Saturday, 31 March 2007

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Classic Acephalous: DISADVENTURE! (Because absolutely nothing of interest happened today, as I lead a boring life. Nothing at all, so keep moving, as nothing happened here, or anywhere else, that would be of any interest to anyone. That said, enjoy this funny thing I wrote last year.) Copyright (c) 1980, 1982, 1983, 2006 Sekocom, Inc. All rights reserved. DISADVENTURE! is a registered trademark of Sekocom, Inc. Revision 23 / Serial number 8940726 West of Apartment Complex You are standing in an open field west of a white apartment complex, with a boarded front door. There is a small mailbox here. > e The door is locked. There is evidently no key. > take key I don't understand that. > kick down door I don't understand that. > w You are in a dimly lit forest, with large trees all around. One particularly large tree with some low branches stands here. > climb tree You are about ten feet above the ground nestled among some large branches. The nearest branch above you is beyond your reach. On the branch is a small birds nest. The birds nest contains: A jewel-encrusted egg. > take egg Taken. > throw egg You must supply an indirect object. > throw egg at grammar nazi I don't understand that. > throw egg at tree The jewel-encrusted egg falls to the ground. > climb down You are in a dimly lit forest, with large trees all around. One particularly large tree with some low branches stands here. > e You are standing in an open field west of a white apartment complex, with a boarded front door. There is a small mailbox here. > s You are behind a white townhouse. In one corner of the townhouse there is a window which is slightly ajar. > open window With great effort, you open the window far enough to allow passage. > climb in window You are in the kitchen of the white townhouse. A table seems to have been used recently for the preparation of food. A passage leads to the west, and a dark staircase can be seen leading upward. To the east is a small window which is open. On the table is an elongated brown sack, smelling of hot peppers. A clear glass bottle is here. The glass bottle contains: A quantity of water. > open sack Opening the brown sack reveals: A clove of garlic. A lunch. > eat lunch Taken. Thank you very much. It really hits the spot. > w You are in the study of the townhouse. A desk has recently been used to write a dissertation. A door leads to a closet. To the east is a litter box which needs to be cleaned. There is a day old brownie on the desk which smells of cat urine. A book is open on the desk. > read book Read. There is a book underneath it that concerns a related topic. > read book Read. There is a book underneath it that concerns...
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The Warden Will See You Now, Mr. Foucault (X-posted from the Valve ... and speaking of disciplining and punishing, the person who has been leaving inappropriate comments; signing me up for every spam mailing list imaginable; and sending me emails of unquestionably threatening content—I would like that person to know that I've logged his address; have filters many and mighty to stem that tide; and laughed when I saw that the emails had been sent from a work account.) Andrew Scull’s review of the new translation of Madness and Civilization is on more than a few people’s minds, and why not? Its relentless criticism of Foucault’s shoddy historiography is meant to provoke: [History], consequently, requires patience and a knowledge of details, and it depends on a vast accumulation of source material. Its “cyclopean monuments” are constructed from “discreet and apparently insignificant truths and according to a rigorous method”; they cannot be the product of “large and well-meaning errors.” In short, [history] demands relentless erudition. Sorry, wrong window—that there is Foucault extolling the virtues of a rigorous genealogy, not Scull criticizing him for his “isolation from the world of facts and scholarship.” I quote it now to dispel the notion that minor historical inaccuracies in Foucault’s work are of little consequence. Put bluntly, they matter; a little more argumentatively, they matter more than their counterparts in conventional histories, because the “effective history” Foucault champions in “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History” approaches “events in terms of their most unique characteristics, their most acute manifestations.” Foucauldian genealogy sweats the small stuff, as it’s in the minutiae that metahistory reveals the limits of its teleology. To say—as some have and others surely will—that the questionable citations and historical inaccuracies in Madness and Civilization in no way challenge the larger theory built upon them is powerfully stupid. Of course they do. Anyone who employs the Foucauldian theory of madness (however defined) must now seriously reconsider whether their work remains structurally sound. Perhaps the evidence they cited meets evidentiary standards; they are not only safe, their work helps validate the utility of the Foucauldian account. Even there, the problem of whether researchers found what they were looking for persists, i.e. had Foucault not coined his theory, they wouldn’t have found what they weren’t looking for. Still, the most dire of Scull’s critiques is that much of [Foucault’s] account of the internal workings and logic of the institutions of confinement, an account on which he lavishes attention, is drawn from their printed rules and regulations. But it would be deeply naive to assume that such documents bear close relationship to the realities of life in these places, or provide a reliable guide to their quotidian logic. As anyone who’s read a blurb of Discipline & Punish knows, the difference between formal, institutional strictures and lived experience is of central importance to his thought. As he writes in “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History,” Rules are empty in themselves, violent and unfinalized; they are impersonal and can be bent to any purpose. Exactly right, Michel, which is why basing your first...

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