Date: Sat, 21 Jun 2003 19:40:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: "J.M. Adams" <ringfingers-AT-yahoo.com>
Subject: [postanarchism] Scott: "The Movement of Schiz-Flux"




The Movement of Schiz-Flux

by Drake Scott

There is a movement abreast, a thigh, a leg, torso, a
murmured breath away, tugging at the sleeve of your
heart, encouraging you to abolish your ``critical
distancing,'' your customary `safe-space' panic
button...and come crawl into this (our) cozy cocoon!
Here pullulating parts re-birth each other as
fragments/entireties by mutual and transitory
interfacing, configurations of fleshfolded upon flesh.
Here we enter ``the place of each other, beyond
surface walls of cold and ice, the place of [post-]
art-making and love making.''

 Movement toward the other is natural attraction (and
repulsion), a focalized nowness courting elation on
the edge of experience,bursting through the freeze
frames of interpretive holds on our unconscious,
finding the unfettered, the unclogged but uh jagged
material (rescheduled) for release. But when??? What
is the point of the orphan heart playing
hide-and-go-seek?

 Everyone always fantasizes about the party where
everybody gets naked, dancin' up a storm, touching
people freely within parameters of negotiated trust.
Surely our forebears spun homegrown jams of corporeal
intimacy around fires in caves in the woods on beaches
or by rivers. But the thread of experience connecting
us to these delectable practices is frayed and come
apart, loose ends hanging the heads in the spectacle
of passive consumption of the representation of
fulfillment. Post-mortem suiciety continues the
carnage wrought by Cartesian thinking, the university
heads mired in text.  The spinal cord dangling, cut
away from the body - the machine fully subjugated to
Ideology and its institutional mechanizations.
Oedipalization: the process whereby the instincts are
surgically removed - play, fun, spontaneity and love
are crushed and replaced by conformity and fear of
freedom, amounting to ``preemptive colonization'' of
infants. Carnal knowledge starts and stutters on the
ruler slapping the hand of the masturbating child,
penis cut in birth trauma of patriarchy, bit/byte-size
chunks of desire regurgitated in the family porno
machine. Spiritual darkness, emptiness.

 Schiz-Flux moves a collective enunciation of desire.
In Madison we are invited to parties by host(esses)
who, same as at any other party, want us to do
something outrageous, so they can follow suit.
Schiz-Flux catalyzes movement toward an a-signifying
sensuality. We might dress in drag, maybe strip &
strut, display homo-erotic touch, dance and holler; or
we'll split the scene and effect a moving situation
through the streets, give guerilla `performances'
on the library mall for the drunken students. We aim
at the replacement of poor, defenseless, guilt ridden,
puppets in internal straitjackets with free
non-Oedipalized, uncoded individuals. There is no
morality here boys and girls. Only mutuality and
consent. Call it the revolution of everyday life, the
construction of situations or temporary autonomous
zones - these fluxuations flow from the source of
one's own predisposition - desire becoming until
fruition - and other becomings which destratify the
social arena and de-center its subjects, opening onto
a smooth space, a plane of (in)consistency offering
post-graduate degrees in schizoversion, Anti-ism and
advanced idiotics. We protest against any interference
in the free development of delirium.

 Schiz-Flux is materialist psychiatry, anti-matter
pilots careening out of control, (mis)behavioral
artistic derelicts unlocking accustomed patterns,
breaking the codes, delving into the molecular
unconscious, that biolectic substratum of desire,
imbedded, inseparable in/from mental/physical/total.
Setting up altered environments, environments to alter
emotions, psycho-geographical effects where instinct
meshes with conscious control.

 Jack-of(f)-all-trades, each Schiz-Flux member carries
with them the official rules of (mis)conduct,
realizable only through unwriting. That is, one exits
the cage of head and its myriad altars of text. Seized
as if from the bush, a true alien in the
city, by passing the waiting lines for Inscription
into work and school heading down the pavement, blood
flowing out to the hands and heart to where the
pavement ends. Flees to the nature zones to
escape the toxic culture and it's thoroughly
conditioned `counter-culture'. Materializing zones for
quiet, screaming, chasing, listening, loving and
getting in touch. Hearts can surely undo the debris.

 At the Bloomington anarchist gathering I give a
playshop on the sleeping bag-covered floor of a
university classroom. The tape by Debbie Moore that I
play has us lay down & rock, put on blindfolds
and touch (half of us are naked). A man is passively
resisting. He is haunted/conditioned by his past. I
search entrance to his trust and find closure. The
others are mixing in a primordial sea. Finally someone
finds him.

 There is always Fluxuation, dementation from other
dimensions. We are all like little children trapped
away and inside by deep drifts of snow, waving and
calling from our distant houses, snowbound. We
can sail over the snowbanks through each other's
bodies. We can ride down hills of wonder and enter
into the games and spells and hidden treasures of each
other's personal, sensual, even forgotten
ways. And from all of this letting in and more letting
in we are finding the wisdom of the free and clear.
Like the waving children, snowbound, our bodies
beckon, and our heartfelt bodies can find answers
between us through our touch (Moore).

 Pseudo-filing away at the adult world (mature
destruction), frolic (frau lick), and frenzy (friends
y puta sagrada). Nomadic fluxuation and the ability to
fully, deeply grieve makes the trampled
heart jump right back. Traversing mountains and
valleys of love, searching for the primitive and a
tribal nexus of connection: Nomad is mad, is madder
than thou who is stationary. Infinite stopped-up
brevity, hasteful glimpses/somersaults into each
others lives. No performance, just sharing, briefly,
hardly touching, looking for entrance cues into others
inner unclogging the utter black hole of
smoke-darkened lungs, grief center entirely numb.

 Worlds. Seek, salk, sulk, sage. Rattle, cuddle,
nibble, widgely, tirage. Throw out Oedipus, throw out
Sophocles. Hide from concrete establishment my
hardened cock at the library, cute blond with the
wet pussy. [escuse (sic) that burst of phallo-centric
semen which interrupted my text!] I am rocking my
bosom.

 Schiz-Flux is not art is post-art is not mail or male
art or sex art or just sex. Art thou? It is quickly
geared for chopping off social appendages & fixtures
which have become attached to the body, channeling
it's breaks and flows into holistic quarks,
triggering a-signifying processes. Sometimes
Schiz-Flux movement is too fast, and the flow reverts
to the paranoiac, the paralythic. Passing too many
stages too quickly sometimes leads back to mommy
and daddy, the shrink, the cop, the professor and
priest. For this we caution initiates to unhinge
themselves gradually, letting the psyche
re-con-stitute itself at its own pace.

 The Schiz-Flux movement is a pastiche of plagiarism.
Notions lifted from situationists, neoists,
existential phenomenology, PRAXIS, Frank and Debbie
Moore, Feral Faun, permacult, ontological
anarchy, Deleuze and Guattari, anti-Oedipus,
post-structuralism and post-Toasties. More than
left-brained, nit-winged word games issuing from a
yakkity-yak empty bravado, Schiz-Flux is the dance
of life with open and crazy arms. 

 Individuals are being born again and I am glad, glad,
glad as if spring were burgeoning again in the earth.
Were I alone in feeling it, the entertaining folly of
having desired to conquer death while liberating every
desire from, would remain.

 Schiz-Flux can be found on any street corner or
wilderness enclave. Seek them lurking in the bathrooms
of Greyhound stations or unexplored caves, or simply
write: Schiz-Flux, c/o Box 28, Naalehu, HI. 96772

===="The tradition of the oppressed teaches us that the 'state of emergency' in which we live is not the exception but the rule...power no longer has today any form of legitimization other than emergency."  

- Giorgio Agamben, Means Without Ends: Notes on Politics, 1996

For cutting-edge analysis of contemporary war visit http://www.infopeace.org

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!
http://sbc.yahoo.com