A thought

Apr. 25th, 2022 05:45 pm
sravakavarn: (Default)
Can we just admit that the difference between most academics and most informed cranks is mostly specialization and credentials? The former really does matter, but also means that we listen to academics only in VERY narrow fields. The latter is pretty much a legal fiction.
I only say this because of the number of academics I see spewing b.s. that would not even rise to the level of crankery when those academics speak outside of their specialization.
Furthermore, a lot of cranks actually do keep up with multiple fields of work, and while they don't have institutional support and tend to make wild over-claims, often their track records are better than scholars outside of the scholars' niche.
sravakavarn: (Default)
In proof that I am getting older, my solo podcast/youtube turned a year old while I was in the hospital. In 2014, I got typhoid in Mexico from contaminated food. Despite racist stereotypes, it isn't really food preparation uncleanliness that causes it, but the open untreated wastewater can dry out in the sun and contaminate any open salsa or whatever that is exposed to the air. Nonetheless, it caused adhesions and I already had adhesions from prior surgery. This led to total intestinal blockage. A hospital in Torreon, Mexico kindly cut them out, saving my life but causing its own set of scar tissue. In 2016, complications also convinced me that I need to have part of my stomach removed in Egypt for both weight loss and pain relief related to the same damage.

Now I get food poisoning here in the States from a package of discount fresh snow peas, inflammations ensues and we are almost back to square one. They managed to fix the problem without surgery, but I am weak and tired.
I have taken care of my voice and have permission to work from home from my teaching day job. Being the English Team Lead of an online program in a public school district does have its advantages. This is one of them. Outside of a big interview with Chapo Trap House's Matt Christman, I am also taking a break from podcasting for a few weeks. I am traveling to see my sick mother back in Georgia.

Still, as I approach five years back in the US this July, and three years since my divorce, the hospital visit made me feel decidedly aged. I have done a lot by 41--travels to four continents, started four careers, survived a couple epidemics and now a pandemic, wrote two books, burned tons of bridges, and finally, I am feeling decent.

While I am continuing my podcast, I make more from it in a month than the years of poetry writing I have done--thank you, Patreon--I want to do more poetry work. Before the pandemic started, I was doing reading semi-regularly and my book was finally getting out there. Now I have a second book, and yet I haven't submitted work to journals for over a year or two.

I also ended my journal in 2021 after six years and failed attempt to bring back the former people podcast.

So I am nursing soup today and not trying to be artful in my writing. Just reflecting. I come to this most ancient of my blogs for it. Hell, I have used LJ or dreamwitdh off and on for 23 years. Mostly because almost no one reads it now.
sravakavarn: (Default)
I started to miss Macon, Ga. Then I remembered.
sravakavarn: (Default)
America pains me.
sravakavarn: (Default)
The taste on anise on the tongue,

hops too bitter to color the night

linger as I remember sitting in the

San Francisco bed-and-breakfast

paid for by a friend, wondering if the

ceiling fan could drown out the botox

in the women next to me. I came to

write a treatise on the blackholes and

the social relationships of spaghettification,

sucked through the straw of time and slowed

into individual strands of black and gray

hair. Don’t sun look angry at me until

we await full dark. I am giving blood

in a clinic near the Sonoran desert,

and want nothing more than red beer.

The hum of freedom lingers. I hate

this place. I am tired. The sands have

polished my smile into a stoicism.

The sands, the waking, the whole

blank gaze down avenues I barely remember—

like confusing farsi for Arabic

to a young women in a bar at a LA-X.
sravakavarn: (Default)
Says James to red molly, my hats off to you. That is Vincent Black Lightnight 1952.

---

I remember listening to this in a Dim Sum bistro when I was uncomfortable with this continentc.
sravakavarn: (Default)
I have been on LJ for over two decades. Who is still here? I miss you. Podcasts and the rest aside.
sravakavarn: (the future)
Today is peaceful here in SLC and I have work today to finish off my courses for my students. I have been reflecting though that even here things broke out. We have had police violence, mostly against the homeless and protestors, but mostly what we have here is police apathy. People have disappeared here in SLC--people my friends know--the police did almost nothing. Every Dine nation person I have met here has lost someone in the COVID crash, and many have lost several elders. It also really hit me how bad a lot of the reservations are in terms of services. We are talking infrastructure-for-indigenous-people-of-rural-southern-Mexico kind of bad. Settler colonialism, under-autonomy, and needing the approval of US Congress means it's hard to get appropriations and jurisdiction to do much on those lands. Most of the US apparatus has been governed by the states quietly and increasingly since the 1970s; in a way this is the way it was designed to run, but almost no business exists within one state's line.

But every Dine person I know has lost someone--every single one. Probably not that different for Ute and Paiute people either, but I don't know as many of them. Since re-opening for business two weeks ago, we have had a spike and cases and in death, but compared to other cities, SLC death rates are mild compared to our infection rates. Yet more Latinos have the disease than whites now in raw numbers in a state that is about 14% Latino. Everyone is angry and grieving about something. My mother has cancer back in GA and my step-father is living in a trailer in the backyard as to not infect her. They are both over sixty. My mom is an ex-nurse, one of my brothers is an unemployed roadie living with them, and my step-dad a mechanic. Now, I am not particularly close to my family. I left GA ten years ago, but only two of my brothers turned things around from themselves after the last economic downturn. The reasons for that are complicated and frankly I am not going to blame it all on society, but I have seen the "Hillbilly Elegy" shit a lot in my real life. I know we may disagree with the reasoning of that author's solutions, but his description of the world is apt and I am kind of tired of people from more privileged backgrounds arguing with me about it.

I never much believed in Bernie salvation. I thought it MIGHT be a release valve. But Bernie would not be able to get his party in line because the donors wouldn't be in line. I was skeptical that he had support in the black official Democrat circles in the South. Most black men in my state don't vote and something like 40-50% percent of them can't because of felon charges. That also affects a ton of poor and working-class whites. For all the talk about how reactionary the South is, and it is, people know their interests there. My step-dad is not a racial progressive and was opposed to Democrats most of his life, but voted for Obama and opposed Trump, even though I am pretty sure the man hates Hilary Clinton. He is not a liberal, and he is mad as hell at them too. He was a mechanic with three medically compromised kids, and retirement is more difficult for him because he kept us alive. It is as simple as that. If you dig into most people, you can get to the story.
Now, I realize I am normally Mr. History and Mr. Theory. Here are some things you are going to have to look at for a moment. I am explaining why I think this happened. People are angry and the police are the arm of the state. Yes, people are particularly angry at the way black people are disproportionately killed by the police for often minor offenses. But the support POC are getting is only ideological and from activists and liberals, but poor white people are also threatened by the cops. Fuck, increasingly middle-class white people are. That is the shift and I suspect I could find stats to back it up.

However, let me talk about the steam-with-no-piston-box problem, and the people without the skills or ideological vision to do anything. I am not Marx-shaming the rioters and the revolt. I am glad people finally fight the boot on their neck. It also exposes that even when trying to protect the POC protestors, Liberals spin narratives that play right into 100-year-old conservative tropes and doubt the threat that cops pose to even middle-class white people. The term "shitlib" gets thrown around a lot. That said, leftists don't have places for this to go other than back into the streets and into uncontrollable destructive spasms. That does lead to reaction and scares people. Historically, for that not to happen, natural and spontaneous militancy has to have a place to go.

I am also seeing the same tired tropes about diversifying the police. While data may unreliable, almost no data or even anecdotal support tells you that a police force representing you is less likely to kill you. Even in the major events that caused riots, the outlier was Ferguson, which had a mostly white police force: the other three cops involved in killing George Floyd were of color. Most of the cops in the Maryland instance that provoked riots were of color. Liberals' misunderstandings don't fix structures of power and overpoliced neighborhoods. For all the talk of structural racism, many of the solutions proposed, for police reform and diversification, don't understand the problem. The same is true of cops supporting the protests--tactically that may be good for both sides, but it misses the point.

However, let me go back to that lack of piston box. Unleashing the people's power without goals, aims, and discipline leads to the power often being diffused into the air. It was good for people to remember they have power, but it's got to go somewhere. Furthermore, for all the bad actors, black looters, and outside agitator talk, and for all the talk of boogaloos and proud boys--who are real but are so tiny as to be insignificant in this--that is nonsense. But steam with no piston box attracts the energy of lumpen and despised folks without giving them anything other than their legitimate rage. So the two days of targets were strategic, but then whatever is at hand. Places that find and start having piston boxes will in better shape than those who don't.

Insurrections normally and historically end in a bloodbath. Liberals mucking this up are, in their own dumbass way, kind of trying to avoid it, but politicians are trying to save their own asses. That is what I mean when I say riots are a force of nature when they get moving. There are so many different groups and actions and no direct call. Demands, if made at all, are often moral and inchoate.

So I have understood why people are breaking things and I think a lot of the calls for them to be "more organized" are trying to control a force that can't be. But we should have had something for these forces to organize towards that didn't try to subordinate them to whatever ideology or NGO agenda was at hand.

So in the next few days and months, we will see if the shift is towards something new or if they will go from Watts riots into Nixonland, except that we are already in farce version of Nixonland, so where are social forces to go? When all institutions seemed bankrupt, what institutions emerge?
sravakavarn: (Default)
Degeneration towards dogmatism really is a sign of the end of both a research program and a political program without significant intervention as it makes both the normative and descriptive subordinate to the ideal increasingly removed from reality.
sravakavarn: (Default)
There are four functions that I do as a teacher and various parts of society and education have an interest in them:

1) I watch teens en loco parentis--this is something I don't do at moment because of coronavirus--but we all know it is a crucial function of school since child care is so expensive in the US.

2) I educate according to "standards" which are cultural norms, generally middle-class cultural norms, that I teach kids to navigate implicitly.

3) I sort kids by their ability level. This is a crucial part of my job and despite all of the equity talk in education, we all know this is function and one that increases as students move up the chain. Most crucial skills are taught early and students can (but have little incentive to outside of school) do this.

4) I hope to teach the value of certain kinds of learning and have students be able to do without me.

Let's be honest, for all the equity talk, two and three are in a major function of the entire expensive educational complex: we don't teach the skills directly for employers but we do skills adjacent to it, and that why so much effort is pushed into it.

Furthermore, most teachers believe that students "earn" grades despite the fact we know that even best practices such as rubrics and standards and profiency-based grading because we are sorting them within a system. Equity is generally code for "meritocracy for those who are willing to comply."

I realize that we also do other things that really are to our student's benefit nor is the entirety of our job grading and thus sorting. But we have to admit that in our system, we are gate-keepers as well as skill- and meta-cognition teachers and mentors.

I honestly think this is why grade inflation happens even though it devalues ALL four functions of a teacher, although maybe not the fourth as much. We don't feel good about the disjunction between being a mission to increase equity between disadvantaged people and the fact we are deciding, but frankly politically adjudicated criterion, who gets a chance to try to climb the class ladder. And if we don't do that, we also fail our students because we are misleading them about the society they live in.

Thus grade inflation is a kind of bad faith way to deal with fact teachers have two contradictory missions in the four primary ones we all share. The latter three apply to professors too.

Businesses and college admin teams have an interest primarily in 3 and to lesser degree 2. Parents have an interest in 1 and 2, and to a lesser degree 4. Students may or may not have an interest in 2, 3, and 4.
sravakavarn: (Default)
Rhetoric is more than a tool or handmaiden of ideology--in fact, the moralizing force of words often creates the fractures in the very ideological frameworks it wishes to serve. Remember that when thinking banal sloganeering is just opportunism.
sravakavarn: (Default)
So I have been studying Shi'i Islam closely in the past few weeks. It has been instructive as I have been asked to revisit analytic Marxism (which empties Marxism out of particularist methodological claims) and the Pop the Left conceptual explanations. In some ways, one sees patterns in the way ideological movements operate both in current class society but also before it.
sravakavarn: (Default)
There are few things more American than populist elitism: the belief that you are somehow separate from the ultra-nationalists or the globalists who really express the popular sentiment, that your deduction of conspiracy theories give you an advantage over the sheeple, or that your unique perspective of something shiny in history gives you an advantage. The idea that most of the "other Americans" are uniquely and world-historically stupid, that YOU are the one leads us out of the Idiocracy of the current, is believed by all parts of the US political spectrum.
sravakavarn: (Default)
with what violence benevolence is bought
what cost in gesture justice brings
what wrongs domestic rights involve
what stalks
this silence - Charles Olson, The Kingfishers
sravakavarn: (Default)
One might call habit a moral friction: something that prevents the mind from gliding over things but connects it with them and makes it hard for it to free itself from them. - Georg Christoph Lichtenberg
sravakavarn: (Default)
In the late aughts, in the slow humidity of Macon, Georgia, I used to keep a new hardcover copy of Joan Didion’s We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live by bed. I was living in up-stairs of a run-down old house parceled into cheap apartments near Mercer University aimed, I believe, to capture some of the law student loan cash in the form of rents. It’s didn’t. I was a teacher and my wife-at-the-time—a phrase rightly linked with dubious men adjacent to patriarchy-or-whatever-ism one would use for male narcissism—was an auto-pawn manager. The apartment was full of books in milk cartoons and cheap laminate, press wood bookshelves. We are in the crawling muck of class aspiration and I was a poet who had published more in my teens than I had since getting MFA. The whole reek of was mild—although not exactly quiet—desperation.

Flash forward nine years and I am speaking to my co-editor over a shitty internet skype connection on an I-pad for a podcast/youtube video on Joan Didion. My voice is strained and if you can find the recording on Youtube still, brassy and higher pitched than my voice is on most recording. I have defensive of Didion—against the cultural turn against her and her privilege that was inevitable after three books of essays on her grief. I was going through my own grief and at the time not talking about it.

I lived across from an Egyptian prison in Maadi. I was not allowed to take photographs out of my window and post them on social media. I had lost my working visa in a dispute between my employer and government in an attempt to reconcile a political promise without losing labor was allowed to stay in the country. My partner, whom I had secretly married priorly, was alone in Wyoming, driving through the snow into Salt Lake City, to get treatment for stage-four melanoma. She did not know much of my plight and I was literally two continents and an ocean away from hers. I had supplemented my time with podcasts—something that I did for free at this point in my life even if it is a side gig now—but I had no real equipment and was on the internet that was often unable to consistently play videos from youtube. Like the old Soviet and Italian cars I saw as Taxis in the Cairo streets, it felt strange back in time. Yet I was clearly privileged to have these problems: the Egyptian authorities would sometimes check my passport and let me be. Even after the church bombing in Maadi and the visit of Pope Francis to Egypt, I was largely left alone.

My apartment was cheap by American standards and after the crashing of the local currency, I paid a few hundred dollars for it. It has four beds and a master bedroom, tacky furniture and decor out of a particular faux-rich style of the 1980s and a few wall-hangings for clearly Muslim families. The four beds were because this was a small apartment—Egyptian families were often large and middle-class families could have a two-or-even-three wives taking caring six-to-eight kids. I felt alone because I was one man with a partner in America, teaching in my partner’s old position, in a politically tense country. At night, sometimes, I would have someone drive me alone to edge of the desert and I would drink local beer and watch nothing the sands until the particulate dust made it too hard for me to see.

So I don’t know if my voice was brittle for worry for my then-partner or a particularly terrible internet connection and speaking at odd hours, probably after drinking too much and in pain in stomach from complications from a typhoid bout I had in Mexico. But I defended Didion against charges of her “problematic nature” perhaps too hard.

What I have always loved about writers like Didion—even in her old age—was an ice-cold hostility to the way we lie to ourselves. As a person constantly ask to parse the finer points of history and ideology—a poet who studied philosophy and anthropology and, once or twice, taught critical theory—I also distrusted those eschatological narratives and models we are given to spin to make our lives make sense or to limit the damage that contingency or grief or give us.

It’s not as ironic that these two contradictory impulses emerge in the same person. Indeed, the Marxist jargon that would emerge imminently to the occasion, is it is dialectical: the urge to construct grand theories of history and economics, to speak generalizations that can start to clarify but if reduce to simple slide-of-hand of language and abstractions can say less than nothing. In “Comrade Laski, C.P.U.S.A. (M.-L.),” Didion writes that she is comfortable “with the Michael Laski’s of this world, with those who live outside rather than in, those in whom the sense of dread is so acute that they turn to extreme and doomed commitments; I know something about dread myself and appreciate the elaborate systems with which some people manage to fill the void, appreciate all the opiates of the people whether they are as accessible as alcohol and heroin and promiscuity or as hard to come by as faith in God or History.” I both recoil and identify with Laski, despite my sectarian affiliations having never been exactly in the same ideological checkbox, and with Didion’s skepticism of his faith. I have been the weaver of opiates to the people, the voice that helps people find hope in the fetishization and abstractions of life, to clear out the painstaking ideology to replace with it a new one, but I have also been the perpetual skeptic. The person who trusts relationships over ideas—because people betray you but ideas can have you betray ourself.

I have spent years mimicking the turgid and tedious writing style of theorists. I remember in 2005, my MFA advisor telling me, “I don’t normally tell students this but read more fiction and poetry and less theory.” When I set to eat with him four years later, on the precipice of my first divorce and leaving, for what I thought was forever but what turned out to be a little under a decade, teaching in the United States, and heading to South Korea to teach a university there. He said, “You seem so much more together now. Your desperation seems to have matured.” He was right about the second part but utterly wrong about the first.

This is the beginning of reopening my writing. I mostly write poetry and talk theory and history. Lately, more history. I teach high school literature, which is something that I won’t say much on, except that I understand why almost as many writers had contempt for their English teachers as loved them. Reading Didion a decade-and-half-ago, I lost a lot of my will to write prose that wasn’t highly theoretical or political. Debunking this or that trend in education, writing about religious inanity, then shifting to socialism and graduate school misuse of socialist and post-social theory, then critique “the left” from the perspective of “the left.” What amazes me about this, despite reams of turgid and sometimes inchoate prose I produced, is that I actually don’t know that these coherence models of the universe tell as much as we think, even if they are true. That yearning to be correct, to have an answer, to say something that makes the details and facts and interpretation, and the sad errata of human understanding seem redeemable is a good impulse, but it is often the impulse for individuals to weave stories, to lie, and for collectives of people to believe lies.

To make the stories we tell about yourselves true: to be honest about why we are pained when speaking about aging mid-20th century American writer when we are in the desert or to admit that we were very lucky to turn the frustration with public school education into a way to travel the world. To admit that our politics come from our social class backgrounds, our regional interests, and the accumulated history of family and ethnic heritage, more than anything like a rational decision. To admit that our systems of exploring this are often fraught, not as coherent as their commentary, and obtuse. To look into the eyes of our notions of history and admit that maybe there is no brain behind the eyes. This is hard. Didion, whatever her faults and there are probably many, inspired me to write honestly about it.

Ultimately, we all know that the cost of drinking your own kool-aid is dying from the poison you put in it.
sravakavarn: (Default)
Hardline Austrian Economists like to pick on Marxists because Marxism has had an attempted historical project that failed as opposed to one that can't even do that.
sravakavarn: (Default)
Pessimism of the intellect. "There is no stinking glass, I smashed it" of the will.
sravakavarn: (Default)
Remember when people gave a shit about Michael Cummingham's The Hours or even it's Nicole Kidman film adaptation... I do. This is a sign of my relevance.
sravakavarn: (Default)
This platform has officially out-survived google plus.
Page generated Jul. 15th, 2025 06:43 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios