Another Apology

It seems as though I've been most prolific in the sub-genre: "Sorry not doing a whole lot of writing right now and here's why." Most of the writing has been about not writing. 

But I'm just still not quite right. There is an apprehension in sitting down to write because there seems to be a hole in my head or something. I go to think and those luminous pathways inexplicably terminate, like roads wiped out by midnight storms. And that's when I have the time and energy to even sit down and write, when I'm not very busy working and then physically recovering, or running around trying to keep my life from going sideways.   

They say the virus can cause brain damage, though I'm not entirely sure what's going on. 

There is definitely something going on. The heat especially brings it out: out of breath a little easier, with a stressed pulse that takes time to calm down again, and the body has trouble regulating temperature. Ah, and the intense fatigue. I could go on. 

Ironically, in the aftermath of the virus, I seem to be unwillingly pushed further in the direction of pursuing a lifestyle I really do believe in. This is a push against inertia, a past life, against constant meditation on abstractions and thoughts. Not that those are bad things, but too much set against other possibly productive avenues...

I sit at the computer, waiting for a vision, and become restless, driven outside to meander, observe, and perhaps do some gardening or light forest work. The birds are here, and the bugs are here. It is hot outside. And the trees sit motionless, waiting for a mountain breeze. 

But writing does still do some important processing work that would be better off done. It is a valuable meditation. I have plenty of material backed up in the queue that needs extrapolation, and I sit, and think, and instead of receiving vision, there arises a dull ache somewhere between the temples. At least I still have it in me to read in the morning. 

Ah well, in time. 

Elite

Recently I've been going on and on about what elites are doing wrong, and much of it might be read as an instruction manual on how to do it better. Am I secretly a frustrated imperialist?

If my past writings are any indication, an intensely hierarchical, brutally stratified society ruled by fluctuating gradients and directions of universal exploitation, and which needs to constantly expand and incorporate other societies into itself as subordinate, is not exactly my idea of right living. 

But at this point I am beyond contempt. We have reached the point at which fair judgments - however harsh - threaten to melt down and dissolve into the air. Now it is only disbelief, and desolation. There is no energy to rouse the snarled lip, only so much for a blank stare. The faith, the trust, is completely gone. I have my own ideas for productive directions, which will continue to be fleshed out here, but that is not for them. 

No, what I wanted to show here is that even if you wanted to continue on a project of total domination, with a boot on the face of the marginalized and periphery forever - which itself comes with serious problems posed for longevity I might add, setting aside any sort of moral or ethical concern, or any sort of standard of justice - then you would have to do a lot more than what our sorry crop of "leaders" are doing now. By their own standards of success, they are lost. 

But that is how things are now, on a very large scale. The most pressing facts assert themselves: like fireworks in the sky, the booms and flashes assault one's ears and eyes, and demand attention. World affairs have been quite astonishing, and the United States especially is a spectacular wreckage unfolding in slow motion. One has to become reconciled with the fact that what we are collectively reproducing is not production, but destruction, and a whole other set of implications follows from this. 

Grind

I'd like to make a correction and a further technical distinction: you don't generally need a powered grinder to sharpen a blade. Sharpening any sort of blade is not usually intensive if the blade isn't terribly damaged. You might possibly use a file to get the edge back if it is dull enough, and then some sort of honing surface like a whetstone, going from coarse to fine, depending on how involved you want to get. 

But if a blade is badly damaged, or the bevel needs to be reshaped, then you are talking about a greater amount of abrasive work in order to remove enough material to really make a difference, which is where a powered grinder comes in. If the reshaping work is extensive enough, the grinder will be working on the blade for long enough to put it in danger of overheating, and losing its temper. 

Initially this distinction sounded sort of pedantic to me, but for our purposes it might actually be kind of useful. Because in successive generations, the ruling elites of the West, and especially American elites, have become less and less competent at basic maintenance. To maintain the integrity of something, you have to have a broader understanding of the nature of that thing and the nature of that thing's relation to the elemental forces of creation and destruction, and you have to put in some time and energy perhaps doing things that you don't want to do, so that the thing continues on to last for some time to come. 

To go back to the simplicity of our metaphor, it is not a whole lot of fun sharpening a blade, at least as much as it is cutting with it. The tool is made to cut, and it feels as if one is moving forward while cutting with it, while stopping to sharpen the blade feels like a chore, like one is stopping in place, or even moving backwards and losing time. But it is something to keep in mind to regularly do, and working with a dull blade is dangerous besides, as it takes more force to cut with, and it can slip. And to neglect the blade for a long time is to impose a quality change of labor: if the blade gets dull enough, it takes much more work to recondition it. 

Our ruling elite want to go full bore with the exploitation part, and take and take without giving part of themselves to maintain the integrity of the very trough they feed at. Past a certain point, and after enough damage is done, the repair work becomes much more traumatic, and fraught. 

Losing Temper

There is a double meaning here. Yes one loses one's temper and there is a quality change in consciousness, one "sees red" and "all bets are off" and such and such. This is certainly applicable, but what I'm more interested in is "temper" in the metallurgical sense. 

They say to be careful using a powered grinder to sharpen a blade, as the grinder will make the blade very hot. If it gets hot enough, and turns a bluish color - or whatever hue depending on the metal being worked - then whoop, you screwed the pooch on that one. The blade has lost its temper, and will not be as strong as it once was, at least unless it is reforged or something like that. 

Keeping this image in mind, it is remarkable to gaze upon the social and political climate today and then to watch the ruling classes continue on in their clueless, fumbling, and exploitative way, taking their incredible power for granted and doubling down on their destructive paths. The hubris! 

They've taken too much, and continue to take too much, and stomp their flocks of livestock into the dirt, and now the resent is irreconcilable to the point in which mere difference - in opinion and perspective - takes the form of a deadly insult. What trust, what patience was left, has gone. Any prospect of collective coordination or problem-solving is gone too. 

You see this in the proud defiance of people refusing to acknowledge the virus and either manage it collectively or manage their own person, refusing masks and the like. In their case to stand tall and to stand with dignity is to further spread death and economic destruction. For the wretched of the earth, who do the high and mighty scientists and epidemiologists think they are to tell them what to do and what to fear?

And on the other side of that coin is a defiance against continued exploitation, against landlords and monopolists and racist cops. Now every next slight can set off an explosion of public indignation and rebellion, as it should. 

The virus rages, far and wide, and the attack dogs are loosed: the cops lose themselves in self-righteous frenzy and grind down the already downtrodden, and the landlords push for their eviction courts to juice the stone, and the body politic rages back in fury and it all gets hotter. 

The fools! The temper won't be back until a lot of this simply burns down. By their own measures of success, the ruling elite, in their selfishness and narrowness and depravity, prevail only at building higher their own funeral pyres. 

Turn This Thing Around!

The evolution of logging in the Pacific Northwest is one good way to illustrate the double-edged nature of the movements of capital. 

Through decades of political and economic struggle, the changing political economy has resulted in a swarm of consolidating financial entities, many of which are private equity outfits, which snap up a portfolio of forested lands, trucking and heavy equipment companies, mills, and etc., and then retool them for shorter growing cycles to turn over a quicker profit. 

Proceeds are bled away from the logging towns, certain milling and processing operations are outsourced, and the machinery itself is reconfigured to process smaller logs, as the trees are cut down at a younger age, in smaller sizes, and at a greater rate to supply existing ratios of harvested lumber. And these industrial-sized reconfigurations are expensive and time consuming, and god forbid if stocks are to take a hit. 

We may say to ourselves, look we not only need to plant new trees, but let older trees continue to grow as it is the older forests which are the more effective carbon sequestration mechanisms. But that aspiration exists in tandem with the logging industry across great swathes of forested land, and not to mention a ton of other connected industries and interests, which with their strangleholds on both localities and national politics, get to enjoy huge swathes of labor as their hostages. 

And so then to interfere with this runaway industry is to come up against a whole army of connected interests, much of which are tied to the health of the communities in their thrall. 

So in one sense, you have this explosive dynamism in which there is permanent revolution of the processes of production, in which capital is constantly moving back on itself in stops and starts, destroying itself, and reinventing itself to grind on and continue its accumulation. 

But then in another sense, you have this long, complex, and massive chain of interdependent links which all move with each other, whose momentum and directionality are difficult to influence in a pointed and intentional way. 

Control is an illusion in this case, masking a struggle to shape the craterscapes left smoldering by the head of capital as it burns through its fields of exploitation, in accordance with the path of least resistance. For those insisting we need to bring capital back to heel, an image of grabbing hold of a runaway fishing line which has been seized by a whale comes to mind. It may be more realistic for that line to break, which itself is a catastrophe.