Saturday, July 4, 2009

We are melancholic since the picture plane invention of prisons. (Graeber, McLuhan)

Play is all we have to treat our progressive pathologies. And so why do our children, who bring so much joy, also make us sad? Perhaps because they make us adults, perpetual servants to reason.

4 comments:

(Text)ure and (me)aning said...

yes the prison system
dont get me started..
how true P.J
Brilliant post.

I just giggled at your under arm
in Megs post
looked at this post
then sighed
and realized my arm had moved from
elbow up in funny underarm stretch
to pensive thought pose,
without really changing position.


(my secret word is REDNESS,
love those secret words!)

The Garden of Self-Defence said...

i originally left this post as a comment here.

i like the idea of posts starting life as comments - seems so connected to everything, so perfectly arbitrary.

Simon said...

There was a kid in the launderette today pointing a toy gun at me, telling me I had to surrender. "No way" I said "You'll have to kill me first". Then he said he was only joking. Made my day it did.

My boy did 30 days in Colchester glasshouse. Best time of his life he reckons. He still lies quite a lot.

The Garden of Self-Defence said...

that's brilliant simon. my boy is obsessed with toy guns, he holds me up and says 'your under a'rest daddy', and i say 'it's true i'm under a tree resting'.