tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260529726656118434.post4073620230849882373..comments2023-10-06T00:52:04.371-07:00Comments on news from the zona: a Zona joke for the 401(k) zekRoger Gathmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11257400843748041639noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260529726656118434.post-26689193947312616892009-03-05T19:48:00.000-08:002009-03-05T19:48:00.000-08:00That is some passage from Cicero. So Mr.C was hear...That is some passage from Cicero. So Mr.C was hearing Stygian sounds in Rome.<BR/>And is that an exact quote from Ralph Ellison about changing the joke and slipping the yoke? It is great! Bataille's take on Hegel is just that in a way.<BR/>I wonder if the bosses can hear the zona soundtrack, dare hearing - let alone translating- sybilline soundtracks. Maybe, instead of reading op-ed columns in the NYT, WaPO, WSJ, etc., one might listen to Kafka's "the burrow". <BR/>AmieAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260529726656118434.post-89814677194635890822009-03-05T07:44:00.000-08:002009-03-05T07:44:00.000-08:00Hey, it worked! Okay, I was saying - at length, bu...Hey, it worked! Okay, I was saying - at length, but now I've forgotten half of it - that I puzzled over how to talk about the sibyl to sibyl call and response, which is why I settled on dialectics. Because the sibylline self is divinely mad, I'm not sure if you can fall back upon it - or at least that moment of return is the moment when the prophet's mask comes off. Dialectics as I was thinking of it was less Hegelian than Ralph Ellisonian - what he called change the joke and slip the yoke. <BR/><BR/>Well, I hope that makes some sense. I loved the Dostoevskian toss off line of Simone's about freedom, "because if we ain't we're murderers."<BR/><BR/>And, to finish up, I looked up Cicero's on Divination, in which he launches a sideways attack on the Sibyl. Here is how it starts:<BR/><BR/>PS – I notice that Cicero, in On Divination, surreptitiously attacks the Sibyl. But here is a great line, very a propos of our sibyls:<BR/><BR/>“But what authority has this same ecstasy, which you choose to call divine, that enables the madman to foresee things inscrutable to the sage, and which invests with divine senses a man who has lost all his human ones?”<BR/><BR/>Indeedy, boss. This is a great puzzle to the archons of the zona. They can’t figure it out.Roger Gathmannhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11257400843748041639noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260529726656118434.post-14599563418433273712009-03-05T07:39:00.000-08:002009-03-05T07:39:00.000-08:00None of my comments on your comment have shown up,...None of my comments on your comment have shown up, Amie. This is so discouraging! Let's see if this works.Roger Gathmannhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11257400843748041639noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260529726656118434.post-87981809840062041382009-03-04T18:32:00.000-08:002009-03-04T18:32:00.000-08:00I like the idea of an Anti-Servility International...I like the idea of an Anti-Servility International. I haven't checked it out on facebook yet, my bad. But may I suggest it should have a motto and a song to go with it, if it doesn't already.<BR/>Speaking of songs, that is quite the dialectical soundtrack between the choruses of Simone's Sinnerman and Franklin's Think. You're on to something there.<BR/>Of course the country music, talk radio listening folks might not quite like this dialectic. They might not want to sign-up for Anti-Servility International, not that I'm suggesting that indicates (pro)servility. They are so anti-authority and guv'mint as everyone knows.<BR/>I also wonder if there isn't an irreducible difference between song/singing and dialectics, in as much as dialectics is about the return to oneself and song/singing might just be the experience of being thrown out of oneself, a shattered self.<BR/><BR/>Let's just listen. <BR/><BR/><BR/>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mvRPekFqJg<BR/><BR/>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dlrXCYrNYI&feature=related<BR/><BR/>AmieAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com