awkwardly trying to say i’m cutting edge
#economies of failure
Survival strategies for the disrepaired.reblogged from whateverjeanne
Since that day, the elevator will return to talk about the weather. And the conversations in general will become more difficult.
On the way to a longer reflection — one day, I don’t know exactly when — on my ambivalent feelings about the circulation of that quote that regards how very, very special it is to be in graduate school (which incommensurati responded to so wonderfully), I’m just going to put this right here:
Thinking about mentoring can tell us something about the cluster of promises, the attachments and fantasies, and generally, the double-bind that defines the place of minority discourse in the academy. Doing so also helps us to remember that the university was never a utopian institution, that the current potent rhetoric of its “defense” might unintentionally but deeply be linked to a fantasy of it as harboring its potentiality as such, a fantasy that can render it more difficult to negotiate contemporary conditions, to navigate the academic world and understand the constructs and conditions that privilege certain fantasies and attachments and refuse others. Acknowledgement of the ways that minority discourse sometimes refers to field-practices driven by an attachment to institutionalization per se - to what Roderick Ferguson has referred to as the “will to institutionality” - rather than something like broad-based socio-political transformation toward greater equality and justice, clarifies the importance of sussing out the conditions (structural, affective, epistemological, economic, political, aesthetic) within which the university itself takes priority as object of discourse. Why this attachment? How, in this context, do we relate to aspirations to academia? How do we relate to or apprehend our own aspirations of and to academia?
Kandice Chuh, “on (not) mentoring” Social Text Website: Periscope section (published Jan. 13, 2013).
“What is emotion, Osden?” Haito Tomiko asked him one day in the main cabin, trying to make some rapport with him for once. “What is it, exactly, that you pick up with your empathic sensitivity?”
“Muck,” the man answered in his high, exasperated voice. “The psychic excreta of the animal kingdom. I wade through your faeces”
Ursula K. Le Guin, “Vaster Than Empires and More Slow,” in The Wind’s Twelve Quarters: Stories (NY: Harper Perennial, 1987; original 1970), 187.