PUJOL-UNITED STATES OF BEING RELEASE SHOW 6/5/12:
Let’s not be candid in our talk of “Enlightenment” or “getting it.” For I have a friend, weary in spirit, suffering bouts of omniscient grooviness from which he has no control. Touched by an angel at an early age, my friend revisits his malady at each full moon: he is the Awarewolf, painfully transforming from man into pure energy beneath the pale moon light, simultaneously aware of everything, everywhere: A weeping Internet of the Spirit tragically lacking divine capacity to order, to ingest, to fathom, to search itself as “I or Everything?”: He is drunken, paralyzed, electrified by full-spectrum knowledge and stimulation; becoming one with the electric chair: His nails turn to prismatic laser, his hair doth shine like a color changing Christmas tree: uber-fiber optically, as light rips from his back, beginning to vibrate so furiously, humming like a proton-pack, he shines a light, from inside-out, into being just as the ether surrounds. For every full moon, he retreats to the 5th floor of the Sunsphere, the sole attendee to his malady’s reception, dancing harder, and harder, until electrolytes electrify, and light he becomes, self-contained by his own reflection, finding truly for himself, “a place in the sun.”
The Old Lady ages backwards in my brain, oscillating between Time and Space, with every crease of her smile, every roll of the brow, a chameleon of eras giggling like a wet cake: the Amoeba of Brunch, primordially voguing like an acrylic butterfly: striking the airspace of one arbitrary and epoch Life’s Royal Pond, flapping wings of archaic, yet hauntingly familiar, vernacular: The churn of her wingspan beating a vision of Time and Place long-gone, of Light throat-sang through a box fan, that remains the foundation of where I stand, resting just beneath where she hovers and whirs: Somewhere in between Old and Young, where age has no meaning, and Awareness’ fingers play cat’s cradle with strings of gut, where Fairness wrote no score, and Justice held no tune, plucking a drone of whale-song, a sonic lighthouse of nautical stealth: The One, that warms my Core, that threatens Its absence, that burns like hot coins beneath the skin, that kills like wet socks, that is blasted in the Lobby of the Womb, that was my Number that spelt my Name, that was called that caught my attention, that I can not yet understand, but glacially cruise through Lots and Life, humming in step, between the blades of the fan, strutting toward the guillotine with an apple on my head, proud as “I Am.”
CYNICISM AS A FORM OF IDEOLOGY
THE SUBLIME OBJECT OF IDEOLOGY (LONDON; NEW YORK: VERSO, 1989), PP. 28-30.
But all this is already well known: it is the classic concept of ideology as ‘false consciousness’, misrecognition of the social reality which is part of this reality itself. Our question is: Does this concept of ideology as a naive consciousness still apply to today’s world? Is it still operating today? In the Critique of Cynical Reason, a great bestseller in Germany (Sloterdijk, 1983), Peter Sloterdijk puts forward the thesis that ideology’s dominant mode of functioning is cynical, which renders impossible- or, more precisely, vain — the classic critical-ideological procedure. The cynical subject is quite aware of the distance between the ideological mask and the social reality, but he none the less still insists upon the mask. The formula, as proposed by Sloterdijk, would then be: “they know very well what they are doing, but still, they are doing it”. Cynical reason is no longer naïve, but is a paradox of an enlightened false consciousness: one knows the falsehood very well, one is well aware of a particular interest hidden behind an ideological universality, but still one does not renounce it.
We must distinguish this cynical position strictly from what Sloterdijk calls kynicism. Kynicism represents the popular, plebeian rejection of the official culture by means of irony and sarcasm: the classical kynical procedure is to confront the pathetic phrases of the ruling official ideology — its solemn, grave tonality — with everyday banality and to hold them up to ridicule, thus exposing behind the sublime noblesse of the ideological phrases the egotistical interests, the violence, the brutal claims to power. This procedure, then, is more pragmatic than argumentative: it subverts the official proposition by confronting it with the situation of its enunciation; it proceeds ad hominem (for example when a politician preaches the duty of patriotic sacrifice, kynicism exposes the personal gain he is making from the sacrifice of others).
Cynicism is the answer of the ruling culture to this kynical subversion: it recognizes, it takes into account, the particular interest behind the ideological universality, the distance between the ideological mask and the reality, but it still finds reasons to retain the mask. This cynicism is not a direct position of immorality, it is more like morality itself put in the service of immorality — the model of cynical wisdom is to conceive probity, integrity, as a supreme form of dishonesty, and morals as a supreme form of profligacy, the truth as the most effective form of a lie. This cynicism is therefore a kind of perverted ‘negation of the negation’ of the official ideology: confronted with illegal enrichment, with robbery, the cynical reaction consists in saying that legal enrichment is a lot more effective and, moreover, protected by the law. As Bertolt Brecht puts it in his Threepenny Opera: “what is the robbery of a bank compared to the founding of a new bank?”
It is clear, therefore, that confronted with such cynical reason, the traditional critique of ideology no longer works. We can no longer subject the ideological text to ‘symptomatic reading’, confronting it with its blank spots, with what it must repress to organize itself, to preserve its consistency — cynical reason takes this distance into account in advance. Is then the only issue left to us to affirm that, with the reign of cynical reason, we find ourselves in the so-called post-ideological world? Even Adorno came to this conclusion, starting from the premiss that ideology is, strictly speaking, only a system which makes a claim to the truth — that is, which is not simply a lie but a lie experienced as truth, a lie which pretends to be taken seriously. Totalitarian ideology no longer has this pretension. It is no longer meant, even by its authors, to be taken seriously — its status is just that of a means of manipulation, purely external and instrumental; its rule is secured not by its truth-value but by simple extra-ideological violence and promise of gain.
It is here, at this point, that the distinction between symptom and fantasy must be introduced in order to show how the idea that we live in a post-ideological society proceeds a little too quickly: cynical reason, with all its ironic detachment, leaves untouched the fundamental level of ideological fantasy, the level on which ideology structures the social reality itself.
From: Zizek, Slavoj. The Sublime Object of Ideology (London; New York: Verso, 1989), pp. 28-30.
Here is some Spooky:
And here is the New Pyramid of Capitalism: