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Rest In Peace, Art Schoeck

Rest In Peace, Art Schoeck

To understand the depth of my grief for the loss of my friend Art Schoeck, you’d have to know something about the context.

In 1991, I had applied to the Graduate Institute of Liberal Arts at Emory University, and moved from Iowa City to Atlanta without knowing whether or not I was accepted.  I had intended to get my Ph.D. from the University of Iowa, but had taken a Masters degree and left when I wasn’t able to pursue my work in interdisciplinary studies in comparative religion. The Department of Religion was too conventional. The best I could do was to get a background in philosophical theology and contextual ethics. It was a valuable grounding, but I needed to pull imagination back into the picture. Religious studies was pastoral, bible-based, or… archaeological, not at all interested in the imaginative or speculative spirit. Literary studies was allergic to religion too, and I wanted to look at cultural productions – poetry, literature, art, music, film – in terms of truly human spiritual themes. It was difficult then. Perhaps it’s impossible now.

When I arrived in Atlanta, I didn’t have much. I got an apartment, and looked for some way to earn my rent while waiting to hear from the Emory program. I worked for a short time at a shop called Coffee Plantation – this was before Starbucks and other coffee shops had really taken hold. It was within walking distance of my apartment but within a week or two I was reassigned to a location in North Atlanta, and the manager… well, that’s another story. The appearance of Robert Roffwarg on his coffee run was always a bright spot in my day because he had a wonderful sense of humor. We got to talking here and there, and one day (after a particularly witty exchange) he suggested that he wanted to introduce me to a friend of his who might have a better job for me: Art Schoeck. So much followed that pivotal moment of humor and sympatico. Among other things, Robert married his love Georgine years later – in Art’s back yard.

I had the address in my hand, but I wasn’t sure it was the right place. It was just a house, not too far from my apartment and Emory. I wondered if this was a mistake, but I went in anyway. I really didn’t like the job I had. A small business could be run from someone’s house. I guess. Robert didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would set me up for a bad situation, but you never know. If there was something shady about it, I’d just hightail it out of there, that’s all.

Art ushered me in, and said that I needed to take a behavioral style profile before we talked about what kind of job he might have. I had never heard of that before, but I enjoy taking tests, so it actually put me at ease. When he got the results, he was elated. “We can work to raise your D for the context,” he said, “but your I is just right. Low S – good, we need innovation and a quick pace. You’re trying to raise your S. You don’t need to do that here. C above the line. You’ll follow the rules – as long as you agree with them.” He went on to give an animated presentation of my strengths and weaknesses, the best ways to communicate with me and things to avoid, how I would likely react to stress. “Look here – the cat’s claw – don’t back YOU into a corner.” He laughed, and told me that he needed an employee part-time to start maturing the business. He had a box of invoices, post-it tabs marking the ones that were still unpaid. He was a corporate consultant, a troubleshooter on team-building, executive coaching, sales strategies.

During my first week, I met my first co-worker, Elaine Fuerst, a  charming woman with a background in marketing (and who was the only one to offer a decent toast at my wedding years later). She showed me the introductory sales letter templates they had begun developing, and the materials to mail to prospective clients. In those days, it was quite a pile of paper. The DISC packet, the graph, a pricing list for diskettes, and so on. It seems centuries ago now. Frank Sproule was Art’s original mentor in DISC, and Victor Paul was onboard as a salesman. Howie Lichtman, that big luvable lunk, was Art’s friend, and worked for him in a side business of color business cards and magnets.

I did get accepted to the program at Emory, but I didn’t stop working at Data Dome, Inc. I worked for Art on and off for many years. He offered a very generous wage for part-time employment, and he was flexible about hours, as long as someone was there to answer the phone. He valued my particular mix of creativity and practicality, and I always needed more cash than what my student loan could provide. Besides, it’s always good to keep something very concrete in your life so that theoretical study doesn’t disconnect you from society and your reality on the ground. The flexibility was great for me – my life was ever changeable.  When I went to live in Paris for a year, my job was waiting for me when I got back. When I had my son, the same. If I needed more hours, I’d focus on a new initiative, but I’d always leave everything easy to run for when I was there less often. If I had been interested in sales, I probably could have had a career doing that, but didn’t want to encourage any ugliness from any part of my previous Jehovah’s Witness evangelism that might still be lurking in my psyche. So instead, we worked to build a business profile and a support system that could support his growing client base.

When an economic recession hit Massachusetts, I encouraged my younger brother to move to Atlanta to finish his college degree. He was good with computers, and he worked for Art too – setting up the home network, updating it, creating an invoicing system that could run on Microsoft Access, advising on the purchasing of additional workstations, and so on.

Eventually, we moved from diskettes to online profiling, from mailing piles of paper to websites and digital publications. I wrote manuals, provided technical support, designed a web site, wrote press releases, and eventually mentored clients in their DISC certification (teaching is not selling). We enlarged the product base, so there was oral drug testing and 360-degree evaluations and integrity tests and skills assessments and values rankings, and a range of workshops and seminars.

He redesigned his house and yard – it was in Better Homes and Gardens – and I loved to play with their dogs and walk in the backyard, with its beautiful ponds and walkways. His wife Calland is an amazing interior designer, on top of all her other talents, so it was a great space to work in. It really is extraordinary what they did with that house and property. Art’s home was his castle. Calland was a gracious presence and I liked spending time with her too (not to mention that she always found some beautiful piece of clothing or jewelry for them to give me on my birthday).  The atmosphere at work was either playful and low-key or very intense and focused – the interplay was perfect for my bursty style of working. I never stopped learning new things, and never ran out of challenges. I was always meeting new people, and I really enjoyed the environment and the people. Over time, Art and Calland became part of my family. Everyone came to my wedding.

The Gang from Data Dome, Inc.

Art was always very generous – with one caveat. Everything always had to be completely honest and aboveboard. If he got the feeling that someone was yanking his chain or trying to cheat him, he would become very angry and legalistic. I can still hear him saying “Just to let you know, I’m recording this conversation” to some poor soul on the telephone. He was a loyal and honest friend and a formidable opponent. He taught me a lot even in that. I was a bit naive – but through his example I learned to document everything. You never know. And sometimes you do know. There have been times when such documentation saved my husband and me from a lot of grief. I learned to ask a lot more questions, and to debate things when they didn’t seem quite right.

I continued to resist sales, but because I handled such a wide range of creative and technical projects, I got great experience in everything from PR to marketing to technical writing to customer support to graphic design to html to content management systems to accounting. I could run a small business very effectively, I think, just because of what I learned working there. When we expanded, he hired the lovely Sandy Stigall to handle most of the non-sales client contact as well as the billing. I was very happy to train her to do just that so that I could focus on creating the business image and start learning about SEO strategies, online sales and marketing, and communication strategies. I set up the blog. We did some link-building. And we got good recommendations. Before too long, it became a very successful business.

The heart of the enterprise was his work. He had a deep understanding of how to really get benefit from these assessments, and testimonial after testimonial showed the extent of demonstrable value. And he loved it. He loved it. To listen in at the edges of an executive coaching call, or a mediation between conflicting personalities, or a consultation on using DISC to tailor sales to the style of the prospect taught me a million little things that I could never adequately relate. All I can say is – it sure gave me a lot more than my minor in Psych!

Art was a real personality, with charisma, and he mentored me. He forced me to talk to CEOs and VPs and Sales Directors until I was no longer intimidated by them. Because of him, I never was intimidated by anyone again, and I never hesitated to speak because of some misplaced notion of social position. He worked with me on my perennial frustration issue when dealing with difficult people, and would remind me that I already had the strategies if I just stopped to think about it. He was always right about that.

Eventually, I had to move on. By the time I finished my Ph.D., I had some debt. That debt had, shockingly, been accruing interest the whole time I was in graduate school. The situation was ugly, and I had to start paying. I also needed more benefits, especially in terms of retirement. My brother had finished his degree, and was in something like his third or fourth corporate job at the time. He returned the favor, and told me about a job that I could easily qualify for, and I got it. Such was my farewell to the world of consulting, and my entrance into the corporate environment.

I created a huge manual on how to do everything I was doing before I left. I did it more efficiently and accurately than anything I’d done before, I think. That exercise alone taught me useful skills in organization and priorities. I didn’t have much time, and I wanted him to be able to refer to something that would address any question I could think of that he might have. If I had only had that kind of motivation for my dissertation, I would have been done with it years sooner than I was.

One thing about Art was that he loved music. He played the church organ when he was a kid – raw talent – and his ear for it outlasted his tolerance of the world of organized religion. Sometimes when he was in the right mood, he’d disappear into the house (by this time, the garage had been converted into a two-story office of impeccable design and lots of glass) and play the piano. He had a special speaker system installed throughout the house and sometimes he’d play music over that. And yet – if a client was calling, he’d drop everything to focus on that.  Art found a conceptual artist and writer – David Cohen – to help him with his book, the web site and the blog. I really like his work – maybe there’s enough to finish the book. More recently, he also found the talented Lisa Bouchard to help out with sales and training. Sandy is still there – the anchor – and being the anchor right now too, I think.

We talked often about a wide range of topics – religion, politics, relationships, experiences. He was a true friend. He always made me feel very special, and his confidence in me never flagged, no matter what. Our interactions became part of my existence – part uncle, part older brother, part buddy. I always enjoyed his company. We’d meet every once in a while for lunch and it was just like old times.

Over the last year or so, he’d had serious health challenges. He fought like a tiger, exercising in the hospital hallways, calling clients from his bedside. He never quit, and I hoped he’d win over it.

He wanted movies. I sent the last Star Trek movie, Fellini’s 8-1/2, Stealing Beauty, Sherlock Holmes. I know that he saw the Star Trek movie – I don’t know about the others.

I meant to go and see him again recently, but his immune system was compromised – he’d been through so much with treatment. Whenever it was good for him to see me, I was worried about a cold or something that I or someone at home had, and I didn’t want to endanger him. The last few times we talked on the phone, he sounded unlike himself. The personality was strong, but the voice was weak. We ran out of time.

Howie contacted me earlier today. Art died, in the midst of a clinical trial, after having tried several other treatment options. Something went wrong, I guess, or maybe his body just gave up. I don’t know.  I’ve talked with a few more people – my brother, Sandy, Robert, David. I hope we’ll all get together again to remember him.

I’m grieving. The tears keep welling up.

I sure will miss you, my friend. RIP Art.

More: Podcasts, Music Videos, and a groovy photo

All in All, A Wonderful Birthday Week

All in All, A Wonderful Birthday Week

What a week. Really.

On Monday and Tuesday, I was still recovering a bit from the effects of the pollen overload on my system. I went to work, but I was dragging. I was starting to look forward to my birthday, but I wasn’t sure what there would be in celebration. I got a few things in the mail – a cd, a book by Slavoj Žižek (looks like he ripped off Jean Baudrillard in this one), a voodoo toothpick holder (hee-hee), a “Gin & Titonic” ice-cube tray, a Lumpy Bumpy candy bar, some great cards… but there didn’t seem to be anything planned as an event.

I was also dreading the prospect of going through physical and psychological withdrawal. I decided that instead of quitting on my birthday – and ruining the whole day – I’d make my birthday the last day of smoking.

Wednesday was my birthday. I went in to work, a little dressed up, feeling a lot better – and my brother Michael took me out for a yummy sushi lunch. It was good to spend some time with him. I’m a number of years older, and his card said “When we were kids you were always reminding me that you were older.” Inside: “Now I’m just returning the favor. Happy Birthday.” We live pretty close, but we’ve both got demanding jobs and families – and it just seems to be difficult to get together very often. Sharing lunch with him made me really happy, and the sushi was excellent.

Back at work, I heard a little noise behind me – someone had dropped a card on my desk. It was a Peanuts card: “Birthdays remind me of what a great person once said” – and then, when you open the card, it’s that “adult” wah-wah-wah-rhaa noise. “Don’t worry. It didn’t make much sense to me either.” My whole team had signed it. That was really touching. Usually, the birthday person gets taken out to lunch or something like that, so this was extra-special.

But then – I got called to reception for a delivery. Sitting there on the front desk was the sweetest bouquet of flowers – orange lilies and yellow roses and little purple mums. The card inside said “We vetoed Phil’s idea and got you flowers.” Again – from my team (although I know who actually did it – thank you Mark). I actually got all mushy, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I went and washed my face. So, so, so sweet.

Our neighbors Marilynne and Ron graciously invited us to celebrate with them at their house. What a relief! Our house was a total wreck, and it was depressing. To sit in their warm inviting kitchen and then, later, in the gorgeous sunroom, was a real treat. We had a delicious dinner of chicken korma (I got the recipe) and yogurt and rice and snap peas and broccoli and kale. Ben came with us, and they included him in the conversation and made him feel at home. Their three dogs are the sweetest ever; it almost make me want to get a dog (although I’m still aching for a cat).

We brought beer and wine and a cake with us, and at the appropriate time, John and Ben stuck in the… um… symbolic number of candles, and everybody sang and I made my wish and blew out all the candles. Eventually, John went next door and tucked Ben into bed, and then we all sat around and talked of all sorts of things. Marilynne brought out some well-aged port, and we had a bit of that.

We shared a very fun and wide-ranging conversation, but one of the things we talked about was the website that Marilynne has been working on for one of the Sherlock Holmes groups. Check it out. If you love Sherlock Holmes stories, you’ll find some surprising things – and if you haven’t read any, go here to get started.

The Beacon Society is a scion society of The Baker Street Irregulars, an international organization of Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts founded in 1934 by Christopher Morley. The Irregulars (known as the BSI) meet every January in New York City for a weekend of celebration and study. The Beacon Society serves as a link to other scion societies, providing teachers with local resources to bring the magic of Sherlock Holmes to life in the classroom.

It was a week for flowers. Over the course of the week, John got me three different potted plants. There was the bouquet from work. Then – just today, the parents of one of Ben’s friends brought a big bouquet of mums for my birthday – and to celebrate my progress.

2009_04_bday

Yes… my progress. Well – I had my last cigarette at two minutes to midnight on my birthday. The last couple of days have been interesting. I’ve been watching the cravings come and go. Paul, you’re right – you can get into a meta-observational place with that.

Still – I have to admit I’ve been easily irritated, impatient, cranky. I’ve even felt a certain inclination toward violence. Oxygen helps. I’ve had some luck blowing in and out of plastic straws – and chewing on them when it gets really bad. It beats eating or chewing gum. I’ve hammered at a piece of wood, broken assorted fallen branches over my thigh, and puttered around – doing laundry, cleaning up, keeping busy, keeping moving. I’ve also been trying to comfort myself. I have the softest, most cuddly socks on.

There have been some cosmic sparkles here and there that have kept me focused, too.

So far, so good.

Voices Through the Whirlwind

Voices Through the Whirlwind

Just when I had loads and loads to blog about, I got knocked down by oak pollen. I just knew those trees were hostile. There is too far too much to tell, so here’s just a very quick summary.

  • Equinox Weekend – Inconsolably depressed, and for no good, acceptable (rational) reason.

    Spiraling outside my will. Surrounded by a wall. Falling down a well.

    But then… the thunder quieted a little and – between the soundcracks of the whirlwind – I began to hear multiple voices in my spirit.

    … wake up… wake up… wake up, love… look who’s here to see you

    Friends. Light. Comfort….

    Take heart…. open your eyes… Arise!

    And then the gifts arrived, one after another…

  • 3/24 – Dinner at the fantastic Rathbun’s Restaurant with Joseph and Marie-Claude and David. Friend vibes overwhelming – like an angel rescue. Readers of this blog will already know how much I admire Joseph and his work. I hadn’t seen him since I was last in Paris, and if anything, we’re more simpático now than we were then. It was totally lovely to meet Marie-Claude at last, and so fun to sneak out for a smoke with David. Even our waiter was fun. Oh! The food! They had yummy Wellfleet clams, and the Lamb Scaloppini was to die for. Oh! The conversation. I was totally relaxed and free. I haven’t had so much fun in ages. Just what I needed – thank you, cosmos.
    Heidi, Joseph, David, Marie-Claude
    Heidi, Joseph, David, Marie-Claude

    John, Heidi and Joseph
    John, Heidi and Joseph
  • 3/26 – The big event – Joseph’s terra incOgnitO gallery opening at David’s beautiful Wm. Turner Gallery in Atlanta.

    Take a look at the art! I’m writing an essay on the artwork (stay tuned), but meanwhile listen to this interview. Since Joseph’s art was on the cover, they also had a copy of John’s book there. Very nice.

    J Trinity -Joseph, Jerry, John

    Friends turned up! Jerry was embroiled in conversations brilliant. Robert and Sloane (who appeared with a baby! how did they hide that little gem from us?!?!?) dropped in and on such as day as that there is much hugging. Geoff and Curzio got in some good conversations with Joseph and John, and I drank champagne and reveled in my happiness level. We went out for snackies afterwards and I got to meet David’s wife – a very cool woman who is – unfortunately – allergic to Facebook. Wah. I was able to speak at greater length with Marie-Claude, and hear all about their impressions of Atlanta. There were foot rubs! Perfect evening.

  • 3/27 – Jeff and Ann made a very brief swoop-in visit to Atlanta for an occasion, and we arranged to meet them with some of their friends at Manuel’s Tavern (prior to having dinner at Cafe di Sol). Manuel’s is the hangout of Atlanta liberals – yes, we exist! John and I showed up at the appointed hour, and it was hilarious because we wandered all around seeking but not finding. I had never actually met Jeff or Ann. I adore all of Jeff’s fiction (read him – he’s top notch – really, maybe the best living American writer) and we had all become friends via online interconnections, but I wasn’t completely confident about picking them out at a crowded bar/restaurant. John and I did several circuits around the place, garnering some curious looks, but didn’t see them anywhere. We saw a young woman standing outside, also looking around and waiting, but we didn’t think to ask her if she was looking for them, too. Finally, we walked down the street to see if they had decided just to go straight to Cafe di Sol – which turned out to be the old Cafe Diem where I spent far too much time as a graduate student. Nope.

    Finally, we went back to Manuel’s and ordered a drink at the bar. That was fortuitous, since we then became involved in conversation with two very charming men – one who lived in a part of France that we’ve wanted to visit (John cornered him for details), and another that I clicked with right away – he works at GA Tech and is originally from New York. We were soon trading stock phrases in northern accents and having a grand time. We all exchanged contact information…. Then, I had a sensation on the back of my skull, looked toward the door, and there they were, just walking in!

    And yes, the beautiful young woman – Desirina – a talented writer in her own right- had also been waiting. Along with were more creative cool friends Will and Sara – but I hardly even got to talk with them at all! Why? Why? Because the restaurant was too darned noisy, that’s why! The old Cafe Diem was always more subdued – it was easier to talk then.

    Sara, Desirina, Heidi, Ann, John, Jeff
    Sara, Desirina, Heidi, Ann, John, Jeff

    John and Jeff huddled – it sounded like it was probably a fun conversation, but I only got little bits of it. I’m sorry for that, because I would have liked to talk more with Jeff, but I can’t complain because I had a fabulous time talking with Ann. She brought us issues of the magazine she edits – Weird Tales. Yes, that’s right – THE Weird Tales. Why I don’t already have a subscription to that, I have no idea (that’s been rectified). The magazine is on the ballot for a Hugo this year. Even against the steep competition, I think they’re going to take it. Ann is an amazing woman – I love her, and she is henceforth considered to be my sister, with all associated benefits.

    Ann with Digital Kitty
    Ann with Digital Kitty

    Click! Click-click – CLICK! Thank you, benevolent deities, inc.

  • 3/28 – Ok, now I’m officially over-socialled and crashing fast, but there’s more! Dear friends Mark and Marty threw a rock-climbing birthday party for their son – this was in addition to the new puppy, lucky kid. John wasn’t feeling well, so I packed up Ben and off we went.

    This is the second year they’ve done this, and there’s a confluence between me, the rock-climbing place, and the presence of pounding rain. As I approach this building, it’s pelting rain. Once I enter the building, the rain dies down and stops. Silly, you say?

    Yes, but oh, it goes further! I accompanied Mark to go fetch the pizza and ice-cream cake. Again, as we approached the building – RAIN! Once inside… no rain. It made me feel a little like Tyrone Slothrop in Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. Sometimes even magical paranoia can be fun. We had a low-key and enjoyable afternoon. I got exactly three photos before my cellphone died. Great expression, Marty!

    Marty
    Marty

    Oh, Mark: Linen which?

  • Well, then it hit. The pollen. Pollen! Pollen! More Pollen! It knocked me out for most of last week, and I’m not quite recovered even yet. But how could I let a shining week like that go by without comment?

    Thank you to my beautiful lovely smart creative wonderful friends of the spirit. You make me remember.

Cold Moon

Cold Moon

Nestled front and center against a huge cumulus cloud, the moon looks like a hole in the sky tonight. My camera can’t capture the mood, but there is a fiery/faerie halo around the whole moon. It’s beautiful. It rained last night, so the full moon was hidden, but tonight’s moon still looks pretty full to me.

Moon over Atlanta
Moon over Atlanta

“Then came old January wrapped well
In many weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake and quiver, like to quell,
And blow his nails to warm them if he may.”
– Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queen

I’m cold. I can’t get warm tonight.

I’m sending out hope and care and love and light to so many people I know, people I care about who have lost jobs and lost houses. There’s one smashed up car and one damaged car, a fire, and several scary medical emergencies. I’m hearing about a fair bit of smallness and meanness and drama of one kind or another, and also about how people are having a hard time making ends meet, and who are trying to navigate very difficult terrain. It seems like this should be a time when we all pull together and be more helpful and supportive of one another. Even among those who are doing relatively fine, there seems to be a widespread tendency to depression and fatigue. Perhaps it’s normal for the post-holiday January blahs, especially considering the snow and ice and flooding and who knows what else.

I’m thinking about one friend in particular tonight, a woman who not only had to go through what had to be a very frightening experience when her lovepartner had a brain aneurysm, but then had to deal with a family member who blamed the incident on the fact that her religious beliefs weren’t identical to his own. As if God would punish her – and through someone she loved – for her non-compliance to some spiritual midget’s unthinking person’s standards. Now she’s being threatened with disassociation from the rest of the family because she had the courage to point out that such a statement wasn’t very caring or supportive of family in a medical crisis. This young woman has already been through so much. She is a very compassionate and caring person. She is blunt when confronting unfairness, but she is also just learning how to really articulate a lot of things that have been painful and destructive to her – as well as things that she has learned through her own experience and insight. She is courageous and curious and she loves her boyfriend and the animals she rescues and the friends in her life. She will be ok, I know – but I can also palpably feel her sense of betrayal and pain. It must be awfully hard to deal with that on top of navigating the medical system and trying to make sure that her boyfriend is taken care of properly. He’s a stellar guy – intelligent and creative – and I know they’ll support one another through all this. He’s already doing much better. I hope that she can focus on being with him, and bracket out the rest – at least for a little while until the whole situation has a time-out.

Sometimes, though, when I hear about these things, I’m struck by the anti-agapic qualities of so many people who think they are religious, and I feel a little sick. I know that it means a lot to offer caring and support, but I also feel helpless. I have empathy, and a tendency to try to heal hurts – even just imaginatively. You never know what might help. But what do you say to someone when you can’t make anything better or easier for them? I’m thrashing around half the time myself.

I tried to watch the news tonight, and I actually couldn’t bear it. I had to walk away. I’m freezing and I can’t seem to reset my thermostat. I can’t get warm. I’m tired.

I’m thinking about all kinds of changes – how life moves on, whether or not you’re ready. I know that I have to keep starting again, and that a more hopeful-trusting-positive attitude would be vastly preferable for me. It works… then it doesn’t work. I’m full of confidence and creative ideas, then everything deflates and I find myself looking at some small small rock on the ground for ten minutes – or I realize that I’ve daydreamed several contradictory scenarios trying to work something out when I haven’t even identified what I’m practicing for – why am I creating conversations in my head? They have nothing to do with the dialogue that I’ve been trying to write – it would be great if they were. I’ve dreamed people that don’t exist, and places I’ve never been, and situations that will never exist. And I revise them – for nothing, really. It doesn’t help to know that my internal scenes are passing, and what seems so emotionally fraught will seem somewhat inconsequential and silly at some later time. It’s like when you’re a kid and you attach yourself to a song and it seems so meaningful, and then years later you have to laugh, just remembering how important and serious it seemed at the time.

I’ve been fine, then not fine, then depressed, then creative, then hopeful, then tired, then depressed again… and I’m really losing interest in my own thoughts and feelings. I just want to curl up with a book. Everything I have on hand that I haven’t already read is spiritually uplifting and hopeful and again – another wave of nausea at the thought.

I know it’s all very silly. I know that I am loved – despite how difficult I can make that – and that the wheel will turn. As scary as it can sometimes be, change is something that can be counted on. Things will change, and then they’ll change some more – everything is always in process. Trying to hang on to a static reality is deadly, anyway. It’s best to pay attention, adjust, ride it through – or surf it if you can – and be open to the bl(i)ssings as they arrive over the top of the other side.

Absence of the social

Absence of the social

Jean Baudrillard, one of my all-time fave thinkers, has written a short piece on the torched cars and ransacked schools of France. "The Pyres of Autumn" argues that these events (among other things) call attention to the actual lack of a meanful social culture. He describes the ideological bankruptcy of the West as a "banalized, technized, upholstered way of life, carefully shielded from self-questioning." What does national belonging really mean, and how does one have a sense of it today?

All the excluded, the disaffiliated, whether from the banlieues, immigrants or ‘native-born’, at one point or another turn their disaffiliation into defiance and go onto the offensive. It is their only way to stop being humiliated, discarded or taken in hand. In the wake of the November fires, mainstream political sociology spoke of integration, employment, security. I am not so sure that the rioters want to be reintegrated on these lines. Perhaps they consider the French way of life with the same condescension or indifference with which it views theirs. Perhaps they prefer to see cars burning than to dream of one day driving them. Perhaps their reaction to an over-calculated solicitude would instinctively be the same as to exclusion and repression.

The superiority of Western culture is sustained only by the desire of the rest of the world to join it. When there is the least sign of refusal, the slightest ebbing of that desire, the West loses its seductive appeal in its own eyes. Today it is precisely the ‘best’ it has to offer — cars, schools, shopping centres — that are torched and ransacked. Even nursery schools: the very tools through which the car-burners were to be integrated and mothered. ‘Screw your mother’ might be their organizing slogan. And the more there are attempts to ‘mother’ them, the more they will. Of course, nothing will prevent our enlightened politicians and intellectuals from considering the autumn riots as minor incidents on the road to a democratic reconciliation of all cultures. Everything indicates that on the contrary, they are successive phases of a revolt whose end is not in sight.

It might be time for a cultural revolution. The counter-cultural revolution didn’t adhere – money beat love.

I see the horrible resurgence of the non-compassionate, non-christian Christian right as another symptom of this. The riots on the cartoons take hold for similar reasons. The need to hold onto the familiar, no matter how cruel, is a last-gasp measure. Does anyone really believe in rule by mob? Myself, I do not believe that Allah, Jehovah, or being-who-cannot-be-named would approve in the slightest.

I hope there is an alternative to all of this greed and hatred. I hope that we discover it (again?) soon.