami on a used-up planet.
JH: In your essay, “Crisis Art,” someone remarks that “crisis art has an energy and focus which more than compensate for its relative lack of refinement.” Do you agree with this sentiment? Does activism always trump esthetics? If so, to what extent? Your work is certainly layered: philosophically complex, linguistically nuanced and ripe with figurative possibilities, despite the relative accessibility of its diction. The texts in this collection go beyond a mere journalistic approach to your activism, wouldn’t you say?
HJ:. In “Crisis Art” I was anticipating the usual interrogation of socially activist art, namely that it is dependent on a proximate cause, without which it will cease to vibrate. My response is that the vibration may continue even as the proximate cause fades because of the urgency, passion and in certain instances collective energy of the art in question. Think of Act Up’s response to the AIDS crisis in which institutional culture was cruelly and ignorantly demonizing all homosexual men in the mid 80s and early 90s. Act Up and its artistic wing, Gran Fury, fought back with posters, flyers, installations, physical interventions, and art folios such as the remarkable Quilt Project. Fifty years after, this is art-making that will be looked at differently but will still retain its charge to a considerable degree. The same applies to other socially active responses, such as the posters (affiches) created by French students during May’ 68. I have a collection of them which I occasionally display to friends. They were created mostly by youthful amateurs, but the collective urgency and empowered esthetics remain alive and vibrant.
JH: One aspect of your work that proves consistently impressive is your transition between texts. How does one subject lead to another in this book? And can you tell us more about the volume design of Revolutionary Brain and explain the thought process behind the book’s general organization?
HJ: As I mention, I mean to ape culture’s hugger-mugger info excess designed to insulate humans from bleak real time while reducing virtually every datum to yet another profit-particle of the entertainment industry. The texts in Revolutionary Brain are fluid and here and there repetitive so that the reader isn’t always quite sure what s/he is reading or why, except that it is part of the volume.
The six very brief texts I set between the 13 primary texts are sometimes only obliquely related so that the interested reader is compelled to stretch. The epigraph to the volume from Julia Kristeva is “as abject—so the sacred,” and through one stratagem or another I attempt to give voice to the objectified, the vilified, the made-invisible, both in the primary and brief texts. That is, my montages (as I call them) ape culture’s manic blandishments-for-profit but turn it on its head. I write above that my intention is dialectical, namely to dramatize the cultural transformation of endless “information” and reputedly serious discourse into entertainment-consumerism. Elsewhere I’ve written that I swallow the poison to expel it as interrogation, interrogative art.
As I mention re my pornographic “discourse,” there is always in Revolutionary Brain an esthetic component which attempts to structure the chaos, even if the esthetic is deliberately manic or dissonant or, what I like to think of (after GM Hopkins) as a kind of sprung rhythm
My single-sentence paragraphs work similarly. Sometimes they read like prose narrative, other times like interrogation, still other times like a species of verse or drama or cultural theory. The single sentences give me the leverage to veer widely and zap the reader with a counter-official culture discourse. The ideal of course is to shock the reader into recognition, or, if not that, just to shock. Anything to get past the sheepish numbness that characterizes our “global village” at this watershed in planet earth’s history.
And when the indentured creature finally emits its baaa, I want it to be loud and listened to, even heard.
It is reported that the world’s second tallest man, 7-foot-9 inches, has saved the life of a nearly extinct baiji dolphin in China by reaching deep into the stomach of a sick female baiji to extract several fragments of Styrofoam.
The sickened dolphin washed ashore near the Yangtse port city of Wuhan.
The first tallest man in the world, said to be Japanese and nearly 8-foot in height, reportedly refused to take part in the procedure.
The exceedingly rare white baiji dolphin, a freshwater sea mammal with a long, narrow, slightly upturned beak, has enraptured the Chinese people who have named her Chenguang, which translates to morning light.
Shy and almost blind, the baiji dates back 20 million years.
It is estimated that no more than half a dozen individuals remain alive in Chinese waters.
None has survived in captivity.
Once fully recovered, Chenguang will be released into the Yangtse River under close supervision with the hope that she finds a mate with which to reproduce and thus help prevent the species from becoming extinct.
At a hospital-aquarium in Wuhan, physicians failed to remove the Styrofoam in Chenguang’s stomach with surgical instruments because the embedded fragments could not be grasped with the certainty of not further harming the baiji, an unusually large specimen, nearly 8-and-a-half feet in length.
The arms of ordinary Chinese were simply too short to reach through the dolphin’s throat into her stomach
Bao Xishun, 52, a 7-foot-9-inch herdsman who is listed in the Guinness world records as the world’s second tallest human, was summoned from the nearby Chinese region of Inner Mongolia.
The official summons came after the 8-foot Japanese, unnamed but reportedly living in Hiroshima, refused the initial summons to try and save the sickened, nearly extinct dolphin.
No reason was offered for the Japanese giant’s refusal, although the Chinese and Japanese are long-term adversaries, and the speculation in China was that the Japanese government ordered the 8-foot Japanese to reject the summons.
The Japanese government has refused to comment publicly on the subject.
What would the Chinese have done were Bao Xishun made unavailable?
They would have summoned the now-retired world-famous basketball player Yao Ming from the Houston Rockets in the USA; Yao is listed at 7-foot-6 inches.
In a surgical procedure shown and re-shown on Chinese nationwide television to the largest number of TV viewers recorded anywhere, not just in China, six technicians carefully restrained the sedated dolphin while Bao Xishun slid his latex-enclosed 44-inch long arm down her throat into her stomach to extract five irregular sized fragments of Styrofoam.
It was a delicate procedure for such a large man, especially since the dolphin was sedated rather than anesthetized. In the baiji’s weakened condition there was fear that anesthesia might kill her.
Wuhan aquarium authorities declared the procedure an unqualified
success. In gratitude, the Chinese government presented the 7-foot-9-inch Bao Xishun with a “valuable gift,” which however was unspecified.
According to Chinese news agencies, Chenguang is recovering on schedule and swimming in the Wuhan aquarium. It was not yet determined when she would be released into the Yangtse River.
Were the surgical procedure a failure, relations between China and Japan, aggrieved as they are, would have rapidly worsened, possibly to the point of violent aggression.
Is it possible that the death of a severely endangered dolphin could devolve into an actual war between China and Japan?
Remember “Remember the Maine”?
Remember the Archduke Franz Ferdinand?
Remember the “terrorist” assaults of 9/11 provoking an American war against the wrong countries?
It is entirely possible that the death of Chenguang, the beloved, sickened baiji dolphin, would constitute a casus belli.
Current matters aside, The Japanese have been criticized worldwide for their relentless whale hunting, in the process of which they have not only slaughtered whales but dolphins.
For their part, the Japanese have accused the Chinese of disregarding environmental safeguards on land and sea as they zealously set about their metamorphosis from primitive communist totalitarianism to elite techno-industrial player in the global empire.
According to Japan, China’s hell-bent industrialization has not only damaged the environment, possibly irreparably, it has trampled on the most basic human rights, as demonstrated in its criminal annexation of Tibet.
As the official Japanese response phrased it: Lhasa, Tibet’s capital, now resembles any other high-elevation Chinese city rather than the sanctified mountain kingdom it had been for centuries.
The Chinese GDP (Gross Domestic Product) has overtaken both Japan and the United States to become the highest in the world.
Most wealthy industrialized countries wish to maintain at least an illusion of wilderness; hence, the prevailing theory of the Chinese obsession with the sickened baiji dolphin whom they themselves have made virtually extinct.
It is rather like hanging a multi-million dollar Van Gogh in, say, Mobil Oil’s corporate boardroom.
Question: Once the globe–every particle, in and out of consciousness–is colonized, would a robotic, sickened, female baiji dolphin provide the cachet of a “natural,” sickened, female baiji dolphin?
Officially, the answer would be a resounding yes.
An Austrian teenager held captive for eight years in a dungeon-like room on the outskirts of Vienna says her captor, Wolfgang Priklopil, was part of her life and “in a certain way” she mourned his suicide.
Eighteen-year-old Krista Ludwig is reported to have wept inconsolably when told that Priklopil killed himself.
After Krista Ludwig made her escape on Wednesday, Priklopil, 44, threw himself under a commercial train traveling east to Bucharest. The train was delivering electronic hardware and pigs for slaughter.
Krista Ludwig said she sympathized with Priklopil’s 89-year-old mother and planned to telephone her. (Priklopil’s mother is suffering
from dementia and subsists in a nursing home near Graz, the “second city” of Austria, where the steroidal, gap-toothed governor-action star of California, Schwarzenegger, was birthed).
Krista Ludwig, said to be pale and trembling and to weigh just 42kg, less than she did as a 10-year-old, managed to flee her abductor after he sidled away to take a call on his mobile phone as she vacuumed his car, a 2003 white Audi sedan, in the driveway of the abduct house.
The time was three-fourteen pm, on a Wednesday, precisely eight years to the day and very close to the precise time that she had been kidnapped on her way to school.
Did Krista Ludwig realize it was exactly eight years to the day and hour since she was taken captive?
Why then did she choose that very moment to attempt to escape?
“I was ready to leave so I left.”
Now 18, Krista Ludwig insists that communications technician Wolfgang Priklopil had not robbed her of her childhood.
“I don’t have the feeling I missed something important. As far as I can see, children are robbed of their childhood one way or another.”
Krista Ludwig said her lengthy abduction actually spared her bad habits such as smoking, drinking to excess, injecting heroin or speed, snorting cocaine, playing video games, and having “false friends”.
What was a typical day like with Wolfgang Priklopil?
Between 7:30 and 8:00 a.m., Krista Ludwig and her abductor, who usually did not go to work, she said, would have breakfast, a sweet roll and coffee with heavy cream, or schlag.
The rest of the day Krista Ludwig would spend doing housework, reading, talking, cooking.
“That was it for years. Everything tied to the fear of being alone.”
If she was fearful of being alone why didn’t she attempt to escape sooner?
“It would be the same somewhere else.”
Nor was it clear from Krista Ludwig’s statement whether by “housework,” she referred to working in her room or elsewhere
in the large ramshackle house.
What did she and her abductor talk about?
“Different things. I am not prepared to go into details.”
What did she read?
“Greek and Nordic myths, anthropology. The great god Zeus abducted virgins.”
Was Wolfgang Priklopil a version of Zeus?
“No. He was not my lord and master. I was just as strong. Perhaps stronger.”
She used an Austrian expression to indicate that at times Priklopil treated her tenderly, but at other times cruelly.
“He carried me in his arms but also trampled me underfoot.”
Investigators have been trying to determine whether Priklopil had an accomplice, based on a 14-year-old boy’s account at the time of the kidnapping that he saw two men drag young Krista Ludwig into a white Mercedes van.
But Krista Ludwig insisted that Prikopil acted alone. Moreover there was a later report that the 14-year-old boy was hyped up on
coffee with schlag when he gave his account.
Priklopil “carried out the kidnapping himself. Everything was prepared,” Krista Ludwig said, adding that they then “decorated” her room together.
Photos released by police show the underground hiding place in Prikopil’s gabled, two-story wood house in Strasshof village outside Vienna, where he kept young Krista Ludwig: a small, cluttered, windowless room with washbasin, “squat toilet,” cot, cupboards and narrow concrete stairs leading up to a trapdoor.
No “decorations” are visible.
Because blueprints to the house were unavailable, investigators could not say for certain whether there were any other hidden compartments, dungeons or cells.
In her statement, read by flamboyant Viennese psychoanalyst Max Friedrich, who has been “treating” her, Krista Ludwig urged the
media to respect her privacy.
“Everyone wants to ask intimate questions, but they don’t concern anyone,” she said via Max Friedrich.
She felt well, she said via Max Friedrich, if “maybe a bit
patronized” at the location where she was currently held, and she
appealed for more respect from the media.
The location was described by police as a secure institutional space with “carers” under the supervision of Max Friedrich.
Max Friedrich, with his unruly leonine grey head, wraparound mirror shades, corncob pipe, and unsteady, stiff-legged gait, cautioned the media to show restraint, insisting Krista Ludwig was severely traumatized and the intense media coverage was capable of victimizing her all over again.
Krista Ludwig’s parents, who separated after her abduction eight years before, complained that they had not been told where she was being held.
“Why can I not see my child?,” her mother, Birgit Dieskau, pleaded in a Sunday supplement newspaper interview
Max Friedrich confirmed that Krista Ludwig did not wish to see her parents again after their brief reunion. “Nor is that unusual under these extraordinary circumstances.”
Regarding what actually transpired between Krista Ludwig and
her middle-aged abductor beyond the housecleaning, unspecified
conversation, and consumption of sweet rolls and coffee mit schlag, the young woman refused to say.
After spending the first years locked in the dungeon-like room, which Priklopil had furnished with toys, books, magazines, and chewing gum, but neither television nor computer, Krista Ludwig was, she confided, via Max Friedrich, allowed to make occasional, brief, unaccompanied outings to the village.
Police are trying to determine if Krista Ludwig had a sexual relationship with her captor. And if so, the nature of the sexuality. If it was sadomasochistic, as suspected, then how far did it go, and were the roles steadfast or did they alternate?
She said, “Perhaps I will tell Dr. Friedrich one day or someone else. Perhaps I will never tell. The intimacy only belongs to me.”
A police photo of kidnap suspect Wolfgang Priklopil was presented at a news conference in Vienna. Smooth face with arched brows, a widow’s peak, and a small fleshy mouth, he bore some resemblance to the pious, silver-tongued former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair.
Meanwhile it has been confirmed that Wolfgang Priklopil (what remained of him after he threw himself under the train) was buried secretly under a false name. The secret burial was to deter vandals, officials explained.
There were just two mourners not including Krista Ludwig. She paid her respects alone at the morgue the day before the burial and lit a single candle. Only Priklopil’s mother (severely demented and in a wheelchair) and a former business partner’s sister, “legally blind,” were at the unspecified gravesite.
The ceremony lasted seven minutes, Austrian radio said. No priest was in attendance and nine-and-a-half policemen stood guard.
According to Max Friedrich’s diagnosis, Krista Ludwig suffered from Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological condition in which long-held captives begin to identify with their captors.
The American heiress Patty Hearst was arguably the most famous contemporary example of Stockholm Syndrome after her kidnapping by the Symbionese Liberation Army in the early ‘70s.
After extensive cosmetic surgery and long hours of psychological debriefing, Hearst recovered and resumed her life as a self-consumed billionaire heiress.
Police Major General Gerhard Haeckel, of the Federal Criminal Investigations Bureau, said investigators are continuing to follow up on “every lead” in the case, which until last week was Austria’s second greatest mystery.
The greatest Austrian mystery of course is how a homely, ill-educated vegetarian dog-lover with a comical Chaplain mustache became the most charismatic genocider of the 20th century.