Introduction to George Jackson’s Escape-Communism: Deleuze and Revolution


§0. Deleuze-as-Orientation:: Not even Soledad Brother begins at the beginning. It begins with George Jackson’s letters from 1964 onward, when Jackson had already been in prison for three years after being convicted of armed robbery of a gas station for a scant $70 for a term of one-year-to-life. But even before that it begins with a long letter in the form of an unofficial biography Jackson wrote in 1970. There is no one point-of-entry into Soledad Brother, and, following Michelle Koerner’s “Line of Escape: Gilles Deleuze’s Encounter with George Jackson” (2011), I take Deleuze as mine. From 1970 on, Jackson appears and re-appears in Deleuze and Deleuze-Guattari’s (D+G’s) work as an anti-statist thinker of escape – most often through Deleuze invoking Jackson’s line ‘I may take flight, but all the while I am fleeing, I will be looking for a weapon!’ I take this as an opportunity to engage with Jackson as…

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The Xeno prefix denotes foreignness or strangeness. It pertains to what is outside. In systems theory the distinction inside/outside is crucial. In that theory a system is composed of its own internal elements and their operations. The system is distinct from its environment, its outside. The system and the environment mutually condition one another. Each system demarcates itself from its outside. In distinguishing itself from its outside it constitutes that outside as its outside. Each system has its own environment and each environment is constitute by how the system demarcates itself. The Xeno prefix denotes the outsideness of each system. This is paradoxical. The outside of the system is a function of the system and the system is a function of how it subtracts and interacts with its own outside. Open systems relate to their outside selectively. This selectivity is about how the system interacts or makes use of its…

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Excavation Series 13 – Engelika and Others: Music from Films of Music

Power Moves Label

Enter flutes in hovering polyphony, a perfectly noted interlude, restrained and playing with time, breath accenting tremolo-like fluctuation, like choppy waters or ridged gateways miming the Sepik River, eventually turning to calm, what was sent out to the spirit-world is returned in kind – the meaning in seconds now replaced by the understanding of the natural world seen clearer for the days ahead, the illusory boats regain composure and settle down.

Cut to Ensemble:
Group interactivity catered to song and pulse, percussion by hand as melody to voice as person to persons, another level of communication – instruments mining emotional overlay, things of the past catching up to the future, guessing at what can take place, letting go and coming to, in living figure, in moving picture.

Jake Webster, who records as Tuluum Shimmering (and is a giant favourite of Phong’s and mine), has presented us with a mesmerizing…

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surahs for slovens – küçük İskender

word prism

Image result for flaming snake mouth

surahs for slovens

in the flood tide of the first sound the full moon grew
we were dreaming as we passed through the flaming snake-mouth
in the fat eye was that look, dragging its capilliaries along
dark rage of innerwords, that utter oubliette
that unheard sabotage, inferno, that last blazingblame

we knew, it was wrong to be scared
of the graveyard overhead – – segregation
the smile we winnowed out of passions: deep dismay, and
that incidental paleness. what happened to: my lover! i got lost,
yeah, that night inside the secret passage, the
secret passage that opened onto your soul, the flesh candle
in one hand, in the other my enzyme bracelets.. lips’ curls..
i know, that sometimes this city doesn’t exist
it’s not the ones who left I miss,
but the era I didn’t witness. how can you do this,
you, who say my shoulders are like copper,

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Sonnet of the Wishing Stone by Enis Batur

word prism


If I were rain, and on your earth could rain

If I were a candle, could light your way

If I were fire, could set your bed aflame

If I were a pen, could write on your page


If I were sky, carmine blue

IfI were desert, scorpion yellow

If I were stone, heavy black

If I were water, froth white


If I were a soul, if I could fly, a bird

If I were flesh, if I could swell, the sea

If I were body, if I could blow, the wind


If I were mist, could drop upon you, morning

If I were cloud, descend to your world, evening

If I were a candle, could expire inside you, night.


poet:  Enis Batur

translated: Cas Stockford

at DAM, Istanbul, September 2016

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