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Tony
Verzauberun
Plato and Aristotle, depicted here in Raphael’s The School of Athens, both developed first cause arguments.
The line is simultaneously one and infinite. Standing alone, the line is one; in other words, it is mathematically, “a geometric figure formed by a pointmovingalong a fixeddirectionand thereversedirection.” The line is infinite in that it can extend in this fixed direction and its reverse infinitely. Semiotics, with signifier and signified, dignify the line with an entire landscape of meaning. Representing a mark, a cut, a boundary, a strain, a source, a marriage certificate, etcetera, the line is a heterogeneous, multiple referent.
Assembling lines into social, economic, epistemological and ontological formations is the quite literal factory work of the philosopher. Linearity, with its sequentiality, crucially marks, cuts, bounds, strains, sources and marries varied affective permutations with cogitating agency. Loosing the temporal linearity of the post-Cartesian subjective and reflective…
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Lubricating the finite
Orbiting the center is the periphery, or so it is assumed. Psychostructurally, culturally, economically, etc. a finite Subject (§) must negate the abounding brambles. Clearing negation from lack, Hegel averred “Thinking is, indeed, essentially the negation of that which is before us.” That which is before subjective-reflective consciousness is also after it. In other words, worlds constantly close upon, make demands of, and parade entities incessantly around the Subject. Worlds, environs, arounds and circles us: Buildings, trees, shops, cups of tea, cigarettes, wine, crack cocaine, prison walls, police, classical music, rap, television, etc. Worlds environs do not withdraw, they incessantly embed and anchor, circle and surround. On the ground of Being-in-itself (Absolute/Infinity/Nothing) is the finite being-for-itself which cannot be-itself fully; otherwise it (the Subject) would be No-thing. Finitude can, however, have infinite features; it is deeply connected to infinitives, or – in syntax – subjects without objects. And these infinitives – verbs without direct…
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(@)trcochran_about
Tony Robert Cochran (b. 1987) iz a social critic and writer…
Tony Robert Cochran (b. 1987) iz a social critic and writer.
He primarily engages with the fields of art and film critique, philosophy (Kant, Sartre, Haraway), and novel making and analysis. His work examines and engages with fine art, general aesthetics, architecture, psychoanalysis, ontology, the (UK and US) prison-industrial complex, LGBTQIA experience(s), gay male pornography, migration/internationalism, the altermodern, post-catastrophic societal arrangements, feminism, the technophobia-technophilia spectrum and machines for making facts.
In 2018, he published, Prison As Power: Being & State Contra Negativity & Notion, a philosophical and ethnographic analysis and critique of incarceration, racism and prison-industrial complex.
He has engaged with contemporary artists, writers and designers from Paweł Kuczyński, M Lamar, Ruben Pang, Justin Sayre, Wojtek Więckowski, Bhanu Palem, Susie Hall, Timothy DuWhite and others via interview and published article format.
In 2020, he finished, and then decided to rewrite, Full Encounters With Infinite Nothingness, a cyber/dystopian queer speculative literary…
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Film Review: Anna Sofie Hartmann’s (2019) Giraffe
Anna Sofie Hartmann brings inter-space/s to the screen in a delicate and provocative polyglot picture, Giraffe. Lisa Loven Kongsli is Dara, an ethnologist; Dara is tasked with documenting the people, places and objects – echoes – of a small Danish village set to become a motorway connecting to a not yet built tunnel crossing under the sea. The ferry is no longer fast enough for an increasingly accelerated world. Jakub Gierszal is Lucek, a laborer from Poland; his task is to dig trenches and install fiber optic cables for the influx of workers to come. These future workers will build the tunnel. Both Dara and Lucek are working, living, and fucking in an inter-space. Dara, 38, is a Norwegian living in Berlin, and Lucek, 24, is a Pole without a definite home (he is temporarily staying with his mother in her Warsaw apartment, but misses the small village where…
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(@)trcochran_about
Tony Robert Cochran (b. 1987) is a social critic and writer. A former union organizer, erstwhile Communications Director at Occupy Wall Street, and LGBTQ activist, he maintains deep connections to the praxis and pedagogy of anti-racist, anti-capitalist, anti-xenophobic and anti-queerphobic strategies. His work examines / engages fine art, general aesthetics, architecture, psychoanalysis, ontology, the (UK and US) prison-industrial complex, LGBTQIA experience(s), gay male pornography, migration/internationalism, the altermodern, post-catastrophic societal arrangements, feminism, the technophobia-technophilia spectrum and machines for making facts.
In 2018, he published, Prison As Power: Being & State Contra Negativity & Notion, a philosophical and ethnographic analysis and critique of incarceration, racism and prison-industrial complex.
In 2020, he finished, and then decided to rewrite, Full Encounters With Infinite Nothingness, a cyber/dystopian queer speculative literary novel that engages with race, politics, oligarchy, personal and social collapse, two-state vector formalism, temporal dynamics and more.
He has engaged with contemporary artists and…
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binary digits
one
zero
one
zero
good
bad
present
absent
…
and slowly, by turns ever so subtle, the binary digital baby turns,
by impositions of reality,
into a superposition
capable of being both good and bad
present and absent
by twenty-and-three years,
the
experiencing of inside and outside
is clear.
Until Saturn’s Return, The Super Imposition, the baby must still learn.
Even by thirty-and-three, ambiguity is a hard pill to swallow,
actually five, four paroxetine, twenty milligrams each, and one lamotrigine, one hundred milligrams,
(plus the clonazepam, but that’s a secret. Don’t tell, will you?)
“Reality” is something that happens between zero and me, although
these days, I must say, I have a hard time telling the difference.
But, bit by bit, swallow we must: presentation is everywhere!
Instagram! Twitter! (Facebook is for old people!) Twitch! Tinder! Grindr! Don’t forget to set a reminder!
Present yourself on here,
over…
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Shattered, XII
The Shattered Series, XI
Ageing, technophilia, technophobia, post-Carrington Event societies, women in science. Music.
Mar took a walk near the river. The day, scorching hot, required a dip in the water. She found a sandy spot, made accessible by a flat, curved path that sloped gently down from a rounded rocky embankment. The wasn’t too steep for her old legs. She arrived near the shore, and sat in one of the wooden chairs. About thirty-and-two chairs had been made and placed here. Some local teenagers, she recognized their faces but not all their names, played hacky sack. Their hair, all in thick locks, reflected the current fashion. Yes, Park had fashions; Mar thought about this and smiled. They had always wanted the place to be big enough to experience social changes; they never wanted it to become a cult. The major influx of people from the Bay Area and Washington DC before the Carrington Event brought rich cultural diversity. And, after decades, Park had…
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Shattered, V
The Shattered Series
(serialized, open-source short story amalgam).2040s, feminism, techno-phobia, Pacific Northwest, economics, steam/cyber speculative fiction.
Why me for selection? – he mused. Shattered didn’t vocalize his question, not even to Mar. After a long horse-drawn carriage ride from Park to Eureka, he smelt the ocean. He loved the salty smell, the heavy, humid feeling; the foggy summertime leaden sky sat low. Passing through odd buildings – pre-calamity architecture – with strange designs, with no windows, or too many windows, Shattered felt a tinge of homesickness. He never expected to feel this upon leaving – a desire he had since childhood; although, he had never been beyond Arcadia. He had never gone this far south. A massive wooden gate, about fifty-feet tall and just as wide, he surmised, opened just enough for humans to pass. “Papers!” A tall, Black man demanded; a senior member of Park’s civil defense force. Shattered produced his passport – it didn’t include a photograph, but had his date of birth, eye…
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Shattered, III
Shattered, Mar and Stone arrived at the Park parliament. Outside, on the long street that stretched from the bottom of the hill near the river up to the top, the sun shone on the dark, heat absorbing pavement. Shattered looked at the buildings along Park Main, or as the locals called it, The Long Road. The five-storey buildings, all identical and built from densely packed recycled wood, with large glass windows, housed various shops on their ground levels. Above most of the apartments were occupied by the traders, merchants and store owners’ families. Some officials lived on this street, alongside others who needed extra care and attention. “Come on, S” – Mar tugged at Shattered’s old woolen trench-coat, which he eccentrically wore on a day when the temperature was a searing 32 degrees Celsius.
They took their seats as members. Through an odd turn of events in last year’s election…
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Literally Nothing Publishing 