On Deleuze, Death and Dilligence

I have been thinking of Deleuze a lot lately. His influence on my work has been instrumental, his presence in my life constant. Can I speak of his work in a coherent philosophical discourse kind of way? I don’t think so. But then I don’t think he would have wanted that anyway. I think his work was about moving away from the jargon and weight of history and moving towards the body’s presence in text and in imagination.

I can go on and on about rhizomes and plateaux and folds and repetitions but I really do not think that will help anyone access the universe that he opened for me.

I was a lowly first year grad student at Concordia (back when that meant something), I came from a hole in the wall in New Brunswick and knew I was out of my league. But I was determined… still am. We were given reading after reading of Barthes, Irigaray, Levi-Stauss, Deleuze-Guattari; when, in a moment of rare illumination, I realised I could read in French, after all I am French. So I began to visit all these readings in the language they were written. I quickly realized that the translations lacked the subtlety and playfulness these authors intended in their work.

I became a language nut.

Derrida, who has been dubbed the ruler of meaning (for a while anyway) was the most playful of the bunch. He began a paragraph saying one thing and finished it hinting that he may be full of crap. I absolutely loved this way of writing and it gave my own ideas the legs they needed to stand on.

In 1996, I was invited to meet with Christian Gattinoni of the École Nationale Supérieur de la Photographie while he was on a visit to Halifax NS. So I got in the car around 5 in the morning for the 3 hour drive from Moncton to Halifax, good tunes in the tape player (Psychic TV) and the perfect mind set to go show my work. Halifax was gray, drizzly and mean. I got to Gattinoni’s door, knocked, knocked again, to be greeted with a middle-aged man with glasses on his forehead (nice glasses at that) wiping tears from his eyes. I had entered the Twilight Zone. He simply told me that Deleuze had defenestrated himself. I started crying too, for no good reason. It was just too much. I don’t usually cry at dead stuff, human, animal or machine. So it was a big moment.


That is when I realized my work was going to be dedicated to Deleuze. Hence the Cantos for Gilles Deleuze.

Mars Approacheth

From 2002 - Mars over Cape Onion, the last time Mars was closest to earth in 2000 years. Mars is the brightest streak in the sky.

The end is nigh! :-)

Pestilence, War and sunny skies

In these times of pestilence and war...

Les litanies de Satan
Charles Baudelaire 1855

Ô toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges,
Dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Ô Prince de l’exil, à qui l’on a fait tort,
Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
Guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, même aux lépreux, aux parias maudits,
Enseignes par l’amour le goût du Paradis,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Ô toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
Engendras l’Espérance, — une folle charmante !

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d’un échafaud,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi dont l’œil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux
Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi dont la large main cache les précipices
Au somnambule errant au bord des édifices,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, magiquement, assouplis les vieux os
De l’ivrogne attardé foulé par les chevaux,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, pour consoler l’homme frêle qui souffre,
Nous appris à mêler le salpêtre et le soufre,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui poses ta marque, ô complice subtil,
Sur le front du Crésus impitoyable et vil,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui mets dans les yeux et dans le cœur des filles
Le culte de la plaie et l’amour des guenilles,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Bâton des exilés, lampe des inventeurs,
Confesseur des pendus et des conspirateurs,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Père adoptif de ceux qu’en sa noire colère
Du paradis terrestre a chassés Dieu le Père,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Furthermore...

"The alliance between War and Plague was cemented with the first germ experiments and in this area there have been a number of interesting developments. Despite a lot of talk about discontinuing such experiments and closing down the biologic and chemical warfare centres, Fort Dietrich, in Maryland is now dedicated to cancer research. And cancer research, incidentally, overlaps the more sophisticated areas of biologic weaponry." W.S.Burroughs, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Expanded Media Editions, 1988, p.12

It was sunny today, a bit cold but bright and clear.

XXIII

Twenty Three...

Vingt Trois...

Another picture from the Interzone. This one is from Denver International. I wish I knew about the blue mustang as I would have taken a walk to see it. We were in Denver for two or three hours. I was amazed at the difference between air travel in Canada and in the US.

Once you pass security and while you are in that secure zone. Are you actually nowhere? It seems like all the people there are in the same country and that it is not a country at all but rather an intercountry (I like calling it the Slipstream). Or maybe that is what Burroughs meant by the Interzone.