Blogs

by Timothy Morton | 10.25.2010

I've been doing some thinking about my “hyperobjects” for my upcoming talk at Loyola, and I realized that hyperobjects are viscous. What do I mean?

by Timothy Morton | 10.24.2010

I did a talk on what I call hyperobjects at CalArts at the beginning of this month. Next week I'm in New Orleans at Loyola University doing the 2.0 version. 1.0 was about plutonium. This one will be about oil.

by Claire Seiler | 10.24.2010

Nauman walks the walk. Slow Angle Walk (Beckett Walk) (1968) does the work of envisioning Watt’s “way of advancing” for you.  I have cast Beckett’s description of Watt’s walk as creating a series of imperatives for the reader: you have to envision Watt’s “way of advancing,” then you have to edit that vision to account for unbending knees and feet, then again for position of head and arms. But really, it’s your prerogative (cue Bobby Brown).

by Alec Hanley Bemis | 10.23.2010

It used to be easy to understand the difference between Pop Music and Art Music. Pop Music was awesome (but kind of slight) and Art Music was awesome (but kind of tedious).

by Gregory Jusdanis | 10.21.2010

The glaze in their eyes gives it away, the slight tightening of their lips, and the nervous breath. When colleagues learn about my new project, they begin to feel sorry for me. “Why friendship of all subjects?” It’s seems quaint to them or just light; in any case, not a legitimate object of inquiry.

by Timothy Morton | 10.19.2010

So I taught a good class today in which I unveiled my prototype object-oriented rhetorical theory. I believe this theory allows nonhuman objects to communicate rhetorically in every meaningful sense of that word, without assuming they have a mind or anything. I know, it's weird isn't it?

by Andrew Goldstone | 10.19.2010

Name your favorite historical master narratives!

by Claire Seiler | 10.19.2010

One of the challenges of reading the works of Samuel Beckett, novelist, versus seeing the works of Samuel Beckett, dramatist, is, in fact, seeing. Or envisioning what you’re reading. Bruce Nauman’s film, Slow Angle Walk (Beckett Walk) (1968), both reminded and relieved me of that difficulty.

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