wherever you go, keep a record
pain de campagne, three rises, white and rye
fennel, lemons, garlic, kalamata olives, roasting
chickpeas, olive oil, pepper flakes, salt salt salt, lemon
beetroot and carrot and cumin and red wine vinegar
a wooden spoon
all reaching, preparing a bed, a safe place, an embrace
some home in a moment,
some place of rest.
To care for others is to make a claim; it is to make a small theoretical gesture. To care is to embody an argument about what a good life is and how such a good life comes into being. Thus the arts of caring for others always emerge from and are a reflection on broader historical material conditions and institutional arrangements. The point is not, therefore, to argue that someone really cares or doesn’t really care. In the first instance, the question is, what do we believe care to consist of, such that when we experience a form of relating to one another socially, we experience that form of relating as a form of caring for others?
What we believe care to consist of is directly related to where we believe failure resides or what we believe failure consists of. Perhaps the arts of care should be oriented to the potentiality within the actual, to removing the actual hindrances that impede groups’ striving; whether they are striving to change their world through a social project or to remain as they are within a world changing around them. The arts of care would then focus on the differential distribution of the “ease of coping.” Caring would sink into the recesses of the everyday, the ordinary, and the mundane. What it would discover there is that everything is jerry-rigged. Rather than menacing terrorists, they would find people trying to make a small, frail shelter.”
Pop’s sense of play, like its production of pleasure, is boundless, limitless: we might compare it to Freud’s notion of polymorphous perversity, an uncentered relationship to sexual pleasure not tied exclusively to the handful of experiences that constitute “mature” sexuality. In discussing disco, Dyer makes the claim that disco’s eroticism differs from popular songwriting (e.g. Cole Porter or Burt Bacharach, as distinct from what I mean by “pop”) and rock in that it is embodied and physical, yet not simplistically thrusting and “phallic” in the way rock is but rather tied to the body as a whole. Disco’s rhythmic complexity, its funkiness and looseness, is the musical equivalent of polymorphous perversity: the body as a whole becomes a site for pleasure without limits. Pop music is very much in line with this, so influenced by disco and dance music and so often more “feminine” than rock music, and this opening up of our sites of pleasure, freeing the whole body, is radically liberating in its potential. It’s no surprise that, for this reason, dance music has been so profoundly linked with gay culture: this polymorphous perversity has an essentially “queering” effect because it loosens the restraints we place on pleasure, restraints that, for example, cause some straight men to reject dancing as “gay.” Despite American culture’s prizing of pleasure, the kinds of pleasure implied by pop music and disco could not be more “dangerous” to our repressive and conservative society precisely because they say to us that we should open ourselves to all sorts of pleasures, even and particularly the ones we have attempted to censor even before they have confronted us.
The real damage is done by those millions who want to “survive.” The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves — or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control.
If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.”
FREE CeCe trailer
I lost my shit, I think maybe someone is chopping onions near metears. i can’t wait to watch the whole thing.
THIS IS SO IMPORTANT.
IF YALL DONT SIGNAL BOOST THE FUCK OUT OF THIS.
Watch this trailer. Just do it.