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Selling the Spectacle: Lady Gaga's Critical Insight into Contemporary Culture
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Primo Levi
Voi che vivete sicuri You who live safe
Nelle vostre tiepide case In your warm houses,
voi che trovate tornando a sera You who find warm food
Il cibo caldo e visi amici And friendly faces when you return home.
Considerate se questo è un uomo Consider if this is a man
Che lavora nel fango Who works in mud,
Che non conosce pace Who knows no peace,
Che lotta per mezzo pane Who fights for a crust of bread,
Che muore per un sì o per un no. Who dies by a yes or a no.
Considerate se questa è una donna Consider if this is a woman
Senza capelli e senza nome Without hair, without name,
Senza più forza di ricordare Without the strength to remember,
Vuoti gli occhi e freddo il grembo Empty are her eyes, cold her womb,
Come una rana d'inverno. Like a frog in winter.
Meditate che questo è stato Never forget that this has happened.
Vi comando queste parole. Remember these words.
Scolpitele nel vostro cuore Engrave them in your hearts,
Stando in casa andando per via When at home or in the street,
Coricandovi alzandovi When lying down, when getting up.
Ripetetele ai vostri figli. Repeat them to your children.
O vi si sfaccia la casa Or may your houses be destroyed,
La malattia vi impedisca May illness strike you down,
I vostri nati torcano il viso da voi May your offspring turn their faces from you.
Nelle vostre tiepide case In your warm houses,
voi che trovate tornando a sera You who find warm food
Il cibo caldo e visi amici And friendly faces when you return home.
Considerate se questo è un uomo Consider if this is a man
Che lavora nel fango Who works in mud,
Che non conosce pace Who knows no peace,
Che lotta per mezzo pane Who fights for a crust of bread,
Che muore per un sì o per un no. Who dies by a yes or a no.
Considerate se questa è una donna Consider if this is a woman
Senza capelli e senza nome Without hair, without name,
Senza più forza di ricordare Without the strength to remember,
Vuoti gli occhi e freddo il grembo Empty are her eyes, cold her womb,
Come una rana d'inverno. Like a frog in winter.
Meditate che questo è stato Never forget that this has happened.
Vi comando queste parole. Remember these words.
Scolpitele nel vostro cuore Engrave them in your hearts,
Stando in casa andando per via When at home or in the street,
Coricandovi alzandovi When lying down, when getting up.
Ripetetele ai vostri figli. Repeat them to your children.
O vi si sfaccia la casa Or may your houses be destroyed,
La malattia vi impedisca May illness strike you down,
I vostri nati torcano il viso da voi May your offspring turn their faces from you.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Bar fights and politics
The post is not as sensationalist as the title would suggest, though such a sms might make certain roommates think you are in a giant fight and need help.
To begin--Who are you Bill King? I went down to the neighbourhood bar, the slightly liberal one that is home to the liberal arts people and most of the professors. Yes, many people there are just "art majors" or "philosophy majors" not students of art or philosophy or literature. There is a difference. Ah, to continue, the group and I were sitting at our little booth, drinking various beers, when some creepy fellow started leaning on the side of the booth. No one really noticed him until one member of our party, realising how much of a creep he was being and the thought of him slipping our wallets from the coats he was leaning on, led him to exclaim, "Who the fuck is that guy." We all looked in his direction. He had hooked us.
With contact made, he then told us that he knew a member of our group...that he had conducted a poll. Jeff, the member of the group, then told the man that he probably didn't know him and that he didn't do "polls." Then man went on to say he was sure he knew him. Jeff went on to say that he had one of those faces. That was not enough for Mr. King; he went on to ask who Jeff voted for. Jeff responds "ObAMa." Mr. King then asks if he was following what he was doing with the country. Jeff says, really I don't know I shouldn't have voted anyway. Mr King then says a few other words...eventually sending me off.
"This isn't a poll, this is an inquisition," I said. I then asked him, "well if I voted for Nader, would that mean that my political participation is over, sense I could not follow what he is doing to the country, would that mean that I am shit out of luck." Mr King responded, "No, that means you're an idiot." I jump back, "So you are telling me that if you are part of a minority vote, you're an idiot? Is that your conception of democracy sir?" He then went on to ask me about my political philosophy. My response was "Thinking." He did not like that too much, but I continued to explain to him, "Any dogma that I present to you would do the opposite of what you hope. My explaining a concrete philosophy would allow you and me both not to think--we would just follow a program of beliefs that lead us to a conclusion. We would not be thinking at all. That is why I implore you, good sir, to think, and let the act of thinking be your first philosophy on all matters." That is not the answer for which he was looking. At some point he called me a coward and an idiot. I mentioned violent revolution to through him off balance. The rest of the conversation just became an exercise in deconstruction his arguments and demonstrating how his own lapses demonstrated the superiority of my point.
Sadly, we had to leave. One of my friends told me it was like the bar scene in Good Will Hunting. I hope so. Drunk people are hard to argue down.
Too much fun though.
To begin--Who are you Bill King? I went down to the neighbourhood bar, the slightly liberal one that is home to the liberal arts people and most of the professors. Yes, many people there are just "art majors" or "philosophy majors" not students of art or philosophy or literature. There is a difference. Ah, to continue, the group and I were sitting at our little booth, drinking various beers, when some creepy fellow started leaning on the side of the booth. No one really noticed him until one member of our party, realising how much of a creep he was being and the thought of him slipping our wallets from the coats he was leaning on, led him to exclaim, "Who the fuck is that guy." We all looked in his direction. He had hooked us.
With contact made, he then told us that he knew a member of our group...that he had conducted a poll. Jeff, the member of the group, then told the man that he probably didn't know him and that he didn't do "polls." Then man went on to say he was sure he knew him. Jeff went on to say that he had one of those faces. That was not enough for Mr. King; he went on to ask who Jeff voted for. Jeff responds "ObAMa." Mr. King then asks if he was following what he was doing with the country. Jeff says, really I don't know I shouldn't have voted anyway. Mr King then says a few other words...eventually sending me off.
"This isn't a poll, this is an inquisition," I said. I then asked him, "well if I voted for Nader, would that mean that my political participation is over, sense I could not follow what he is doing to the country, would that mean that I am shit out of luck." Mr King responded, "No, that means you're an idiot." I jump back, "So you are telling me that if you are part of a minority vote, you're an idiot? Is that your conception of democracy sir?" He then went on to ask me about my political philosophy. My response was "Thinking." He did not like that too much, but I continued to explain to him, "Any dogma that I present to you would do the opposite of what you hope. My explaining a concrete philosophy would allow you and me both not to think--we would just follow a program of beliefs that lead us to a conclusion. We would not be thinking at all. That is why I implore you, good sir, to think, and let the act of thinking be your first philosophy on all matters." That is not the answer for which he was looking. At some point he called me a coward and an idiot. I mentioned violent revolution to through him off balance. The rest of the conversation just became an exercise in deconstruction his arguments and demonstrating how his own lapses demonstrated the superiority of my point.
Sadly, we had to leave. One of my friends told me it was like the bar scene in Good Will Hunting. I hope so. Drunk people are hard to argue down.
Too much fun though.
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