rss (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/rss.xml) princemyshkin4 {@} proton {.} me https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/ sonechka link aggregator After every violent upheaval of the organization of production from the bronze age to the industrial, the Historical Materialists of the last two centuries were excited to announce that they discovered a pattern destined to repeat. The problem is that their economics is limited to the values assigned to those lifeless resources extracted from the Earth, which Bataille criticized when he proposed a general economics and not only a political one. A structure of values that has survived every redistribution of the means of production is the phallic one. Capitalist Realism pales against the apocalyptic impossibility of imagining a world without patriarchy. There is no feminist imagination because images have already been invested in and monopolized by the Phallus and his Eye, an image will always take the abundant flows of sunlight that rain on the Earth, those excesses of impure intensities which please the giggling, barely blind baby, and organize its light on an optical plane to make erect Representation and rigid Clarity. From what I know, the most successful failure at a feminist image is the 1919 short story "Munitions!" by J.G. Sime. Literature to Julia Kristeva is a "descent into the foundations of the symbolic construct" which "amounts to retracing the fragile limits of the speaking being," where "'subject' and 'object' push each other away, confront each other, collapse and start again -- inseparable, contaminated, condemned, at the boundary of what is assimilable, thinkable: abject." Literature is the great failure of speaking what is unspeakable. "Munitions!" is about working women when men are at war. It's absolutely unforgiving about women's joy while men are at war: (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/blog/scopophilic-heteropessimism) I'm so relieved Sadie Plant deflected me from the Deleuze to Land pipeline and instead into feminism. the first half was a good Freud refresher, and I was endeared by her Lenin "don't laugh!" sarcasm (this is Freud read by Irigaray). I felt like I was reading Lacan again. especially in all the "always already"s of everything, and also the master discourse of Plato's cave. a seminar of his, specifically; Speculum reads very orally. but I don't have the same patience for dissecting her every word as I did in my Lacan phase, I don't know if that means I'm less affected by neuroticism now or if it's laziness. I want to read a secondary source sometime because I don't think I understood most of the book … thought I could get away with not having read a lot of Plato until Irigaray forced pages-worth of his quotations on me in that middle part. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/reviews.php?month=202605#94) https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/lists/russian-books My only deviation from Dworkin’s line of thought is that I’m not satisfied to chalk it up to right-wing women’s sense of self-preservation. Like Deluze and Guattari's capitalist who does not really work for his survival but for the ecstasy of being a cog in the machine, I don’t think it entirely escapes these women that they are at a greater risk of domestic violence than violence from strangers; and many of them experience just that. I think it’s the certainty of the organization of desire in the established Patriarchal order (despite its flows of deterritorialisation that sometimes confuse to whom abortion serves as well as the gendered organization of labour). The Patriarchy offers meaning -- even if it’s a meaning that makes all desire desire for the phallus, even if it’s the meaning of the theater of Oedipus. (https://princemysh.substack.com/p/right-wing-women-ideology-or-desire) Before I went to pee halfway through Project Hail Mary, I could say I was invested. but after a two-minute break away from the constant assault of flashy images and dialogue made to maximize audience engagement without allowing a single thought to pass, I felt the most excruciating boredom I had ever experienced in a movie theater. My boyfriend left with the same impression and I thought that guaranteed it was an undisputed flop. I had criticisms floating in my mind, but my assumption was that these were too obvious to be worth writing down anywhere, like criticizing Marvel after even the mainstream had largely abandoned it. I obviously underestimated how far we had moved past Marvel slop because I opened Letterboxd to an average of 4.3 stars -- and a minimum of 4.5 stars all across the popular, recent, and my friends' reviews. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/blog/project-hail-mary) my fourth dostoevsky and my favourite novel(la) of the year. notes from underground is about the philosophical development of consciousness amounting to useless and endless self-awareness, and I liked it a lot as someone who is the postmodern product of that. it's like a combination of oblomov and faust, and a little bit of Erika Kohut hitting people on the bus with her instrument case, and maybe even the ressentiment of the diary of a wimpy kid, and the blurb's "a work that marks the frontier … between two centuries' visions of the self" evokes a little dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, too. I have genuinely internalized the moral anti-model of the man from underground and it has done more for me than any self help book could ever; dostoesvky is the only author capable of arousing the little capacity I have for spirituality. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/reviews.php?month=202509#43) https://letterboxd.com/dedusmuln/list/soviet/ stories of women turning into trees have been following me for the last eight months. bernini's sculpture of apollo and daphne in a baroque art class (the first time I heard of the myth at all), seeing Jesse Mockrin's A story told this many times becomes the forest in-person in a gallery, and the concept appearing multiple times in a class on short stories, including "Sans Souci" by Dionne Brand. I like how the last two and women without men extend the metaphor until it disturbs the simplicity of the original myth enjoyed by men. resisting men's understanding is one of the only things we have going for us, I think, as long as it's turned against the mystique they try to make of it. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/bookbug) An anti-natalism of the Lonzi-type requires no higher justification by climate change or overpopulation. Refuse motherhood to be useless to men, to the Hegelian/masculine progression of history contingent on its dialectics of power. or, if we must be useful, be it the way that Lyotard describes: "'use me' is a statement of vertiginous simplicity, it is not mystical, but materialist. let me be your surface and your tissues, you may be my orifices and my palms and my membranes, we could lose ourselves, leave the power and the squalid justification of the dialectic of redemption, we will be dead. and not: let me die by your hand, as Masoch said." (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/blog/be-a-useless-woman) I hadn't heard of Krasznahorkai before his nobel win to be honest, though I did watch the seven hour satantango adaptation one hour at a time in high school. and I was surprised that his writing wasn't like the dryness of tarr's intepretation; melancholy of resistance was so much fun. I really enjoyed the maximalism of krasznahorkai's prose, the lack of paragraph breaks read much more naturally than I expected, especially for a translation. why did anyone even try writing after this? I thought I couldn't do long sentences after my failure to get through Proust but I will make the likely correction of reading him in French next time; melancholy of resistance has enlightened me against conciseness. what really hooked me was the resonance of reading Mrs Pauf navigate the train in the winter while I was on a train myself and the november sun began to set at 4pm, and I was only more excited by the un-sentimental, eastern european morbidity that I enjoy in dostoevsky. as well as the dostoevskian relationships based on accidental proximity, and the alexei karamazov-ness of valuska, though I will have to read dead souls to see the likely more accurate comparison to Gogol. I also have to admit that I still haven't read the comparative herman melville, though maybe I can name melancholy as my substitute for moby dick. what was most impressive about this book was that I was capable of supressing the need to always break only after completing a chapter. I watched the bela tarr adaptation after reading too, Werckmeister Harmonies, and I think it's interesting to see what little action really happens when the story is removed from the characters' thoughts (though I would have liked to see mrs Pauf). I had fun. here's a favourite passage: (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/reviews.php?month=202511#71) https://letterboxd.com/dedusmuln/list/in-french/ this is a webring of websites that have lots of text. whether that is regular blog updates over 300 words, or occasional essays over 1000 words, you are welcome to join if the writing on your site can't be exhausted in one sitting. our principles are html before css and substance over style. we accept any genre; diaries, reviews, fiction, except for AI generated writing, which will be rejected. wordy webring is inspired by the "verbosity" webring created by Clarity that has since been taken down. thank you Petrapixel for the webring script, webringu. you may contact me, the webring owner, at princemyshkin4 (at) proton (dot) me (https://wordywebring.neocities.org/) what destined me to the infinite cycle of writing and reading was the evolution unit in eleventh grade biology. It wasn't just for learning the facts discovered by Darwin but for all the other ideas like Lamarck's involved in the discourses of evolution; I liked the history of ideas in science more than the science itself. Having to apply different theories to the same observations in nature was like the critical lenses that I like to play with now. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/blog/evolution-and-me) I don't have regency era courtship fantasies. I'm sorry women. I don't care enough to keep track of every mr. and mrs., and I lose my attention half way through every long formulation of british politeness that seem to take up 70% of the word count. and it's hard to follow along the lack of dialogue tags when you're only paying half attention. I will say that I liked it more than northanger abbey, and that I can't deny mr. Darcy's charm. but jane austen is what pocketcat from fear and hunger meant about extroverted artists. it's interesting that miranda from the collector read so much austen, I feel like pride and prejudice was the blueprint for the bourgeois humility she so loathes. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/reviews.php?month=202510#62) https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/listshttps://hillhouse.neocities.org/cliques/library/https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/blog/rabbit-dollhouse.html I normally can't be moved to read short stories in my own time, but I enjoyed the movie "an unfinished piece for player piano" by nikita mikhalkov enough to be intrigued by chekhov. I was suprised to be especially endeared by his works … part of what was so endearing was that he likes to write from a naive perspective, like of peasants or children or ticket-collectors, and his skill in writing children is particularly impressive; I would add the stories "children" and "home" to the further reading section of this blog. (https://sonechka.bouvardia.blue/reviews.php?month=202512#75) https://letterboxd.com/dedusmuln/list/besthttps://grrrl.valentinely.cc/