Tonight on CFRC 101.9fm: The Anatomy Lesson at 11 pm. Music by Year of Glad, Isengrind, Temple Volant, Force Publique, Girls in Uniform, Lust For Youth, Wormwood, Xeno & Oaklander, The Bug ft. Grouper, Bene Gesserit, White Noise (aka David Vorhaus and Delia Derbyshire) and Tlön. Good times to be had by all. Tune in.

This episode will be archived on www.cfrc.ca.

Year of Glad - “Gorge” Old Growth
Isengrind - “Perseid Meteor Shower” Golestan
Temple Volant - “Delphinity” Daydream Drawings
Force Publique - “Sacrifice” Pure
Girls In Uniform - “Like A Star” “.” (Full Stop)
Lust For Youth - “Epoetin Alfa” International

Wormwood - “Softly Light Limits” Microdot
Xeno & Oaklander - “Par Avion” Par Avion
The Bug - “The Void ft. Liz Harris of Grouper” Void/Function
White Noise - “Your Hidden Dreams” An Electric Storm (1969)
Bene Gesserit “Enfants Des Rues” A High, Happy, Perverse, And Cynical Cry of Joy (1985)
Tlon - “Ancient Ruins” Truth In The 13th

"‘I understand how: I do not understand why’ is the refrain of 1984….

This was Orwell’s own predicament. He asked the Why not so much about the Oceania of his vision as about Stalinism and the Great Purges….

But Orwell could not content himself with historical agnosticism. He was anything but a sceptic. His mental make-up was rather that of the fanatic, determined to get an answer, a quick and a plain answer, to his question. He was now tense with distrust and suspicion and on the look-out for the dark conspiracies hatched by them against the decencies of Billy Brown of London town. They were the Nazis, the Stalinists, and – Churchill and Roosevelt, and ultimately all who had any raison d’état to defend, for at heart Orwell was a simple-minded anarchist and, in his eyes, any political movement forfeited its raison d’être the moment it acquired a raison d’état. To analyse a complicated social background, to try and unravel tangles of political motives, calculations, fears and suspicions, and to discern the compulsion of circumstances behind their action was beyond him. Generalisations about social forces, social trends and historic inevitabilities made him bristle with suspicion. Yet, without some such generalisations, properly and sparingly used, no realistic answer could be given to the question which preoccupied Orwell. His gaze was fixed on the trees, or rather on a single tree, in front of him, and he was almost blind to the wood. Yet his distrust of historical generalisations led him in the end to adopt and to cling to the oldest, the most banal, the most abstract, the most metaphysical and the most barren of all generalisations: all their conspiracies and plots and purges and diplomatic deals had one source and one source only – ‘sadistic power-hunger’. Thus he made his jump from workaday, rationalistic common sense to the mysticism of cruelty which inspires 1984.

Of course, Orwell intended 1984 as a warning. But the warning defeats itself because of its underlying boundless despair. Orwell saw totalitarianism as bringing history to a standstill. Big Brother is invincible: ‘If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – for ever.’ He projected the spectacle of the Great Purges on to the future, and he saw it fixed there for ever, because he was not capable of grasping the events realistically, in their complex historical context. To be sure, the events were highly ‘irrational’; but he who because of this treats them irrationally is very much like the psychiatrist whose mind becomes unhinged by dwelling too closely with insanity. 1984 is in effect not so much a warning as a piercing shriek announcing the advent of the Black Millennium, the Millennium of damnation.

The shriek, amplified by all the ‘mass-media’ of our time, has frightened millions of people. But it has not helped them to see more clearly the issues with which the world is grappling; it has not advanced their understanding. It has only increased and intensified the waves of panic and hate that run through the world and obfuscate innocent minds. 1984 has taught millions to look at the conflict between East and West in terms of black and white, and it has shown them a monster bogy and a monster scapegoat for all the ills that plague mankind.”

- Isaac Deutscher, “1984 – The Mysticism of Cruelty" from Heretics and Renegades and Other Essays (Hamish and Hamilton, London, 1955)

Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
Zoom Info
Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
Zoom Info
Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451
“Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. …Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day. Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”
Zoom Info

Above:  The Captain (Cyril Cusack), stills from Fahrenheit 451

Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, he just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn’t that so? Well, take my word for it Montag. There’s nothing there.  The books have nothing to say. 

These are all novels, all about people that never existed, the people that read them it makes them unhappy with their own lives. Makes them want to live in other ways they can never really be. 



Go on, Montag, all this philosophy, let’s get rid of it. It’s even worse than the novels. Thinkers and philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: “Only I am right! The others are all idiots!” One century they tell you that man’s destiny is predetermined.  The next they’ll say he has freedom of choice.  It’s, oh, just a matter of fashion, philosophy.  Just like: short dresses like year, long dresses next year.  

Look, all stories of the dead, biography that’s called, and autobiography. My life, my diary, my memoirs, my - intimate memoirs.  Of course, when they started out, well, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, to stand out from the crowd, to be different, to be able to look down on all the others.  Ah, Critics Prize. Ah, this is a good one. Of course, he had the critics on his side. Lucky fellow. Just tell me this, Montag: at a guess, how many literary awards would you say were made in this country on an average each year? 5? 10? 40? Hmm? No less than 1,200.  Well, anybody who put pen to paper was bound to win some prize some day.

Robinson Crusoe, the Negroes didn’t like that because of his man, Friday. And Nietzsche, Nietzsche, the Jews didn’t like Nietzsche. Here’s a book about lung cancer. You see, all the cigarette smokers got into a panic, so for everybody’s peace of mind, we burn it.  

Ah, now this one must be very profound.  The Ethics of Aristotle.  Now, anybody that read that must believe he’s a cut above anybody who hadn’t.  See, it’s no good Montag, we’ve all got to be alike. The only way to be happy is for everybody to be made equal. So we must burn the books, Montag.  All the books.”

→ Turn Down for What?

"As a mostly 20th century academic reader, #Accelerate includes some of the worst examples of self-indulgent left academic frivolity. We can track the evolution of ­Anglo-French accelerationism through the “Ferment” section, which reads in part like a game of Marxist telephone on acid. Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s daring fusion of Marx and Freud yields Lyotard endorsing the joy of being fucked by capital yields Gilles Lipovetsky’s foolhardy “acceleration of critique.” Class struggle falls out of these accounts, as the authors arrogantly pronounce that capital’s blender has abolished such distinctions.

Although these pieces of writing are useful in constructing a genealogy, I wonder what purpose they serve acceleration itself. If we are for technosocial acceleration, then surely one of the things we can leave behind is leftist professors from the 1970s who thought “what is important is to be able to laugh and dance.” They laughed and danced into tenure and home loans, and now here we are.”