An Allegory
And so that monstrous fiend threw an incongruous fit of utter frustration and joy. It looked to the floor and saw the stacks of books and notes mixed incestuously with one another. Not a mote of dust settled on the hard covers because the detestable creature read each and every page over and over again. It kicked against the mound of mess and reached for the cloak hanger.
The beast threw on a rich, dark jacket that barricaded its body from discriminating eyes. It ripped the door open and graced the crisp morning with ugliness. They don't hate me anymore. They don't like me anymore. Not that they ever did, but they... they just don't do anything anymore! it thought silently. There was no use dwelling on it but they were crucial nevertheless. The deformed fellow calmed a bit. Something about the fog and sewer scented morning shielded its hate against itself. It stomped deliberately on the wet and slimy road, which produced a sloppy sound that settled the creature. It moved to nowhere.
It used to know itself; it used to be sure of its being, or at least the perception of its being. There was the surety of its deformity of morals that was bound to attract the hate of pious, idiotic fools. It was stupidity, as far as the old triglodyte was concerned, for people to lose their commonsense to spiritual belief, for which moron would take a leap of faith that demanded its own death? And the hunched beast had an unwavering surety that its un-naturalness, its un-attractiveness, was so far from the script of normality that there was now a point to live. Its goal was to piss-off the sons-of-a-bitches who always had to be beside, always beside, the forgotten birth of their monstrous child. These were some of its convictions that gave it a reason to breathe; a reason to remain the antagonising force of transgressiveness and freakishness. What more could a swine of society ask for than to be the violator of humanity? For it knew that in its violation comes the constitutions of humanity. The jackal laughed suddenly and raucously. Humanity had to thank it. But the creature has been defeated, and it wrecked its brains for the reason - always, always the need for reason - of its defeat.
The fog had lifted itself from the sour odour of its giant companion. The brute stopped in mid-stride and looked to the right. Blue and pink blossoms dotted the ends of stinking weeds. The entire stretch of the pavement was lined with those disgusting colours. Just my day, it complained in its throbbing head. In its contemplation, it had forgotten about the journey. It looked-up and squinted its black-rimmed eyes against the scintillating sun. The pathway was a well-crafted stroke between the decrepit slum and sanitised civilisation, and the road ended narrowly at a rainbow painted gate. At least the artist, it thought, had a sense of humour.
The gates creaked gently and a couple walked through. They held each other's hands and strolled through the park towards the horrific thing. There was a light breeze from the West; a rotten odour mingled with the sweetness of Autumn flowers. The creature was sure to be noticed but it made no effort to hide.
Damnation! Utter damnation! Why can't I figure it out? Why can't they do something? Anything! It lumbered deliberately but carefully towards the youths and at each step grew increasingly frustrated. It knew that the greatest achievement of being queer was to be respected for being queer. It did not matter if the respect was hateful, conceited or genuine. The respect was there that it lived monstrously. Differences were accepted as a fundamental to existence. But where did the poison seep through? When did the toxin come to effect? The poor beast was overwhelmed and growled irritatingly under its breath.
The couple was now approximately five feet from the creature. They stopped, stared at the deformed thing, and smiled ingenuously. The girl looked slightly nauseous but made a tremendous effort to choke back the bile. The boy simply stopped breathing for a moment. Each gave a courteous nod to the trembling creature and walked past.
And that was the last straw. The fiend bellowed with rage and threw its arms wildly in the air. It screamed and screamed till not a molecule of oxygen was left in its body. In defeat, it crashed onto the floor like a sack of rubbish and sobbed into gnarled hands. Indifference!! It was always indifference! In catharsis it found the source of the toxin. It was the politics of insouciance all along. The death of differences and the death of multiplicity; the death of paradoxes and the death of dialectics - all heralded the birth of insouciance. The monster folded its arms over knees and rocked on the drying ground. For once it its life it was lost. What is to become of me? What does it mean to be me? It was the death of humanity that it cried for. It was the death of pedagogy that it cried for. What was one to teach if all who were taught drank the hemlock of insouciance?
The sun rose to its zenith. The noon light dried the sleepiness of the morning. The blue and pink flowers began to wilt against the contrasting cold and heat of the day till there was nothing but dried shrubs of brown stalks. The creature on the ground sat very still. Then the breeze came again, but this time it stripped the layers off the beast. Piece by piece of its body were carried by the wind. First the crumpled jacket, then the wrinkled skin, then strings of muscle, and then the ashes of the skeleton. It was a most odd phenomena. The thing has simply ceased to exist.
The beast threw on a rich, dark jacket that barricaded its body from discriminating eyes. It ripped the door open and graced the crisp morning with ugliness. They don't hate me anymore. They don't like me anymore. Not that they ever did, but they... they just don't do anything anymore! it thought silently. There was no use dwelling on it but they were crucial nevertheless. The deformed fellow calmed a bit. Something about the fog and sewer scented morning shielded its hate against itself. It stomped deliberately on the wet and slimy road, which produced a sloppy sound that settled the creature. It moved to nowhere.
It used to know itself; it used to be sure of its being, or at least the perception of its being. There was the surety of its deformity of morals that was bound to attract the hate of pious, idiotic fools. It was stupidity, as far as the old triglodyte was concerned, for people to lose their commonsense to spiritual belief, for which moron would take a leap of faith that demanded its own death? And the hunched beast had an unwavering surety that its un-naturalness, its un-attractiveness, was so far from the script of normality that there was now a point to live. Its goal was to piss-off the sons-of-a-bitches who always had to be beside, always beside, the forgotten birth of their monstrous child. These were some of its convictions that gave it a reason to breathe; a reason to remain the antagonising force of transgressiveness and freakishness. What more could a swine of society ask for than to be the violator of humanity? For it knew that in its violation comes the constitutions of humanity. The jackal laughed suddenly and raucously. Humanity had to thank it. But the creature has been defeated, and it wrecked its brains for the reason - always, always the need for reason - of its defeat.
The fog had lifted itself from the sour odour of its giant companion. The brute stopped in mid-stride and looked to the right. Blue and pink blossoms dotted the ends of stinking weeds. The entire stretch of the pavement was lined with those disgusting colours. Just my day, it complained in its throbbing head. In its contemplation, it had forgotten about the journey. It looked-up and squinted its black-rimmed eyes against the scintillating sun. The pathway was a well-crafted stroke between the decrepit slum and sanitised civilisation, and the road ended narrowly at a rainbow painted gate. At least the artist, it thought, had a sense of humour.
The gates creaked gently and a couple walked through. They held each other's hands and strolled through the park towards the horrific thing. There was a light breeze from the West; a rotten odour mingled with the sweetness of Autumn flowers. The creature was sure to be noticed but it made no effort to hide.
Damnation! Utter damnation! Why can't I figure it out? Why can't they do something? Anything! It lumbered deliberately but carefully towards the youths and at each step grew increasingly frustrated. It knew that the greatest achievement of being queer was to be respected for being queer. It did not matter if the respect was hateful, conceited or genuine. The respect was there that it lived monstrously. Differences were accepted as a fundamental to existence. But where did the poison seep through? When did the toxin come to effect? The poor beast was overwhelmed and growled irritatingly under its breath.
The couple was now approximately five feet from the creature. They stopped, stared at the deformed thing, and smiled ingenuously. The girl looked slightly nauseous but made a tremendous effort to choke back the bile. The boy simply stopped breathing for a moment. Each gave a courteous nod to the trembling creature and walked past.
And that was the last straw. The fiend bellowed with rage and threw its arms wildly in the air. It screamed and screamed till not a molecule of oxygen was left in its body. In defeat, it crashed onto the floor like a sack of rubbish and sobbed into gnarled hands. Indifference!! It was always indifference! In catharsis it found the source of the toxin. It was the politics of insouciance all along. The death of differences and the death of multiplicity; the death of paradoxes and the death of dialectics - all heralded the birth of insouciance. The monster folded its arms over knees and rocked on the drying ground. For once it its life it was lost. What is to become of me? What does it mean to be me? It was the death of humanity that it cried for. It was the death of pedagogy that it cried for. What was one to teach if all who were taught drank the hemlock of insouciance?
The sun rose to its zenith. The noon light dried the sleepiness of the morning. The blue and pink flowers began to wilt against the contrasting cold and heat of the day till there was nothing but dried shrubs of brown stalks. The creature on the ground sat very still. Then the breeze came again, but this time it stripped the layers off the beast. Piece by piece of its body were carried by the wind. First the crumpled jacket, then the wrinkled skin, then strings of muscle, and then the ashes of the skeleton. It was a most odd phenomena. The thing has simply ceased to exist.
posted by Insouciantfemme at 2:25 am
6 Comments:
I much prefer the ending where the "nomad of sanctuaries" continues to contribute to the intellectual welfare of the settled and unsettled disciplines ... in fact I must insist on a rearrangement on the text to accommodate this.
If I can remind you of earlier modblogian conversations "The rare scholars who are nomads-by-choice are essential to the intellectual welfare of the settled disciplines." Benoit Mandelbrot
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Indeed Arti, indeed. But my point was convoluted, if not ironically simple as well. Differences - the politics of difference - has been subsumed under the illusion of difference. The monster avows for the radicalism of queerness - of transgressiveness - and finds the "I" through the dichotomies of social ethics. But in its narcissism the creature does not realise that it is the structure of that dichotomous ethics; that it is at once the creator and guard of the natural and unnatural - the maker and bifurcator of differences.
But what is this politics of insouciance that is creeping into academia? What is this politics of indifference that has found its way into the social mindset of individuals who believe that by not asserting a politics of the self, one is free from discrimination and at the same time masks the force of prejudice? The narrative of insouciance goes like this: "I don't care what you are or who you are. I don't care if you're white, black, yellow, purple or green; gay, lesbian, bisexual or transsexual; all I care about is that you do your job right." Here is the crux of the problem. Here is where the dissapearance of the monster is most unnatural and unexpected.
There is no longer a monster narrative within the script of ethics. But there is neither the normal. When society, or at least the classroom, is sutured by indifference, what is the purpose of the nomad? Where is the nomad when the movement of bodies and ideas are subsumed in insouciance? When no one cares where one goes with one's politics, is there a purpose to politics anymore? These are fdndamental questions in which the answers are bleak as the pits of the devil's arse.
I ask myself if there is reason for the body of the pedagogue to exist? Do you matter? Do I matter? When students do not care for the body, when they do not care for the monstrous and failures of the "I", then there is no more "I". For we are always made porous by, made possible by, made (un-)whole by, the very proximity and association of others. That the "I" can never be whole, can never be an impenetrable bastion, gives strength to a politics of difference.
The 'nomad of sanctuaries' can no longer be even relegated as a fantasy Arti. I'm afraid the nomad is fast dissapearing, and just as suddenly and unexpectedly as the hot breeze of insouciance on the body of the monster, we are peeled-off bit by bit, till there is no longer a body left to remember.
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This "modern stupid" thing I am developing is more advanced than I imagined - your point may well have been too convoluted for my initial reading - am noted for being more precipitate than reflective - [I still cannot cope with the tragedy in "Dumbo" and would rewrite that whole mother child separation bit] - but I can now see its significance -
I have to soften my initial demand - perhaps "An Allegory" Cliff's notes to help us "modern stupid" readers know what is going on.
And choose I were to be distained, for the drug, the drink has gifted my soul with the speak of the hushed.
Were you to really give yourself, you would know no end, but not of this earth have you the understanding.....unless.
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