FLUXLIST: "wild horses couldn't drag me away"
First-- In joining any list, one is made aware of the rules and guidelines of the list. One enters into a contract with these in joining. Of course, with time and experience, one may find oneself disagreeing with the tenor and tenets of the list. This often happens. An interesting question would then be, how to work for a positive, constructive change, if one cares enough about the issues and events of the list--how to effect this--without resorting to "flaming" or to simply leaving and beginning a new list, which may incorporate those changes one sees fit and inviting others to join this. The bottom line is that one is aware from the outset of the guidelines, rules--and has entered into a contract of one's own volition. (Unless of course coerced by say, having to join it for a class or peer pressure etc) That said, the issue of the censored person--any question of censorship is disturbing. Two other lists I am on have had to deal with this--one decisively, according to its tenets, the other indecisevely, and the problem drags on. In that way, the flamer (as in "flaming asshole", often--: "he's a real flamer"--meaning this)--the flamer has accomplished her/his goal and made buffoons of the others. Eventually, this too leads to censorship, but in more hypocritical fashion. There is a Zen parable relating to this idea of "beating a dead horse": A master and his pupil are on a journey through mountainous and deeply forested country to an isolated temple. On the way, they encounter a a dangerous, rushing stream. A beautiful young woman stands at the edge of one side, with a heavy sack. She is afraid to cross, though she must. The master puts her atop his shoulders and carries her across. They part ways, she taking another path. Many miles and hours later, the pupil says to the master--"why did you pick up that woman? Isn't it against our vows?" The master replies: "I put the woman down at the edge of the stream. You have been carrying her ever since". As a child I often noticed the strange fact that very intelligent people often yearned to demonstrate their intelligence--whether it was of their own conception and self-proclamation or bolstered by "proofs" in the way of tests, grades, degrees and so on-- they yearned to prove this by argumentation. Rapidly, the principles and questions of the arguments were abandoned, and it became a clash of personalities. Victory would somehow prove not only intelligence but a certain kind of might. "Might makes right"--"the squeaky wheel gets the grease"-- And so one received one's first lessons in sophistry and rhetoric. Thinking of this question of "putting principles before personalities", came across an interesting quote from Kierkegaard, cited by the Surrealist painter Andre Masson in an essay called "Painting is a Wager" (written in 1941 and included in THEORIES OF MODERN ART Edited by Herschel Chipp. Berkeley: U Cal Press, 1968; 436-40. The Kierkegaard quote is appended as a note by Masson, p. 440). I think it applies well to the kind of arguments and such that employ mere power plays connected with personalities rather than an essay in the action of a generative questioning and understanding of actions, events, questions, examples--and lead to more thought and work rather than the excruciating noise of ever louder amplifiers, leading to demogogery and the like. (Demi-god-ery for example.) Kierkegaard: We must not take the word contradiction in the mistaken sense in which Hegel used it and which he made others and contradiction itself believe that it had a creative power. Though personally I often enjoy the "witz" as Bertrand calls them (jokes) and participate in them, I also, like Bertrand, joined the list hoping to find a continual learning and opening up of questions which are involved with the history and events and ideas and objects of Fluxus, and their relations with other art/performance questions. Also, one hopes to contribute to this-- The agreement or disagreement is not so important as what one may find--and be able to make use of! Which raises the old question of the artist/maker as thief-- or--speaking of wagers as Masson and someone on the list did--that famous wagerer Pascal's proposition that "it is not the elements that are new, but the order of their arrangement". Which bears on the question raised on the list of the constancy or not such of nature--the question entropy/negentropy. (Two good books on this are: ART AND ENTROPY by Rudolf Arnheim (U Cal P I forget the year, also the title I may have reversed--it may be "Entropy and Ar
Re: FLUXLIST: "wild horses couldn't drag me away"
This is brilliant. Consider this a second to any motion it may call for. David Baptiste Chirot wrote: > First-- > > In joining any list, one is made aware of the rules and guidelines of the > list. One enters into a contract with these in joining. > Of course, with time and experience, one may find oneself disagreeing with > the tenor and tenets of the list. This often happens. An interesting > question would then be, how to work for a positive, constructive change, if > one cares enough about the issues and events of the list--how to effect > this--without resorting to "flaming" or to simply leaving and beginning a > new list, which may incorporate those changes one sees fit and inviting > others to join this. > > The bottom line is that one is aware from the outset of the guidelines, > rules--and has entered into a contract of one's own volition. > > (Unless of course coerced by say, having to join it for a class or peer > pressure etc) > > That said, the issue of the censored person--any question of censorship is > disturbing. Two other lists I am on have had to deal with this--one > decisively, according to its tenets, the other indecisevely, and the problem > drags on. In that way, the flamer (as in "flaming asshole", often--: "he's > a real flamer"--meaning this)--the flamer has accomplished her/his goal and > made buffoons of the others. Eventually, this too leads to censorship, but > in more hypocritical fashion. > > There is a Zen parable relating to this idea of "beating a dead horse": > > A master and his pupil are on a journey through mountainous and deeply > forested country to an isolated temple. > On the way, they encounter a a dangerous, rushing stream. > > A beautiful young woman stands at the edge of one side, with a heavy sack. > She is afraid to cross, though she must. > > The master puts her atop his shoulders and carries her across. They part > ways, she taking another path. > > Many miles and hours later, the pupil says to the master--"why did you pick > up that woman? Isn't it against our vows?" > > The master replies: "I put the woman down at the edge of the stream. You > have been carrying her ever since". > > As a child I often noticed the strange fact that very intelligent people > often yearned to demonstrate their intelligence--whether it was of their own > conception and self-proclamation or bolstered by "proofs" in the way of > tests, grades, degrees and so on-- > they yearned to prove this by argumentation. Rapidly, the principles and > questions of the arguments were abandoned, and it became a clash of > personalities. Victory would somehow prove not only intelligence but a > certain kind of might. "Might makes right"--"the squeaky wheel gets the > grease"-- > And so one received one's first lessons in sophistry and rhetoric. > > Thinking of this question of "putting principles before personalities", > came across an interesting quote from Kierkegaard, cited by the Surrealist > painter Andre Masson in an essay called "Painting is a Wager" (written in > 1941 and included in THEORIES OF MODERN ART Edited by Herschel Chipp. > Berkeley: U Cal Press, 1968; 436-40. The Kierkegaard quote is appended as a > note by Masson, p. 440). > > I think it applies well to the kind of arguments and such that employ mere > power plays connected with personalities rather than an essay in the action > of a generative questioning and understanding of actions, events, questions, > examples--and lead to more thought and work rather than the excruciating > noise of ever louder amplifiers, leading to demogogery and the like. > (Demi-god-ery for example.) > > Kierkegaard: > > We must not take the word contradiction in the mistaken sense in > which > Hegel used it and which he made others and contradiction > itself believe > that it had a creative power. > > Though personally I often enjoy the "witz" as Bertrand calls them (jokes) > and participate in them, I also, like Bertrand, joined the list hoping to > find a continual learning and opening up of questions which are involved > with the history and events and ideas and objects of Fluxus, and their > relations with other art/performance questions. > Also, one hopes to contribute to this-- > > The agreement or disagreement is not so important as what one may find--and > be able to make use of! > > Which raises the old question of the artist/maker as thief-- > or--speaking of wagers as Masson and someone on the list did--that > famous > wagerer Pascal's proposition that "it is not the elements that are new, but > the order of their arrangement". > > Which bears on the question raised on the list of the constancy or not such > of nature--the question entropy/negen
Re: FLUXLIST: "wild horses couldn't drag me away"
In a message dated 06/24/2000 11:54:08 AM Eastern Daylight Time, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: << There is a Zen parable relating to this idea of "beating a dead horse": >> There's also an Arkansas parable relating to this idea of a "dead horse". Billy Joe and Dwight were brothers who lived together, and Dwight was younger and also had a few burnt tubes in his cerebral media center. Billy Joe would get extremely angry with Dwight, even though he knew Dwight wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, because Dwight was so damn stupid. Probably it was Billy Bob's fear of his own lack of intelligence, but this is a joke, not a therapy session. Dwight would say, "Hey Billy Bob, what's that thing you're running up and down on, you ain't gettin nowhere." "It's a stairmaster, you idiot," Billy Bob would say. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm exercising." Or Dwight might say, "Hey Billy Bob, what's that dumb thing you got on your head?" And Billy Bob would say, "It's the official hat of the Shriner's you stupid imbecile jerk. I am a member of an elite club which you can never hope to join." And this was how life was for poor Dwight, everytime he tried to learn about Billy Bob's world, he would get pounded with insults and emotional injury, and even Dwight, a slow thinker, had feelings and could feel the pain of degradation and rejection. One day Dwight went out to the barn to feed the animals, and Roman Soldier, the old pull gelding they'd had since boyhood was motionless and down on the floor his stall, fat and dead. Suddenly Dwight saw a way to communicate to Billy Bob how painful his insults were. Billy Bob came home that night, barely nodded to Dwight, took a beer out of the refrigerator, popped the top with his teeth and chugged it down. Then he walked towards the bathroom. Dwight watched calmly as his brother opened the bathroom door and muddled in. A few seconds later Billy Bob shrieked: "What the hell is this in the bathtub?" Dwight sauntered over to the bathroom, looked his brother smugly in the eye and said, "It's a dead horse you ignorant sonofabitch."
Re: FLUXLIST: "wild horses couldn't drag me away"
A horse was brought to life when the European dadaists stuck a knife in a dictionary in the word dada, which meant hobby-horse. Let us not beat a dead horse. Let us bring a horse to life, eh? And let it be a hobby-horse, and we can all ride it. Smile. Fluxus is watching you. PK [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote: > In a message dated 06/24/2000 11:54:08 AM Eastern Daylight Time, > [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: > > << There is a Zen parable relating to this idea of "beating a dead horse": >> > > There's also an Arkansas parable relating to this idea of a "dead horse". > > Billy Joe and Dwight were brothers who lived together, and Dwight was younger > and also had a few burnt tubes in his cerebral media center. Billy Joe would > get extremely angry with Dwight, even though he knew Dwight wasn't the > sharpest pencil in the box, because Dwight was so damn stupid. Probably it > was Billy Bob's fear of his own lack of intelligence, but this is a joke, not > a therapy session. > > Dwight would say, "Hey Billy Bob, what's that thing you're running up and > down on, you ain't gettin nowhere." > > "It's a stairmaster, you idiot," Billy Bob would say. "I'm not going > anywhere, I'm exercising." > > Or Dwight might say, "Hey Billy Bob, what's that dumb thing you got on your > head?" > > And Billy Bob would say, "It's the official hat of the Shriner's you stupid > imbecile jerk. I am a member of an elite club which you can never hope to > join." > > And this was how life was for poor Dwight, everytime he tried to learn about > Billy Bob's world, he would get pounded with insults and emotional injury, > and even Dwight, a slow thinker, had feelings and could feel the pain of > degradation and rejection. > > One day Dwight went out to the barn to feed the animals, and Roman Soldier, > the old pull gelding they'd had since boyhood was motionless and down on the > floor his stall, fat and dead. Suddenly Dwight saw a way to communicate to > Billy Bob how painful his insults were. > > Billy Bob came home that night, barely nodded to Dwight, took a beer out of > the refrigerator, popped the top with his teeth and chugged it down. Then he > walked towards the bathroom. Dwight watched calmly as his brother opened the > bathroom door and muddled in. A few seconds later Billy Bob shrieked: "What > the hell is this in the bathtub?" > > Dwight sauntered over to the bathroom, looked his brother smugly in the eye > and said, "It's a dead horse you ignorant sonofabitch."
