First published 2010

Corvid College

© Copyright 2011, some rights reserved, essential freedoms permitted. Copyleft: Endroit: Urban Sojourns: The Art of Traveling is a free cultural work by Joseph Christian Greer licensed under the Free Art License 1.3, GNU Free Documentation License 1.3, and Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You are free to use it under the terms of any of these three licenses. Contact Corvid College by searching for “Corvid College” on the net or by sending an email to thecultzine@gmail.com Special Thanks to FEAST MA; Rob G; Clare S.; Josh D.; James M.; Nerissa C.; Eric B.; John C.; Andy B; Danny P. Cover Art by Andy Brown: andybrown83@tiscali.co.uk Editorial Oversight by Golden Arrows: http://goldenarrows.us


Section I: Philosophy à pied Section II: Geo-Phrenology Section III: Tales From Afar Section IV: Territorial Tactics

How does this map work? It doesn’t tell me anything other than what some people think about where lines should be drawn.

Just as “perception always intercedes between reality and ourselves” we can affirm that “the Map is not the Territory’” and thus “pai-ma fei ma”.
who was writing a postcard -Rene Magritte speaking to Count Korzybski to Gongsun Longzi

Introduction Alle Ding’ sind Gift, und nichts ohn’ Gift; allein die Dosis macht, daß ein Ding kein Gift ist. Conventionally, introductions strive to map out the terrain that is to be covered in the book to follow. Like a topographical map, they plot the thematic contours, discursive elevation, and general points of interest yet to be trod by the reader. If there is not too much throat clearing and distracting window dressing, introductions are designed to help readers know what they are in for, at least partially, and in accordance with what the author has in mind for their text. In sum, introductions threaten to take all the adventure out of reading. Instead of reading, you may as well sit at home and read a book, or, rather, a collection of introductions. This book was inspired by a band of friends brought together through circumstance and held together by desire. The circumstance was a class called The Art of Traveling: Urban Sojourns offered by the Cambridge based free skool Corvid College.1 The desire was to undermine, subvert, mock, avoid, play with, and transcend the trappings of tourism in the hopes of being something else (that is to say other than a tourist) when moving through space and time. Tourism is the dominant mode of travel offered to those of us in the class and it was in opposition to this that we came together. However, it was not simply an aversion to something that inspired the formation and propagation of our band; what kept us together was of the opposite polarity; our band was grounded in conviviality and determined imagination. It was not what Nietzsche called a ‘politics of resentment’, but a politics of creation, a politic that was everything but political. The spark of the pioneer ignited our curiosity. It was not long that we identified the distaste we had towards tourism to be the inherent sentiment of a tourist. Walking away from this distaste and the all-consuming logic of tourism meant fashioning alternatives out of the raw material of our lives. We ransacked cultural spheres and looted all we found useful. From anthropology we found methodologies and fixed our gaze on that which lay behind and on the margins of the epoche, from philosophy we located the mechanism which determines subjective boundaries and the malleable contents of conceptualizations, in musicology we stumbled upon the hidden luxuries of “touring’”, in religious studies we met the pilgrim, divination, and sacred geography, through architecture we learned to see psychogeographically, and in poetry we encountered the encounter and the counter-encounter, the evasion.2 Our passions illuminated the steps that lead from the grassy hills of Whitman to the mountainous ridges of Percy to the dizzying zones created by Peter Lamborn Wilson to the Escher-esque labyrinths that encircle Debord. Along train tracks, inside of industrial ruins, submerged in twilight waters, freezing in jail cells, the terrain we covered wore our souls thin and thereby brought us ever closer to the fire that
1 Some have called it an ‘anarchist’ college and they may not have been completely mistaken, but above any underlining aversion to authoritarian systems of organization and hierarchal control, the college is more like a philosophical school, like the cynics, where the roles of teacher and student are often forgotten in the rich mélange of community, care, and passion

melts the partitions that separate us from where we are going. An introduction is supposed to map out the terrain to follow. But maps all too readily become the territory for the unwary traveler. In the effort to engage the attraction that seduces us to partakes in what we shall call, for the moment, ‘literary tourism’ we shall make of this introduction something else. Not a map, but a class photo. Us, smiling back at you who is the stranger, the fellow-traveler. We cannot give you what we had; a book should not be expected to do this. Neither should a class photo. The most we can hope is that this book haunts you, that it interrogates the life that promises you the day when you will have the “free time” or resources to travel. It is our hope that the contents of this book will stain your fingers and poison you: let our poisoned antidote make madmen of you.

Section I: Philosophy à Pied

EVOCATION OF MY DEMON BROTHER Born on Mount Cyllene, sired by Zeus and birthed by Maia, Hermes served as the god of secrets and borderlands, as well as protector of those who carry the former over the latter. He is psychopomp and trickster, as well as the patron of travelers, drug users, and miscreants. Supplication to Hermes, perhaps more so than any other god, readies the traveler for the road and the unknown better than any guide or foreknowledge. This is the ingredient that transforms tourism into traveling, a movement that is akin to moving from Chemistry to Alchemy. Like the process involved in attempting the Great Work, or the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, heralding Hermes before a journey transforms the self so as to make it impossible to engage in the otherwise one-sided, and thus impoverished, world of tourist geo-circumvention. Hermes manifests the possibility of, to use the Alchemical language, a unification beyond unity, a building up that is at once a critical distancing and a willful return.1 Q: What is tourism but the confirming of promised expectation? Vivisection of a tourist destination: “The Grand Canyon is [insert adjective] so come and see it” and so you go and see it and either confirm the promise made by the preestablished conception of the place (in which case the place can be deemed “satisfactory”) or you cannot in which case you are disappointed. It is this matter of criteriology, which Walker Percy deals with exceptionally well, despite his failure to develop what would be the apex of his
In his text Magic Without Tears, Aleister Crowley described the equation behind the alchemical transformation of self by stating: “The Great Work is the uniting of opposites. It may mean the uniting of the soul with God, of the microcosm with the macrocosm, of the female with the male, of the ego with the non-ego.”

idea, namely, a solution to the dialectical problematic of “packaging”. Here, allow me to recommend his short essay, “The Loss of the Creature”. Tourism is not desirable to us. It is cheap and lazy, and unfulfilling in comparison to what it paves over. It is pure “Spectacle” as the Situationists would say, for, it makes a spectator of you. In effect its motto is: “Don’t think, just gorge yourself on the same banal shit we shove out to everyone. Trust us, you will love it.” We will, no doubt, hear more from the Situationists later on. So, then, what are the other options? They are legion. Anthropology or Ethnography, archeology, journalism, hitchhiking, music or poetic touring, pilgrimages to name just a few. And what of undomesticated travel? What about the drifter, wanderer, wayfarer, or vagrant? This wildness, this is what interests us as we move through time and space. These shall stand as our modes of traveling from now on and tourism shall not. Understood vulgarly, Alchemy arrives at the desired result through precise procedures and ingredients. Following a somewhat superficial level of discourse, the ingredients we shall use are tourism and the self. As it is used here, the “self ” is meant to be understood as your understanding of yourself insofar as it is the pivotal element in the unending assemblage of meaning that occurs in the movement through time and space.2 As a base material, tourism exists as a crude, foul smelling phenomena that nevertheless has a reality that can and should be mutated. Tourism, as both an idea and an activity, is the creation of a thought-structure that must by its very nature efface the mutability or particularities of the individual. The idea behind tourism is thus: This place is paradise, so, thus, you must enjoy it regardless of whoever you are. To repeat the old Disney truism, “It the most magical place on earth.” Now we know that that place does not exist, it is merely an idea attached to a bit of turf. It is an idea that is grafted on top of reality that is then sold for a premium. Similarly, travel guides and package deals repeat this selling in a different form: they sell myths. The self that refuses to buy the myths sold in the tourist experience stands as indeed more wealthy in that s/he is free to negotiate what they experience on their own terms. Describing the reaction that occurs when you add the self that refuses to tourism that offers is to also describe the result. You see, it does not suffice to say “add this to this and then you have this”. Speaking as such displays the vulgarity of discussing alchemy on a superficial level. The aim of Alchemy, The Great Work, was never the production of gold, it was the formation of the higher self, and, so too, there is no distance between procedure and ingredients in producing traveling from tourism. We are not really adding anything to anything, but
1 For

the majority of people in the Western world the feeling that one is separate from one’s context is the central feature of conscious. What is taken as separate is understood as one’s identity. This feeling can be articulated in the belief that “The organism is different from the environment”. It both harkens back to the myth of biological Genesis (“when was I created? When the sperm fertilized the egg? When my dad met my mom? When I took my first breath?”) and gestures towards the promise made by any religion that offers salvation. Lets agree to untie that knot by cutting it. Hold my hand as we take this tiny leap. [LEAP] What if the self/other is a false binary? What if that binary is just the baggage of our great-great-great-great-great grandfathers and grandmothers? I would venture to say that consciousness, by its own capacity to work, is not actuality subject to verbal or even cognitive explanation insofar as it does not seem to be something that is self-evident, that is to say, worthy of ontologization. Now all we have to do is forget all there is to forget so we can do instead of just forgetting all the time.

rather we are setting the stage for a radical undoing. This undoing occurs within the individual on the leveling of conception. In singling out the self from tourism we have come to see how both rely on the other for meaning and that when one is distilled from the other both can be mutated in advantageous ways. In isolating tourism, the self wins back the ability to comprehend the variables that can be weighed in any situation. The primary methodology for mobilizing this new found (but always possessed) savior-faire is “the drift” as Guy Debord called it, or to use Hakim Bey’s term, the “TAZ”. We will return to these terms later on. What would it take for you to be able to drift around town for an afternoon? A week? It is a matter of meaning, or, to be more specific and, once again vulgar, not making meaning in any recognizable way. It is the ability to allow meaning to arise and depart in conjunction with the physical environment. Meaning meaning meaning. What does it mean to mean? Who were you before you were born? What is the sound of one hand clapping? You see how these words act as invocations for entire complexes of thought? These thoughts are the same as the products sold to you by tourism, but more primary. They are the building blocks that compose the products that tourism sells. Be communists of the heart and anarchist of the soul, these are the secrets of the Alchemical Traveler God, Hermes. Take on, give in, give out. Allow the charge of a city to short-circuit you; allow the confusion to drowned out the sirens and TVs let it saturate your skin and dye your insides. Still more, traveling is a movement that forsakes the thoughts that function in accordance with the passage through time and space. Far from something you think through, traveling produces its own rhythm, and in so doing it engenders its own logic. Thinking is a secondary function of traveling as it comes about as a product of traveling. Being, as Nietzsche said “close to the skin” means that traveling is not one thing, or static, but a harmony that looks like a dance, a dance that feels like a harmony. It is before the most basic units of thought, it is as foolish as the sun shining on a man, a dog, and a cliff.

THE ROAD GOES EVER ON It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,” he used to say. “ You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. As an element of architecture, the ambulatory is the covered passage that encloses a cloister, which is an open area within a larger compound. Ambulatory also means “a place for walking”. These two definitions do well to illustrate the manner in which travel can be understood. Futurist and philosopher Robert Anton Wilson uses the terms “ethnological territory” and “ideological territory” to describe the same two-part structure of traveling. Relating to the “place for walking” aspect of the word, as well as Wilson’s “ethnologial territory”, the first aspect of traveling is the physical terrain. This includes the dirt, vegetation, flora, fauna, structures, inhabitants, and weather. Everything that Deep Ecology philosopher Arne Naess termed the “concrete contents” of reality. The second aspect of traveling refers to the “covered passage” aspect of ambulatory and Wilson’s “ideological territory”. This aspect of traveling is what transforms the “concrete contents” of a place into a defined location. Essentially, the second aspect is the drawing of borders and the act of separating and naming. Whereas the first aspect is best described as “neuro-mucular space”, the second concerns “the right to define space according to an ideology”. Accordingly, the central question is, “what is at stake in defining space ?” It seems obvious that the “concrete contents” are more real than the ideological definitions that define them, but this is not so. In fact every society, and therefore every mode of production, produces a definition of space which in turns comes to exist as more real than the space itself. This is why there is so much argument and disparity between how maps are drawn: see the controversy between the Transverse Mercator map projection, the Gall–Peters projection, and the Dymaxion map or Fuller map. Behind the guise of cartographic accuracy, certain power brokers (i.e. governments, multi-national corporations, religious/ethnic groups) are highly invested in making sure you subscribe to the ideological territory boundaries they literally go to war to defend. Why? In The Production of Space, Lefebvre argues that the notion of space itself is a complex social construction which defines the practices and perceptions that can occur at any given time. Further, Lefebvre argues that this complex construction of space is define by a hegemonic class as a tool to reproduce its dominance. -J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings

A LAST WORD ON TOURISM (BECAUSE YOU COULD SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE DRINKING HATERAIDE) The tourist is always looking for “the authentic”, and if that cannot be found then they must settle for an “experience”. Lacking that they demand an artifact that represents the authentic or an experience or the authentic experience. The tourist industry responds to this craving in increasingly more ingenious ways; it cannot but continuously repackage a culture or a tradition in more digestible and ever more pathetic ways. Predictably, the effect that the creation and selling of culture, or a tradition, or an experience of either has is exactly the opposite of what the tourist desires: as the search for authenticity becomes more profitable so too does it recede even farther into the realm of the staged. The tourist glaze can only see performances and spectacles, nothing else. Of cultures it makes actors and service industries, of vistas it makes photo spots and postcards, of locality it makes exploitation and commodity. In answering the question, “what was it like?” they further blind themselves to anything meaningful by comparing what they did see to what they believe they should have seen as supply by media, tourism, etc. Love, and life in general can be understood in this light. For, to see with other eyes would be to become something else. Is the tourist like the hero of old who sought knowledge and wisdom through a journey into the unknown? No, for these ‘heroes,’ do little more than carry, as Gerhard Schlatter wrote, “their limited, limitable knowledge along with them, within their own limits, everywhere they go, all of it available on the inside of their own limitations.” Schlatter is right in gong even further; these heros, he writes, “are not requited with knowledge and wisdom, then, as the ancient proclamations teach, but with their own projective corroboration of the exotic. Tourists are the ‘ignorant abroad.’” They journey through the imaginary geography of the tourist industry and their route to thinking, seeing, discovering, and feeling is sterilized by the perceptual reality of their “homeland”—to which, in their far-off adventures, they always take their ultimate orientation.

O’ PIONEERS, GO FORTH AND BE RUTHLESS IN YOUR ROMANCES You co-create the space in which you travel. Time works similarity. That is to say time and space are both negotiations. Existential morphology, then, is at the heart of travel, or, at least it is “at the heart” of that which we are attempting to conceptualize when we use the term “travel”. Leaving aside that people, like cities, can be heartless we shall turn our gaze to this morphology, or, more particularly, the modes that can be undertaken by “travelers”. The term “traveler” is in scare marks so as to indicate how the word itself is caught up in assumptions, implications, directionalities that form a momentum which carries us to a place that we may not necessarily have chosen or even want to be at. Stated plainly, a traveler is a someone. Being, or playing rather, that someone, that character, may in fact prevent us from being something more pleasing, erotic, satisfying…. The space between traveler and self is a site for negotiation, evasion, and creation. Like all good negotiations we have something that is wanted and provided we know what we want we should not be afraid to bribe, strong-arm, or coerce our way to it. The battleground for this negotiation is our mentality, the currency is our imagination. So, refuse the label “traveler”, construct a no-name name. While it is tempting to use the word “traveler” it is far too impoverished a concept to help us move through time and space. (Plus, it may helpful to keep in mind that part of the term’s bankruptcy can be witnessed in the unseemly connotations that are attached to the people who use that term uncritically.) Clearly, we are not even interested in “tourist” either. But that is not to say we are not interested in “tourism”, or “traveling”. We are. We want it all. We are psychic mercenaries, and as such we are free to ransack any sociological category (or “Traveler’s Only lodging”) for tools to help us move through time and space. Holy Pilgrims, Anthropologists, Monkeywrenchers, Graffiti artists, Thieves, Hashish Connoisseurs, Sex fiends, Science fiction writers… We assume these roles when we move through time and space. Their ends are our ends, but ours ends is not theirs. Ultimately, what we have is a question of means and the meaning of means.

TECHNATURALISM Imagine collecting all of the punched tickets, stamped documents, signed papers, vaccination reports, and ID cards you have accumulated in the course of your travels. In the galaxy of assorted papers of various shapes, color, and sizes, there is a person represented via documentation. This documentation is the way, the mechanism, in which people are transformed into populations and populations into paperwork. Thus, documentation is not merely representation; the presence of those papers and the ink upon them have come to constitute the person as far as the institutions which issue those papers are concerned. What has occurred is a radical reversal. You are now the shadow of the paperwork which documents you. When were you born? Was it the moment you took your first breath of air? The moment you were delivered from your mother’s womb? The moment the sperm fertilized the egg? Has it yet to occur? To these wonderful questions and the wild speculations they invite the shadow self resolutely refuses to speculate. This self, made of paper, has a certificate that states, explicitly, the year, month, hour, minute, and second which it believes you were born. On top of this, it references its own opinions in regards to the name allocated to places. To the Lakota child it says, ‘Turtle island never existed. You were born in America.” There can be no further conversation. The shadow self, which has become more real than you, exists in a world of shadows that are all right angles and completely alien to lust, messiness, sensation, thrills, and warmth. This world is indeed a hell realm. What is more is that the flesh and blood you cannot escape this other world if you intend on living in the plane of existence, suspiciously termed “everyday life”, that hosts the nexus between the shadow and the flesh. Moreover, the shadow you remains your enemy as it belongs to those who aspire to be your master. Always ready to blackmail or betray you, this bastard “you” of false origins cannot but snitch to the authorities, blathered to advertisers about everything you have purchased, gush about the amount of money you have saved, spew words about who you voted for, who your wife is, where you traveled last, what your grades where in school, all of which are parts of the shadow economy fueled on paper and fashioned to blackmail. The face of this shadow self,

this papier-mâché ghoul, is permanently fixed in time. An undead image of a make believe person, dead to the world but alive and well in the fiendish underworld of bureaucracy. And long after you shed this mortal coil which cannot but return to the soils of the earth, this specter will continue to roam the country-sides and cities as a pitiful hungry ghost. Condemned to inform on you to anyone who cares to listen, it will carry with it proof of everything that can be proven. Not content with merely replicating your life in a lifeless paper clone, the shadow economy of bureaucracy demands even your death, and it shall have it via certificate, carbon copied in duplicate.

PLACE AS A WORK OF ART The term psychogeography comes originally from Situationism [...] and it holds that experience that humans are more influenced by their context, by what’s going on outside them than any sort of internal drive or internal, innate traits. There is nothing innately human but rather everything is enculturated. The key dialectic is between inside and outside, with an emphasis on the outside. -Matthew von Unwerth This wall is a manifesto, it is shard of glass reflecting the sun, it is a picture in a book on traveling. The question before us is ‘what shapes our perception of it?’ Our memories, which determine the context in which we see it for the first or last time do the lion’s share of the shaping. Determinism, then, does not mean that we are not free to do what we like in the present, which is eternal. Determinism works upon another species of thought, it orbits the present and its gravity moves us to interpret the present as well as remember the past according to a certain frame of reference. Everything that we perceive as occurring to us is cataloged and done so according to a filing system. This filing system is memory, and it is designed by what has already occurred, which in turn prefigures what can be perceived in the future (which is simply the filing system working in reverse).

NOSTALGIA AND THE WIL TO BUY A TICKET I shall never forget the tortures of an ultra-poetic intoxication constrained by decorum and antagonised by duty. -Charles Baudelaire translated by Aleister Crowley Nostalgia is a momentary shift in the experience of embodiment (which in itself is always dynamic), wherein the composition and arrangement of the present is reorganized according to one’s memory of the past as it exists within the moment the shift takes place. To say that this memory, or indeed all memory is a “fiction” is to mislead insofar as the term “fiction’” presupposes its oppositional referent, namely, “reality”; memory is neither “reality” nor “fiction” as it belongs to a different economy of signification. It belongs to a household that does not value phenomena in terms of the bankrupt true/false binary. In a word, nostalgia is the shadow cast by the dusky horizon of the present. To experience nostalgia is to act, subconsciously, on a dissatisfaction with the present; it is the fleeting, melancholic embrace of one self with another more ephemeral self. It can be

the most inspiring act of affirming one can gesture if one heeds its call, for, like adrenaline, it is triggered by the body out of necessity. To feel nostalgic is a natural defense mechanism against a wholly inadequate state-of-the-art, or, as Peter Gay put it when describing secondcentury Rome, “[their] indiscriminate antiquarianism was not so much a cause as a symptom - of exhaustion, of self contempt.” Nostalgia, then, is the psychedelic remedy to a moment that has gone on all too long and has become all too unbearable. Nostalgia is the moment before you decide to shake an etch-a-sketch sand mandala drawing of you and your friends. But one must make sure to mind several distinctions when discoursing on nostalgia. First, the question of accuracy as it relates to the question of reality. In a word, to feel nostalgia is to feel misplaced. The feeling that is felt when one is nostalgic is an ephemeral longing to be with something or someone else despite the actual existence of that thing or person, now or ever. Thus, one must confront the question of “realness” insofar as one is forced to legitimate the feelings one has to oneself and others. But can a feeling ever be justified beyond having the feeling itself ? What Grand Inquisitor would demand such an admission? Unfortunately, our life is rife with them. So, perhaps the first question one must face when weighing the legitimacy of nostalgia concerns justifiability, or, one’s right to feel nostalgic. Understood in the sense of the question, “what gives you the right to feel nostalgic?” one must confront the issue that what is being remember and subsequently longed for may, in fact, be a distortion of reality, a willful partiality born of the imagination. To this threat, we must be bold enough to declare a profound disinterest in “reality”, for, in feeling nostalgic we are perceiving reality in a way that can not be any more “real” to us. Abandoning nostalgia on the grounds that it cannot be justified according to an “objective” reading of one’s biography, or one’s history, is nothing short of cowardliness. An especially unforgivable form of abdication as it arose in the face of an authority made of cardboard which calls itself “objective”. This cardboard authority seeks to condemn you to a life of perpetual banality by shackling you to the mundane, to the everyday. There can be no authority outside the self and what it feels. In this way, we must understand nostalgia as a tool which the subconscious employs for leverage. It assailing the mind with potent images, phantasmic sensations of pleasure, interpersonal warmth... so as to interrogate the barren sociality of the present. More powerful than the ever-present doubts that make the structure of routine creak in the winds of change, nostalgia is a psychic saboteur. It masks, forges, tampers, and seduces out of its undying allegiance to fashioning a life worth a damn. This brings us to the second distinction. The difference between appreciating nostalgia and exploiting it. Similar to appreciating a good wine, nostalgia can be savored for what it is, that is, as an “is” that merits attention. Precious as it is delicate, nostalgia can be, in its most exquisite form, a silent conversation with oneself where honesty sheds her heavy armor for something lighter, a garment that moves with the breeze and in so doing assumes different forms; it dances like the flame of a candle. It asks only of the attention one would grant to a puddle overflowing into a sewer, or a waterfall in a secluded forest, a smoldering pipe. Nostalgia is a spirit journey parlayed in the currency of necessity. Sontag, in her work Unguided Tour, was correct in stating, “Devotion to the past [is] one of the more disastrous forms of unrequited love”, yet, it must be added that the reason for this is that the past, as Hartley suggested, is a “foreign country” wherein things are done differently. On those craggy shores and in those towns, they could never accept the anachronism that is you.

REFLECTIONS ON OLDE YORK, OR, ANSWERING THE PAST A journal, filled in each evening with the day’s thoughts, carefully seasoned with local color, in which the absolute truth of the theorem would be set forth in the beginning- namely that the difference between something and nothing is nothing. -Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky I once dared myself, in print, to reflect on Amsterdam and the city formerly known as New Amsterdam. Having somewhat recently left the latter (after finishing graduate school there) and even more recently visited the former, I felt I was entitled to weigh in on life by using these places and their particular name(s), arbitrary as they are, as literary vehicles. It only seems right to use the names of geographic locations as a platform for reflecting, for what is geography if not a reflection in itself: the word “Amsterdam” only exists on maps, it is not a feature of the soil as nationalism would have you believe. But that is not to say that profound stories have not been created on such platform. Assuredly they have. So, here we are, together, you and I, happy travelers. But the reflection at hand still bears our attention. I began this reflection by focusing on the names “Amsterdam” and “New Amsterdam” (did I mention this was the name of New York before it was changed?) because I had never been to Old York(e) and thus could not make my literary vehicle start, so to speak, if I was discussing New York. My thinking was that since I had never been to Old York(e) I could not really say much about New York by way of comparison.1 Actually, I did not really think the conundrum out. I simply moved onto the discussion of Amsterdam, Old Amsterdam, and New Amsterdam. Maybe this is the type of thing that separates an academic mind from a mind that writes fiction, that is to say, perhaps someone who would be interested in writing the particular way that defines “fiction” (whatever that is) is working by different “rules”, and therefore playing a different game. Oh how we love games even if most of them follow the “Simon Says” or the Jailbreak limit-structure.

8 It may have been a better piece if I just imagined what Old York(e) was like and compared that to my impression of New York. I would have said, “What if Old York, the York of pre-America England, was similar to New York in terms of...”, sort of like that song “What if God Was one of Us?”, but, less catchy. I heard Roland Barthes wrote a book about Japan this way. Tolkein and Herbert did this kind of thing and called it fiction. Oddly enough, I have just returned from York and upon unpacking my things I found the dare I wrote to myself which mentioned the Amsterdam thing. That is why I wrote the above.

HOW TO BUILD A UNIVERSE THAT FALLS APART TWO DAYS LATER The answer I have come up with may not be correct, but it is the only answer I have. It has to do with time. My theory is this: In some certain important sense, time is not real. Or perhaps it is real, but not as we experience it to be or imagine it to be. I had the acute, overwhelming certitude (and still have) that despite all the change we see, a specific permanent landscape underlies the world of change: and that this invisible underlying landscape is that of the Bible; it, specifically, is the period immediately following the death and resurrection of Christ; it is, in other words, the time period of the Book of Acts

-Philip K. Dick, How to Build a Universe That Doesn’t Falls Apart Two Days Later

Take for example an instance where someone asks you if you know of a certain restaurant. Upon hearing the name of the place your mind conjures up an image, a sort of mental photograph that you associate with the name of the restaurant. If you cannot recognize the image your mind conjured up then you have either forgotten the place or have never been there. What is important here, now, is the case where you do not know of the place and you have never been there, because it is then that you create a place in your mind that has no physical referent. It is this imaginary place that you will live until you go to the place in question. While a part of you will always expect to find that place you created, you will never be able to visit it. However, if you could describe, in perfect detail, all of these imaginary places to yourself you could build a city, a planet, a universe, a lover.

Your memory of this text this far is the firmament upon which this post-script stands. More than contextualized, the body of the text which now seems distant in the past is in fact still lingering, continuing to haunt us. The only change between now and then is in the status of us as readers, and the signage that marks the border between body and post-script. But borders are always strategic and thereby never worthy of being acknowledged.

Section II: Postcards or Geo-Phrenology

“When riding in a car I used to imagine that shadows cast on the road by street signs or trees or lamp posts were ramps and that you had to land on a shadow so that the car could gain enough air to get to the next shadow.”


PSYCHOGEOGRAPHY OF A PARTY Let us admit that we have attended parties where for one brief night a republic of gratified desires was attained. Shall we not confess that the politics of that night have more reality and force for us than those of, say, the entire U.S. Government? -Hakim Bey, TAZ Think of a medieval township amidst a festival. You have an area for sportjousting perhaps; an area for grog, revelry and barter- an especially rowdy inn or tavern; an area for sexual license- the brothel; and an area for music- a traveling bard or troupe could be in town. We can, I believe, profitably transpose this image atop that of a contemporary youth party. Sport- keg cuppery; Grog, revelry and barter- keg; Sexual License- makeout room or unused bedroom; Music- dance room. We profit from this transposition insofar as we need to be able to become meta-programming machines, that is to say, we should be able to recontextulize space and time at our will if we are ever to “break the spell” of consumerism, Capitalism, and most importantly, Boredom. Your street- a bulwark; the policean evil king; your family, friends and lovers- a pirate ship; this book- ashes.

SHOHI WA BITOKU Homelessness today is a postmodern condition of existential disaffection: nostalgia for the experience of nostalgia. - Jennifer Robertson, Furusato Japan: The Politics of Nostalgia In the hangover of the “economic miracle” that swept Japan in the 80s, many salary men lost their jobs and livelihoods. Thus, homelessness became a rapidly growing phenomenon. It is not uncommon to see Japanese people standing in awe of some of the architectural monuments created by the people who have been forced to “live on the streets” both literally and figuratively. While it is not a prominent position, there is a slow growth of Japanese youths who look to these men and women as starkly inspiring examples of people who live outside of the rigid corporate structure. Some impute to them a freedom that is otherwise lost in the Japanese lifeworld.

LOVE HOTEL Due to the scarcity of space in Tokyo, it is not uncommon for Japanese people to live with their parents well beyond their twenties and possibly into their thirties. This, predictably, makes romantic liaisons a somewhat difficult thing. As a result, downtown Tokyo, and especially the red-light district formerly known as “fujiwara” but now reffered to as “Kabukicho”, is covered in love hotels. These establishments rent rooms by the hour and specialize in creating a sensual atmosphere. I had the pleasure of staying in one whilst I lived in Tokyo. psychogeographically, it is exactly what it should be.

“THE STREET FINDS ITS OWN USES FOR THINGS” This fella here, which was then Tokyo, sold a variety of legal street drugs. Like Salvia or K2, what he sells is legal on account of the fact that it is too new for the government to have banned it. Having been disabused of seeing “progress” as the orientation of science, the fact that substances like these continue to be manufactured is a good indication that experimentation may lie at the heart of the matter. That is to say, curiosity may be what is at stake every time you go to work or school or follow a law.

NATION OF GODS AND EARTHS Previously known as the Street Academy, the Allah School in Mecca was founded in 1966 by Clarence Smith, or Clarence 13X as he was known to many around him. Known alternatively, as The Nation of Gods and Earths and the Five Percenters, the thinkery pictured above teaches a form of knowledge call The Universal Language, which is based on a numerological system, not dissimilar to those found in the Kabbalah, called Supreme Mathematics and the Supreme Alphabet. Along with the term “God”, the Five Percenters use a backronym Arm, Leg, Leg, Arm, Head symbolizing Allah, in reference to each other as they believe man was created in Allah’s image. Eric B & Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, Wu-Tang Clan, Busta Rhymes, and Jedi Minds Tricks have all propagated the tenets of the belief system, and their influence can be observed in hip-hop through the ubiquitous use of the term “peace” as well as “B-Boy stance” which is based upon the “truth of square” stance.

FUNG WAH This picture was taken in the bathroom of a Fung Wah bus. Known as the “Chinatown bus”, the Fung Wah company used to shuttle elderly Chinese people between the Boston and New York Chinatowns for a nominal fee, something around $5. Tickets to these buses were sold behind the counter at Chinese bakeries and it was rare to find an English speaker among any of the “staff ”, who usually were not only bakers and ticket vendors, but also bus drivers. What is striking about the picture to the left though is two-fold. First, how is the number scrawled on the wall intended to be seen? Was it meant to be understood as an honest advertisement? If so, the individual(s) behind such an operation should be applauded for their courage to “take all comers”. I imagine every time the phone rings they prepare themselves for the unexpected. If this is the case, then reproducing the number here would not be a violation of their enterprise. Godspeed you Don Quixotes of the drug game.

EVERGLADES PANTY TREE I like to think Charles Darwin would’ve appreciated this derive as a sound survival mechanism, the only possible way to stay mentally fit in the psychotic entrails of a 21st century megalopolis. -Will Self This tree stands out in the middle of the Florida Everglades. What is particular about it is the fact that is it only accessible by airboat. Why this is of note is because the clothes hanging from the tree are all mangled remnants of girls panties. Here, we are able to triangulate mode of transportation, purpose, and territory, albeit in a horrifying way. Strolling is similar in that it is a mode of transportation that (if performed correctly, which is to say not for exercise) can align ideological space and physical space in the construction of a situation. Randomized transit or wandering wrestles ideological control of locations (that is to say the power to define what a location is) away from the cultural hegemons on account of the wander’s identity as a wanderer and not the identity the cultural hegemons attempt to inscribe. In place of the one-dimensional spacial images produced by these hegemons, the wander can observe the complex interplay of competing specialities. In this sense the wanderer is like the ronin or the high plains drifter who arrives in town to settle scores, and while the wander may not possess superhuman sword skills or a lightening fast draw s/he is nevertheless is in an advantageous position in regards to the forces at work.

DUCHAMP WAS RIGHT: LIFE AS INSTITUTIONAL CRITICISM Traveling is going about the Earth to meditate on the spectacle of the vestiges of bygone centuries and vanished nations. -Ibn Arabi Pack a bag with the tools of conviviality: fireworks, spray cans, bottles of wine, assorted stimuli, a blanket, flashlight, fruits, a pocket knife, and possibly even a tent. Rendezvous with friends. The question, “what is it we are to do once we have assembled” may occur to you. And behind this question the looming spectre of boredom may loom. Yet, we must not seek to answer this question, or even engage it, for in doing so we reinvest in a cultural logic that states we must always be in the process of doing something. Likewise, we are not interested in doing nothing for that too operates within the logic of doing. Notice how the question seems impossible to escape. It burdens us, threatens us by coloring our time, both alone and together. And why should it not do so? We have spent decades living and in every sense embodying this logic. It is who we are insofar as it is how we have been forced to know each other and even ourselves. It is no small wonder that upon meeting someone the first thing we ask is “What do you do?” As one may suspect walking away from this logic requires practice in addition to techniques (which are the subject of the next chapter) and tools. Furthermore, it would be naive to believe that developing an alternative logic does not threaten the stability of the logic which demands you do something at all times (as mentioned previously the “doing” logic also includes the times when you are self-consciously “doing nothing” as the “nothing” you are doing is both a something and understood in reference to the thing that you “do”, usually a job or school or housework). Minute by minute, step by step, thought by thought, doing will come to be replaced by living and God Willing the shift will be irrevocable. Notice now how far we have come from mere traveling.

CALENDAR AS IDEOLOGY Essentially, the argument goes that the weekend (as arrived at after a week’s work) is exactly the opposite as what it appears to be. The weekend is not “free time” as much as it is the absence of working. Within the logic of the “work week” the days one has off are in fact, days one is not working. The times, movements, and dress of the workweek haunt the days one has “off ”. In so far as one can only understand how to behave in the mirror of how one must work while not on a day off. Likewise, the term “off ” is a perfect reflection of the dead connotation of this time. Similar to Victorian psychology, where women were not conceived of in terms of the particularities that could be ontologized as distinct from a male counterpart (women are the presence of absence, thus “penis envy”; the logic thusly being described as phalo-logocetricism) there is a comprehensive saturation that occurs in the logic of the work schedule. Going further, what are we to make of time, or, rather, our almost unquestioned use of the term? Could we forget time and replace it with another term? Do we need to replace it? The day and its collection of hours is too used up, to wrapped up, to beholden to interests. The same is true for the month and year. Goodbye to them all I say. Yes, there will be casualties, but in this battle for signification we have more than just our lives are on the line. We are fighting for a different universe.

HOW TO ‘TELL TIME’ WHAT TO DO Holyday Mungday Chaofllux St. Tib’s Day Mojoday Discoflux Syaday Confuflux Zaraday Bureflux Maladay Afflux Discordian Calendar Chaos 5 Chaos 50 St. Tib’s Day Discord 5 Discord 50 Confusion 5 Confusion 50 Bureaucracy 5 Bureaucracy 50 The Aftermath 5 The Aftermath 50 Gregorian Calendar January 5 February 19 February 29 March 19 May 3 May 31 July 15 August 12 September 26 October 24 December 8

Q: WHAT CAN YOU DO WITH YOUR MEMORIES? A: WEAPONIZE THEM French for “memory”, the word souvenir is helpful in regards to figuring out what to do with memories. At the hear of this matter is a double question: how and why do memories work. But before we move forward we must move backwards and eventually step outside of time and space, and metaphors. In asking these questions I am remembering the necessary words, concepts, thought structures that formulate the topic at hand. Does this mean the deck is stacked against us? Yes. But if all cognition is, at least partially, an act of memory then memory is not memory at all, but a force, like gravity. Curiosity and imagination are key elements in this force as well, but not as separate things; they, as well as the other words we remember and use, are merely the signs we have tried to nail to these liquid forces. At any rate, we still have this funny force called, at least in part, memories. Something not to do with memories: hoard them. Let us instead acknowledge them, investigate their form and function (and, individually, their content). Memories are part of the process of you acting. In a sense, they work within the gestalt of you being you in the ever present now. The stories crafted from them are present in this construction as well. But we must not forget so early in our investigation that memories are not recordings, rather what we have in a memory is the sacrament of the Crossed Eyed God. Memories are of a different flavor, texture, and viscosity of the things encountered and remembered. But memories are not mere garnish either. They are, like these picture/text vignettes, postcards. That is to say, awkward and intimate writings sent from imaginary lands.

LITERARY COMPANIONS It was said that the thoughts you have (whilst traveling) are like gods which inhabit the space where your consciousness and the contents of the universe meet. This cannot but be an unwieldy pantheon what with all of the diverse and largely asocial desires constantly coming into conflict with one another. But so too is there sublime beauty, unheralded poetics, and flashes of brilliance in this realm. How one worships these gods deserves attention, yet for now let us focus on the religions which attempt to describe and thereby control these gods as well as their actions. In a word, these religions are the ideas which inform the thoughts you have. These ideas come from every where, but all too often are the books one travels with overlooked. Stashed in your bag, the words of these books follow you and thus are brought to bear on sights which their author never had seen. What occurs is an unprecedented innovation in regards to experiencing a place. Nietzsche in Antarctica, Miller in Nepal, the Qu’ran in Suburbia. These texts become travel companions insofar as they barter, battle, fornicate, and dance with the gods in your head. Choose them wisely, for their betrayal may be too subtle to notice.


Just as cautious the business-man avoids tying up all his capital in one concern, perhaps, world-wisdom will advise us not to look for the whole of our satisfaction from a single aspiration. Its success is never certain for that depends on the convergence of many factors, perhaps on none more than on the capacity of the psychical constitution to adapt its function to the environment and then to exploit that environment for a yield of pleasure. - Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents
Forgetfulness. As I walked through the falling Japanese snow (could it be different than the snow that falls in Italy?) I remembered the possibility of forgetting and did my best to think of all of the things I had forgotten. Failing to remember anything, my mind began to counterfeit forgotten thoughts by remember things I had not thought of yet. I was not sure whether I was remembering things that I would forget in the future, or thinking of them for the first time and therefore time traveling to a future where I would think a thought at a certain moment as a result of an unknown stimuli. If it was in fact the latter than I think I may have accidently arrived at the heart of déjà vu and divination. That is, they are both instances where the future is forced into the present. If this is not what was going on when I thought of the things I had not thought of before, I thought as the Japanese snow continued to fall, then where did they come from? The only lead I had was the initial thought that I had forgotten things, so, I assumed that these new thoughts had their origin in things I had never forgotten, or things that I had forgotten and could not remember. What realm are these exotic creatures native to? The unthinkable, the unremembered, the unknowable... where do they sleep? Where do they hunt?


New let us, by flight of the imagination, suppose that Rome is not a human habitation but a psychical entity with a similarly long and copious past - an entity that is to say, in which nothing that has once come into existence will have passed away and all the earlier phases of development continue to exist alongside the latest one [...] On the Piazza of the Pantheon we should find not only the Pantheon of to-day, as it was bequeathed to us by Hadrain, but, on the same site, the original edifice erected by Agrippa; indeed the same piece of ground would be supporting the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva and the ancient temple over which it was built. And the observer would perhaps only have to change the direction of his glance or his position in order to call up the one view or the other. - Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents
In a moment of fancy, similar to falling in love on the subway, I thought of you today. Dear reader, have you forgotten that you are reading a book? Have you abandoned yourself to the sights and words that I have selected for you? Have you torn pages out? Scribbled notes over others? What will it take for you to unread this book? For you to make it yours in ways that no other could understand? This is the same dilemma that we find in geographic locations; while they are engineered to manifest passivity on your part (or at best controlled actions), you cannot give into their song. Freud’s words, the Temple of Food, unknown lovers on bikes, this section of the book, these postcards, these words... these are the ruins of the forgotten labyrinths of memory and the you that reads this is the Minotaur.

FRIENDSHIP PYRAMID The construction of a pyramid was, in ancient times, a sacred act of devotion, which testified to both wo/man and the gods that existence was a dynamic affair that should be celebrated despite, and, in large measure to, its unpredictability and its precariousness. Despite what has become the standard hypothesis of the modern era, the destruction of a pyramid was never conceived of as an architectural disaster. Rather, it punctuated a moment in time where the world and its guardians were no longer arrested in the realm of conception; it signaled the momentary unveiling of the unconceivable reality of death beyond “death”, beauty beyond beauty, and life outside of life.

Section III: Tales From Afar

Travel cannot be confined to the permissible (and deadening) gaze of the tourist, for whom the whole world is inert, a lump of picturesqueness, waiting to be consumed - because the whole question of permission is an illusion. We can issue our own travel permits. We can allow ourselves to participate, to experience the world as a living relation not as a theme park. We carry within ourselves the hearts of travelers, and we don’t need any experts to define and limit our morethanfractal complexities, to «interpret» for us, to «guide» us, to mediate our experience for us, to sell us back the images of our desires. -Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism

April, 18 2010. 58 degrees, Fahrenheit; fifteen dollars. Needless to say, the exact contours of this topic have yet to be pinned down exactly. But, It would not be a mistake to say a few good leads have crystalized around the idea: THE VARIED TOPOGRAPHY OF MY FRIENDSHIPS IN NEW YORK CITY I cannot but wonder about York. Old York(e), as opposed to New York. Perhaps I would do better to muse about the Old and New Amsterdams. Perhaps I should start with Turtle Island or Pangaea. The movement between those names ensnares the user in historical complexity. Whereby the changing of the name, carried with it the changing of the place, the changing of the people. This paradigmatic movement lies at the heart of the potential to manifest a no-place place in the here and now. Like anarchism, traveling is a reach into the abyss and a clutching. An attempt to grip the running water of time. One can make it feel so real. Some have even poisoned themselves by drinking too deeply of it. Rushing headlong into the idea: it is the publishing companies and tourist industry that constitutes the skeletal structure and ligaments of traveling. Zen Buddhism, which posits itself outside the word and letter is, like traveling, indisputably a concept that chokes. That is to say, in trying to move away it moves all the more closer to that which one desires to escape. There are of course exceptions to this. Let us reaffirm CrimethINC’s bold declaration. “Your politics are boring as fuck.’” And they did host a discussion panel somewhere near April 18th. From what I can remember, and I don’t remember much, it is just one of the trinkets on my shelf of immemorabilia. In this fact it resembles so much that I have read on anarchism, religion, philosophy and everything. Taking an example from geography, the New York I know does not know 9-11, or 11-9, or 9-1-1. As a juvenile, NYC held the promise of freely available alcohol, above ground subcultures, and what is so sought in the borderlands between Mexico and America, namely, “papelles”. Alongcanal street, and in walking distance from the old Vice store, I got my first forged papers which was a driver license from Alabama from a store that sold luggage. Under the veil of buying a luggage tag, I handed over 40 dollars and signed my name, Randal Patrick McMurphy on the dotted line. This fake ID, registered my desire in the imaginary economy of excess. I had never been to Alabama. And I was convinced that no one looking at the ID would have ever been either. And yet, according to the ID, it was my home. And In that shadow economy, built on the facade of a real economy that is equally as fantastic, I pledged my allegiance through the purchase of liquor, cigarettes and bets placed on red. These were acts of rebellion, in the mundi imigainale of 21st century buildungs-roman. Or rather, a know-place place. A place that we will come to know through the negation of the No in no-place place. It will be replaced with an affirmation purchased by desire in an economy of the existential. Despite all of the pictures and anecdotes, the singularity of this currency, forces us to spend it generously, so as to make our life rich. It is no secret that, unlike paper money our desires crumble in regret if left on the shelf. Emotional inflation.

DEVO STANDS FOR DE-EVOLUTION, AND I STAND FOR THE DEATH OF DEATH. As soon as I thought of the following idea I told it to G. She was not as impressed. I would later find out that the idea currently circling this text in a holding pattern is not all that impressive. (As an aside, I ask you, Q: what is more pleasurable than the construction/ fulfillment/destruction of an idea? A: for me, nothing. For some, drinking.) The Idea: G., a beautiful Norwegian women, loved drinking. Not just alcohol at night, but all liquid at any time. Of this I was sure. In the mornings we spent together, after all that mornings bring to those fortunate enough to be in love (or at least bed together), I would have brought her a cup of coffee as the ultimate expression of my love. In the afternoon we would talk about how much we drank the night before, and how excited we were about drinking later in the evening. At night we would drink as much as we could. The unimpressiveness of the following idea was confirmed by I., another beautiful women albeit of Taiwanese descent, in New York approximately three days ago. I need to get a running start if I am ever going to relate this IDEA to DEVO, so back up. Or, at least, allow me to back up. (Watch as I back up, because the “me” that writes is going to flash a knowing look to my artistic self in the stands). (wink). (Consider the “OK” that follows the crack of a pistol). OK. The Rabelaian poet and modern day Orpheus J., invited I. and I down to NYC to meet the lead singer of the Cripples and see DEVO perform their first album (entitled: Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are DEVO) at the Filmore. At 5:45 am last Friday morning I called I. and by 7:00am we were hurling towards NYC alongside the Chinatown buses and the unwashed masses that pass as deranged motorists these days. By the time we reached Williamsburg (who really goes to Manhattan these days? If you do go you deserve what you get, and, equally, what you miss) J. had already started drinking Whiskey. We bought 2 disposable cameras and headed to the Turkey’s Nest where they

sell margaritas to go in 32 oz. cups to go. So we got them and then we left. (One of the most informative topics VICE magazine broached in its early days was the question of whether or not to publish the names of their favorite places to drink & eat. They feared that publishing the names of their favorite places would catalyze a hipster stampede. They feared being overrun by people who read VICE magazine, who are nothing if not contemptible. (Right?) They ended up publishing the names of the places and they lived to regret it. Now

they alternate between naming fictitious places and advertising the places that give them the most money. It is called running an “advertorial” and your favorite local indie weekly paper does it too. However, they can call it BEST OF BOSTON or something equally monolithic and thus full of shit). Q: What is better than a drink around town? A: Pizza. (which are free with every drink at Alligator lounge). Between bars I mentioned my theory about G. and drinking to J. and the company that had joined us. l. replied by stating that she too loved to drink in the manner I described. Turns out, the claim on idiosyncrasy that undergird my theory was naive. I miss G. nevertheless. But I digress. Drinks in a Thai restaurant turned into drinks at Pete’s Candy Shop. As the place was filled with yuppies when we ventured in, someone in our party became upset as he loved drinking there with people of his own ilk, or, at least, those with a disposition that reflected interests that he could learn from. But, fear not, our dispositions were not dampened! (But, I must admit, the silent desperation of the yuppies lifestyle makes any frivolity on their part seem hollow and saturated with deservedness [the hobgoblin of happiness and conviviality!]!). After glugging a few dark brews we ventured further into

the night. Our cheeks were aflame with gaiety as the sun retired into the horizon. The Evening came upon us as we rested in a Polish bar that only played 80s heavy metal music. Something someone somewhere would come to love insofar as I am an other to the inner voice that guides me. Nevertheless, it was not long before Night fell and we rushed off to an Art Gallery with the promise of free wine. Oh, how dismal the space that carries the burden of unfulfillable dreams and heartless dreamers! For the lowly aspiration of creating art to become rich, to play music for fame, was enough to invite me to unfurl my rope ladder and descend from the apex our jovial time, our loving friendships! This time, manifesting in joyous outbursts of mad laughter and hysterical embraces of hands, mouths and breasts, had a momentum of its own. And so before I had my foot on the first rung, J. ignited the pyrotechnics of the soul by walking full-force into a sculpture, ruining its pristine inanity! It was there, at that moment that J., the bard-sage, reminded me that these failed artists, as well as the Yuppies, only looked so small because we were looking at them from on high! Long live performance art! Long Live the barrens of Art Sabotage!.

Outside, huddled upon each other so as to enjoy fruits of a renegade horticulturist (Could our forefathers see the day when we would speak of illegal fruit!) we partook in the secular communion of life. We finished the sacred act by washing it down with the Fremen’s Water of life. Wild-eyed, disjointed from a world that could only know us by our Christian names and not as we truly were, we entered the subterranean snake nest and arrived 31 years earlier at the venue where DEVO played their first album to J., l. and I for the first time.

Something changed as soon as the show finished.

We retied to a French restaurant for some red and white. J. told stories of times in Amsterdam (where he met l. and I) and Greece (where he drank Ouzo) as l. and I fought off the weight of slumber. “Tis heavy” I remarked upon remembering the advice of my father. With his words in mind I shuttled myself off to the bathroom, but not before grabbing a handful of ice from an ice bucket. Locked within the holiest of holiest, I place the ice in my underwear. I returned to the table, with what must have been a rather queer gait, with my eyes full of alertness. As the hand’s of the clock waved goodbye to the night, the ice melted and slumber again pursued me.We were joined by more friends and with them more wine. Time grew short as I had a bus to catch at 4:30am. I was to give a paper at the first annual North American Anarchist Scholars Conference in Ct. at 10am the next day and I had yet to compose a conclusion for it. When the last glass was emptied, I kissed J. and wished him all that one can wish a friend upon departure. l. did the same and we, with tears in our eyes and drunk on spice, entered the urban desert to once again venture into the subterranean depths. We needed a metal worm that would deliver us to Port Authority. It arrived momentarily.


If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. Ernest Miller Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (Now is the Mermaid parade on Coney Island, June 18th,) but that is not the now in which this is being typed into a computer, That now is my apt. June 26th. Last night ended in a bed in Prospect Heights. On the occasion of 64th visit (a number which I was unaware of until I was riding the Q train out here this morning [around 11:20am]). I was to rendezvous w/ my brother at Nevada Smiths (according to him an acclaimed soccer bar) for the US vs. Slovenia World Cup game, see Peter Lamborn Wilson speak, and take a summer vacation trip. (these points served as the constellation to which I steered my ship whilst bound for NYC, like so many other ships that pass in the nights). The 6am bus to NYC left at 6:29am & my dear friend Isaac slept through it, so he did not join me as was planned previously. Today, moments ago, I was reminded of the rhizome conceptualization of (images of ) thought, more specifically, the rhizomic charm of NYC. Last night I experienced this charm at the 6th st. Community Center (a place which I

supposed was usually reserved for jailing children or housing derelicts) during and after the PLW talk/lecture. That is to say I was ‘charmed’, or perhaps, I should translate that emotion to ‘enchanted’, that may be the right word, or perhaps I should/may switch to the Situationist lexicon and explain this ‘charmness’ or ‘enchantedness’ in terms of psychogeography While switching registers would render the feeling less homegrown it may be more valuable to some. Then again, there is also, methodologically speaking, the rooftop hermeneutic. This works by keeping ones eye up on the rooftops of the buildings one passes when one is navigating a city, both for directional and aesthetic reasons. (this method also informs a shifting of ethos, or, personality, that occurs when one is out of their ‘home’ world. Examples of this shift can usually be found in a personal narrative or that of a friend who spent time abroad, either in the European back-pack right of passage (which needs further enthographic research) or for whatever reason. Specifically, it can be on something as _____ as sitting and talking (and listening) to a homeless person and thinking it wisdom, which it very well may be. Well, holding off on the shift for the moment (they would sound like interruptions or tangents…) The first charm was just being a place where PLW would read (and did read) his work aloud. Charming, but not ‘charming.” The second charm was the, secret, but not “secret”, vending of “special cookies.” All I knew was that they were ten dollars and in a plastic baggie (2 cookies came in one bag). I indeed enjoy both which, I thought, and in many ways hoped would account for the specialness. Actually I also enjoyed exotic delicacies and being in possession of this sort of contraband, that THC cookies are. I bought the cookies and wondering why someone would put acid in he cookies (This was a fearful suspicion of mine --- the people who were selling them were old hippies). But, then, I had to ask who put THC in cookies? I asked. They were medical marijuana cookies from N.S. Charming, but not”charming.” Maybe now I should switch to the Situationist or other methodology? Souvenir, is French for memory, and souvenir. Okay, that would be the way to start a bit of Situationist writing. I just heard the all of the other charm It was the divinely froggery noise of a man on the beach asking “(Corona? Beer?)” and reaching into a bag. It reminds me of the sweetest part of Barcelona, Spain. How charming. The difference between a talisman and an amulet is that the former is man-made and the latter is found naturally. Both charm their wearers, that is, unless it is cursed. No the rooms/walls/floors/etc, not the objects within it, but Clare’s apartment is one such talisman, for its presence in New York City (which I feel when I come to the city and hang out with Clare) brings “charms.” My trips to NYC would be much impoverished. I was able to hang out with Clare, for, it is always a brilliant night of drinking, riotous laughter and intriguing venues – friends. Being in he “service industry” as a Sommelier manifest in a serious involvement in drinking culture. This is most palpably felt when you go to NYC with someone who doesn’t drink. It is charm to charm to charm to charm. The Fung Wah bus is also a charm in this sense.

Historically, the process by which the bourgeoisie became in the course of the eighteenth century the politically dominant class was masked by the establishment of an explicit, coded and formally egalitarian juridical framework, made possible by the organization of a parliamentary, representative regime. But the development and generalization of disciplinary mechanisms constituted the other, dark side of these processes. The general juridical form that guaranteed a system of rights that were egalitarian in principle was supported by these tiny, everyday, physical mechanisms, by all those systems of micro-power that are essentially non-egalitarian and asymmetrical that we call the disciplines. -M. Foucault, Discipline and Punish


The police officer glared at me with his cynical, irritated expression. “Look, I don’t need you hasslin’ and smart-mouthing me! I just need to fill in the fields!” he shouted as he pointed at the blank spots on his computer monitor. I had asked him why he needed to know my father’s name, occupation, and phone number, or my mother’s maiden name. After all, I said, he was arresting me, not my dad. But despite his outburst he gave up and just told me to be silent. That was easy to do, this was my first time getting in trouble with the law and being tossed in a jail cell. A few hours earlier, I had been biking around Allston with my gang, my fellow student-adventurers from the traveling class I was taking. We were on a field trip, a midnight sojourn to a local public swimming pool after hours. High on wine and excitement, we hooted and hollered at other nocturnal bikers and drivers sharing the road with us. We arrived at the swimming pool after midnight to find that a dozen or more youth were already lounging on the benches around the pool, laughing and listening to a radio. We quickly dumped our bikes in some bushes, tore off our shirts, climbed under the fence and gleefully dove into the empty pool. The fun only came to an end a half hour later when I noticed two young men standing near our bikes (and wallets, clothes, etc). As I and our group “captain” hopped over the fence to ward them off, we noticed the sound of cars in the parking lot. After some confusion and panic, half of us were on the outside of the fence in a state of tangled wet clothing, tripping over our bikes in the dark, while the other classmates (including girls who decided to skinny dip in the dark) were unable to hear our frantic whispers as they splashed in the pool. Two squad cars pulled up, three of us trapped in the headlights, while everyone else scampered away, leaving bikes and pieces of clothing strewn about. Myself and my two unluckiest classmates were quickly accosted by two officers, who focused on me with their interrogation. “How old are you?” one demanded. I answered truthfully to being in my late 20s, and he seemed almost aghast. “We expected to find a bunch of 16 year olds! What the hell makes you think you can break in here and trespass?” I mumbled something about the public nature of the pool, and being respectful and not causing any property damage. The state trooper apparently had a thing against people in Cambridge, and my comments struck home with him. He berated us in the squad car as having a “typical Cambridge self-entitlement, you just think you can do anything you want around here, like the rules don’t apply to you just because it’s Cambridge.” The three of us were brought to a very small state jail in East Cambridge, where we were interrogated for our personal information, including our parent’s names and professions. The common practice seems to be to yell angrily at the inmate, hoping they’ll forget their right to remain silent in the face of shouted questions, while trying to gather as much information as possible to put into the system. We denied any knowledge of other people at the pool. The one moment of levity was my smile into the camera for my mug shot, although I was disappointed to see that my accompanying thumbs-up was out of frame. After sitting in the cold, air-conditioned cell for four hours, still soaked in water and wearing only a swimsuit and shirt, some friends came to get us out at 4:30am and we were given a court summons for 8:30 across town. We trudged home, got an hour’s sleep, then took a taxi to the court hearing. The rest was procedural and boring, involving only a small court fee and our release 10 hours after being caught.

TOKYO STD Before it publicly collapsed into bankruptcy in 2007, NOVA was the largest English language school in Japan. Employing over 15,000 English teachers, NOVA stood as the de facto conduit for Westerners to live in Japan. Not two months before NOVA closed its doors I had tendered my resignation at the Shinjuku school in the heart of Tokyo’s red light district, which is where I had been working for the past ten or so months. I quit for the simple reason that I had made enough money to pay back the debts I had accrued in the United States. In fact, after taking up a night job at a juku, which is a ‘cram school’ that high school kids have to go to after the school day finishes, I had more than enough money to pay back my debts. Stated bluntly, for the first time in my life I was paid. I shared a closet sized bedroom in Nakano, which is one train stop away from Shinjuku, and it was not long until my roommate quit his job too. What followed was something that can best be related through analogy. There is something misleading about the weekend in that it is not the open, free-for-all wherein any thing can be attempted and desire runs unchecked. In many ways the weekend is simply time in which one is simply not working, and as such, it is still a part of a never-ending work schedule. The way we talk about the weekend bears this out insofar as the time you are not working is indeed understood as ‘time off ’ so as to insinuate its lesser relationship to being ‘on’ as in ‘on the job’. In this sense, in quitting our jobs my roommate and I were not taking “time off ”, we were doing away with time (understood in the “on/off ” sense) all together. The closest I can come to relating this feeling is by referencing the mid-point of summer break between middle school and high school. The prospect of returning to school never even occurs to a child during those glorious, mid-point summer days. Time was something that I simply did not regard whilst playing with my brother or sleeping in the tents we pitched behind our house during those days. Think of us quitting our job as transforming this memory of Summer into a state of mind.

Nomihodai is the Japanese word for “all you can drink” and it is very common to see this option on menus at Japanese drinking establishments, which are called izakayas. Over the course of what must have been two and a half weeks my roommate and I had basically lived in izakayas, karaoke joints, and bars, drinking all we could and loving anyone who would join us. While those days and nights exist only in the snap shots that remain online, we nevertheless made lots of friends. I still keep in touch with some of them too. At any rate, it is now somewhat of a truism, but moderately good looking Western men do not have a hard time picking up Japanese women in Tokyo and thus our time drinking was punctuated with romantic liaisons of every flavor. While it may offend the more Victorian sensibilities of the reader, sharing a room in these circumstances very quickly turns into sharing women and sharing woman in this fashion leads quite quickly into sexual adventurism. Peppered with a stead flow of amphetamines, hash, and Tantakatan (a Japanese liquor made of Cherry Blossoms)we may as well been counted among the lotus-eaters Odysseus found. All of this changed the morning I woke up and found blood in my underpants. Moments after this discovery I located a more or less uniform line of bumps, open soars really, running from the head of my prick about half way down to the shaft. My first thought was the girl I met in Yoyogi park, she was far too easy and far too ready not to use a condom, the standard size of which runs from ‘miniscule’ to ‘barely fits’. I woke my roommate by frantically apologizing, for I knew the sign of blood meant I came into the STD game somewhat late and no doubt brought my best friend along with me. Lacking insurance, my first doctor was WebMD and accordingly I narrowed it down to genital warts, herpes or early HIV. My dad is a D.O./family doctor, and so I sent him an email that read in its subject line: THE NEXT EMAIL YOU GET FROM ME WILL CONTAIN PICTURES OF MY DICK, DO NOT OPEN IN FRONT OF MOM. I sent the email on a Friday evening his time. I did not hear back from him until Monday morning. I took this as a sure sign that his response was weighed down by grief. How could he tell his second born child that in his flight to distant lands he has contracted a fatal disease and that he may very well die on foreign soil, rotted from the inside out? Hours passed like days, days past like months. The bumps were begging to scab. My roommate took the news nobly: he offered to buy the man who killed him the first drink at every bar we went to. Ignobly, I accepted. In those two days, life glimmered like the sun on still water. On Saturday night we stumbled into karaoke and sang ‘dust in the wind’ with tears rolling down my cheeks. It wasn’t just the amphetamines and sake. On Monday morning I check my inbox and found a message from my father. It had no subject line. The body of the email read: “hahahahaha, that is not an STD, it is trauma.” Like the sudden in-breaking of enlightenment, my mind went direct back to Thursday night in the bowling alley bathroom where after taking a magnificently long piss I had zipped my dick all the way up in my zipper. Upon returning to reality, I promised to change my life after that. Two weeks later I was on a plane to Amsterdam, I was going to find out if summer was actual temporal or more geographical.

THE FOLLOWING PICTURES WERE TAKEN IN: Alaska, Japan, Copenhagen, New York City, Huntington Beach, Paris, Cambridge, Amsterdam, Tangiers, El Progresso, Bergen, and Orlando. Consider them Rorschach tests for your ability to begin vacations at will.

The transformation of travel from “your vacation begins the moment you leave your door” to epic hassle castle has a great deal to do with the history of domestic policing and surveillance, the rise of multi-national techno-corporations, and what is known as the ‘acceleration of existence’ brought about by the increase in speed of data transfer, the range and accessibility of satellite communication, and the evolution of the Protestant work ethic into a preoccupation with efficiency. However, these are external factors. Regaining this mentality, (which was initially and paradoxically [at least for our purposes] created by an advertising campaign to promote travel) is not so much a fight against any of the aforementioned elements , but rather a matter of intellectual Judo. That is to say, beginning your vacation as soon as you want is a matter of mental posture. Simply choose to do so and thy will shall be done.

Section IV: Topographical Tactics

Get Skype Use it to call 1-800-GOOG-411 Give them the name of what you are radiing, ie Starbucks, and i’s location When it lists the right one, have Google-411 connect to it for free You have now made a free call over the interet that is masked behind two different companies serverss ??? Profit.

Alpha Travel 1. Never give anything away for nothing. 2. Never give more than you have to (always catch the buyer hungry and always make him wait). 3. Always take back everything if you possibly can. -William S. Burroughs, “On Drug Dealing” as it appeared in the Daily Telegraph, 1964 Despite all of the talk of alchemy, philosophy, and strategy there is no magic formula to dissolve, entirely, the mechanized matrix that composes the quotient space-time continuum and decouples humans from the physical geography of their environment. But that is not to say we do not have tactics at hand. The phrase “dissolving the mechanized matrix...” is taken from a writer who assures his reader that walking - when performed not for leisure or excercise - is perhaps the best way to short circuit the aforementioned matrix, for, following Emile Durkheim, a society’s space-time continuum is a function of its social rhythm which is produced by the manner in which work is accomplished, so, in disrupting this time continuum you disrupt the societal rhythm. Why would we want to disrupt these things? Because doing so constitutes the only way to reclaim individual autonomy from the boring Spectacle of modern society. Will Self, the unnamed author cited before, states this in another way: “social, political and economic orientation completely obscures where we are geographically. We live out our lives in cities that blot out natural features, while we resort to mechanical transport to annihilate distances and gradients.” The Situationist Raoul Vanigem deserves to be quoted too: “All space is occupied by the enemy. We are living under a permanent curfew. Not just the cops – the geometry”.

From (Situationism) To (You) Everywhere in all directions forces are coalescing and dispersing, saturating and reflecting, seducing and repulsing. These forces do not effect your consciousness and your consciousness does not effect them. Your consciousness only exists in these forces and these forces only exist in your consciousness. It has never been otherwise, despite the centuries of rival folk tales which speak of heaven, god, enlightenment, moksha, and mara. But, least we be accused of superficiality, we must affirm the existence of consciousness, forces, seducing, repulsing, coalescing, dispersing, and saturating for they are moksha, mara, god, heaven and enlightenment. All of them exist insofar as you exist and cannot think outside of some constellation of philosophical or theology or whatever ideological concepts you have internalized. Regardless of what concepts you think through, they are mobilized in every waking moment, in every word you speak, and every decision you do and do not make. Quoting Marx: ‘People can see nothing around them that is not their own image; everything speaks to them of themselves. Their very landscape is animated. Obstacles were everywhere. And they were all interrelated, maintaining a unified reign of poverty.’

While dour, Marx’s words are an invitation to detonate what Gadamer called our “prejudices” or prejudgements, for, we animate the landscape with them. Whether the Black Iron Prison, the Middle Kingdom, the United States, or Middle Earth geography is negotiable. Situationist polymath Guy Debord knew this and developed a revolutionary strategy from making the negotiation reflect your interests. In his Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, Debord defined the umbrella term for this strategy, “Psychogeography”, which he defined as “the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals.” Tired of revolutionary strategies that merely reproduced that which they sought to overthrow, Debord initiated a “revolutionary of everyday life” that would call forward a qualitative richness which was normally suppressed by the humiliating and isolating conventions of modern society. Based on asserting the irreducible individuality of the human subject, time and space was to be wrestled away from the restrictions placed on it by the totalizing reach of the Law, the logic of Work, or the identities created by either, like the “student”, “citizen”, “secretary”, “sister”, etc. The goal is simple: Modulate Reality, Engender Dreams. Seeing as though what you believe shapes you, we must understand what is at stake in everyday life. In a nutshell, what is at stake is the “you” that is being shaped. Notice the way you travel when moving through your weekly “routine”. The automatic responses, familiar nuisances, and daily frustrations aggregate so as to produce an identity, this identity is who you are. This is not to say that the “you” you imagine yourself to be in your dreams is not you, it is; however, this dream “you” is the product of a life that does not allow you to actually be that person. Far from being a bystander who confronts these daily aggravations and conveniences, they are the elements which construct the person you are and thereby form the way you understand your surroundings. Needless to say, these hassles also determine the ways in which you “escape” them. Enter: consumerism or the entertainment industry (or “culture”). Setting the wheel in motion once again, consumerism and the entertainment industry throw you right back into the passive mentality that dominates all of the other moments of your life. You Have Become A Spectator. To Wake Up You Must Destroy the Spectacle. If 9/11 or any of the latest foreign wars proves anything, it is that even disaster can be made into spectacle, indeed, these tragedies are made into spectacle - insofar as the events are conceptualized by the media as a distinct happening that is produced according to a particular interpretations of history-- before it even reaches us. There is a solution is available, but it will necessitate you to realize your true desires. In this sense, you must leave the place you are now. In leaving where you are behind, the you that crosses the threshold will be the prefiguring of the psychogeographer you have always been. The you that steps out the door will bring with him or herself a nascent universe. Be warned, relearning how to have fun outside the Spectacle will not be easy. It will involve creating games and establishing modes of communication not used in a life with a “routine”.

FROM SITUATIONISM TO YOU TOO “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” -Milton, Paradise Lost Q: Why collage? A: Detourment Q: Why detourment? A: Psychogeography Q: Why psychogeography? A: The ability to fashion one’s own life outside of the sometimes suffocating binaries and trinities of culture. Gay or straight? Queer or Bi? Paper or Plastic? How about neither, but both if it means reaping the delicate benefits of whatever subculture develops around the idea. Psychogeography is psychic nomadism; it is the ability to bypass, short-circuit, and hack the mechanisms that confine dreams to the hours we sleep. Psychogeography is a hyper-exercising of the imagination so that it becomes clear that the imagination is always being used in our perception of time and space. Psychogeography engages the construction of meaning on the ground, literally, as it brings to the fore the malleability of subjectivity, and, more importantly, the means by which we can project our dreamscapes

onto barren landscapes. Like a great deal of architectural design, negotiation will be an essential aspect of this projection, but physicality and perception are equally strong barging chips, that is until the latter liberates the former. Nevertheless the dynamism of this negotiation matches the protean field of our shifting imaginal realm; moreover, in this architectural and spatial trans-action we are afforded the evidence needed to sustain our civic project and to invigorate our dérives and drifts.

Q: Why detourment? A: detourment, then, is but one mode of psychogeographic expression; it is but one use of a single tool in the psychogeography toolbox so to speak. The transmutation of something vulgar1 or threatening2 into an emblem of freedom and humor or love and hate.

Q:Why collage? A: Moving though their relation to detourment means, primarily, having the desire to walk. Psychogeographically, this type of walking is done easily enough by merely leafing through the pages; however, such a superficial jaunt could never lend itself to the smells and sounds of a collage. The following collages form a garden of delight, ripe for dalliance and inspiration. Walk through them, slowly, or sprint through them with your arms out. Let the thorns dig into your hands and watch as more hands and flowers grow from the gashes. These gardens never close and you may do in them what you like. Invite your lovers, your gods, your idols, and take them, ravish them. This shall be their meaning, you are their author, eat of the fruit.

1 Like a street sign or an advertisement. 2 In the sense that what is being detoured is a “thing” that was created with the sole intent of making meaning for you and in that sense rob you of the ability to do so at a certain occasion.



Tactics for Psychogeography: The Dérive, or The Drift In his essay, Theory of the Dérive, Debord describes it thusly: “in a dérive one or more persons during a certain period drop their usual motives for movement and action, their relations, their work and leisure activities, and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there […] But the dérive includes both this letting go and its necessary contradiction: the domination of psychogeographical variations by the knowledge and calculation of their possibilities.”

In a letter from Guy Debord to Michèle Bernstein datted 1963 and reprinted in Internationale Situationniste #9, Ivan Chtcheglov describes the tactic stating: “The dérive (with its flow of acts, its gestures, its strolls, its encounters) was to the totality exactly what psychoanalysis (in the best sense) is to language. Let yourself go with the flow of words, says the psychoanalyst. He listens, until the moment when he rejects or modifies (one could say detourns) a word, an expression or a definition. The dérive is certainly a technique, almost a therapeutic one. But just as analysis unaccompanied with anything else is almost always contraindicated, so continual dériving is dangerous to the extent that the individual, having gone too far (not without bases, but...) without defenses, is threatened with explosion, dissolution, dissociation, disintegration. And thence the relapse into what is termed “ordinary life”, that is to say, in reality, into “petrified life”. In this regard I now repudiate my Formulary’s propaganda for a continuous dérive. It could be continuous like the poker game in Las Vegas, but only for a certain period, limited to a weekend for some people, to a week as a good average; a month is really pushing it. In 1953-1954 we dérived for three or four months straight. That’s the extreme limit. It’s a miracle it didn’t kill us.’”

Ars Notoria Following Iain Sinclair and the words of Debord, psychogeography should become more than a hobby. It can constitute an occult art. For starters, as you move through time and space you may come to see that clocks and measuring tape exist, but time and space does not. While walking, notice the thoughts that are going through your mind. As previously mention, these “thoughts” are not “going through” your “mind” but rather are the point at which your consciousness interacts with what it is taking in, i.e. the environment at any given moment. Your thoughts, then, are the gods which inhabit a third space, that is the space where your cognition meets the data it needs to form thoughts. If you are not content to worship these gods blindly, or to be at their mercy, then indeed you are in the position to practice the occult art of psychogeography. As the man whom some call Master Therion once wrote, “Magick is the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with the will”. To aid in this art and to help foster the construction of situations (a la Situationism, the group Debord was a part of ), you may wish to ask yourself at any given juncture: “Do I really want to be the kind of person who...” Earth Mysteries, Ley Lines, Dowsing, Chaos Magick, the TAZ, and Discordianism provide additional avenues for the advanced practitioner of this occult art.

Urban Exploring Even before the publication of Duffy Littlejohn’s Hopping Freight Train in America, North American youths have developed their own extended “Wanderiahre” tradition. Hitchhikers, DIY collective housing, squats, and infoshops (and even couchsurfing) all mark friendly way-stations for the psychogeographer, for he or she has broken the chains of convention.

Psychogeography is not a sitting duck, but a moving target. Psychogeography is not a science, or even an art that can be taught. While some practical instruction can help sketch the outlines of what people have termed psychogeography, it lacks an essence (as well as “essential characteristics”) that could be transmitted via book or person. We should be thankful for this. Claiming otherwise would surrender the vitality of the practice, for, the purchase of abstract commandments (whether they are as blatant as a “Law” or as subtle, that is to say invisible as a social convention) is precisely what psychogeography subverts. Going further, renegotiating time and space (whether by walking, or making graffiti, or smoking dope/ doing hallucinogenics or playing a game...) performs a double action whereby previously repressed sources of creativity bursts force not (only) in the moments when the law is transgressed, but in those moments when you realize that your behavior in a particular place, as well as the identity that performs in a space, has been previously pre-conditioned to suit specific tasks. When you enter the mall you are under the impression that you must shop (for only “shoppers” go to the mall) or when you travel you must do the things travelers do... The point this brings to the fore is that your “daily routine”, in addition to the options that are presented to you as escapes from this routine in the guise of “leisure”, mask a diverse gallery of insidious forms of social control. The manner in which you embody these routines and the identities they impose upon you is always idiosyncratic, and thus psychogeography must be equally as fluid. If it was not it could be co-opted and commodified as easily as hip-hop music or protesting. Howard J. Ehrlich describes the condition thusly: “Capitalism and the State are genuine social structures, but like most matters of social structures they have also been internalized. In that sense, we are the state .It exists in our minds, and we produce it in our day-to-day existence. The banalities of everyday life, the meaninglessness of most work, our profound isolation from others, and our being treated (and treating others) as objects - these are not by - products of capitalism: they are key mechanisms of social control.” Your ability to sense the gravity of different Urban Territorialities is what is at stake. It is a matter of what you can see, hear, feel, and do when you cross your doorstep.

Calvin Ball Explicated as a strategy, psychogeography is, at best, “a thorn to extract a thorn”. This is not to say that the ability to renegotiate or reinterpret time and space according to fancy, whim, or determined effort is not a noteworthy feat; in fact, such a feat is the speciality of master raconteurs, brilliant generals, and religious virtuosos. However, their use of psychogeography is mercenary in that it is employed to suit larger external aims. In a word, it is a means to an end. Would it be naive to believe that we could use it otherwise? What use, if any, could substantiate our critical stance? Must we acknowledge the limits of this concept and castigate ourselves for, once again, allowing ourselves to be carried away by the idea of a transcendental use beyond all other uses? Let us, for the time being, allow these questions to maintain a holding pattern above the following argument, which we can visualize as a vibrant city. In doing so we shall be granted two vantage points. The first of these vantage points is that of the aforementioned lofty questions which are currently suspended thousands of feet above the ground. The second vantage is what follows, and is, in a sense, more difficult terrain as it lies closer to the ground. Looking down from the holding pattern, we cans see that psychogeography is defanged if it is just another thing you believe. As a belief it exists in a limited conceptual field whereby its manifestation is contingent upon the other ideas that are present in your consciousness. As another habitual idea, psychogeography is effectively trivialized, disfigured, and deprioritized according to the external pressures of the day, like work or other non-leisure responsibilities, and the ideologies which govern them. As such, when taken as an idea, psychogeography bears a striking similarity to favoring a sports team or patronizing a particular hobby albeit it may be a touch more fun, or maybe not. Psychography’s fangs, so to speak, can be felt when the idea is elevated from within the common pool of ideas to the structural level of conception. What this means is that far from being a simple idea, psychography should be engaged as a mode of interpretation (a “hermeneutic” from the Greek God Hermes) that simultaneously engenders thought and inspires practice. The difference between thought and practice is bridged by psychogeography insofar as the closer you go to using psychogeography as a hermeneutic the farther you will be from mulling over action in thought. Here we pass from understanding psychogeography as idea to using it as bootstrap tactic. So, to answer on of the questions previously posed: yes, psychogeography does provide access to a use beyond all uses; however, that use is not a use at all because it destabilizes the viability of routine and the practical devices that are hocked in its name.

Add the name of the place, as well as memories it in the blanks.

Parapetitic Kabbalist Cross Facing the East, visualize _____. Touch the center of your forehead and say, “_____”. Visualize “____”, touch the junction of the thighs and say “_______”. Touch the right shoulder, and say “_______”. Touch your left shoulder and say, “_______”. Fold your hands together and put them into the center of your chest, close your eyes, visualize “_____” and say, “I, ________”. Them breathe out deeply, and while doing so say, “_______”. This is the parapetitic kabbalist cross. Do it in those moments in which your wish to invoke the memory and feeling of your time in “_______”.

Literally, Far
OUR King went forth on pilgrimage His prayers and vows to pay To them that saved our heritage And cast their own away.

And there was little show of pride, Or prows of belted steel, For the clean-swept oceans every side Lay free to every keel. The King’s Pilgrimage Rudyard Kipling, King George V ’s Visit to War Cemeteries in France

On the left side of metaphysical tourism (conceptualized here as a road) there are crisscrossing networks of routes that lead only one way, namely, deeper. Literally ‘far afield’, the pilgrim is a person who affords oneself a number of the luxuries that remain outside the clutches of the market economy. Pilgrammic peregrination is the embodiment of the joie de vivre that characterizes life, and not simply its denigrated other, that is to say, survival, for, the institution of collective labor enforced by the waking nightmare of ‘economic necessity’ forces all to redistribute time and space according to a self-serving logic, e.g., the rat race. This redistribution puts ‘an end to nomadism and to the freedom of night and day. The hours devoted to production relegated the natural drives to a state of restorative repose, confining them to time intervals or spaces not dominated by productivity: night, holidays, secret places, imagination and dreams.’ (Vaneigem, 27. The Movement of th Free Spirit). The pilgrim’s clock is an oxymoron as time becomes interwoven into place making the two indistinguishable in the mirror of memory. Time and space thusly liberated, they remerge as something luminously ephemeral, call it God, the wisdom of the holy mountain, the divine pantheon, the violent whirling of snowflakes against a phalanx of conifers. Shrouded in technocolor ihram, our sacred vestments house icons of the local gods, maps to dream ladders, Clootie wells and metropolitan hellmouths, thereby making each step an idiosyncratic romería. But to what or whom does one set out to encounter? The preliminary answer is the celebration of malicious anomalies. Of this the 27th section of Dao De Jing says: A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. A good artist lets his intuition

lead him wherever it wants. A good scientist has freed himself of concepts and keeps his mind open to what is.

And what of these anomalies? The point is not to gawk, or perform the depths of your alienation by attempting to capture the moment in a photograph. To be clear, ‘meaning’, as in ‘what meaning are you looking for in your pilgrimage?’, is a semantic spook that is deployed to describe reality and not to be confused with reality itself. As a result, the querying of abnormalities and anomalies is not made on empirical grounds as it is somatic, which is to say psychedelic. Of this the 13th section of the Dao De Jing says:

Good fortune and misfortune cause apprehension. Regard great trouble as you regard your self.

The most powerful truth contained within the ambulatory model of pilgrimage is this: movement molds mentality. The physical act of walking with these thoughts in mind precedes all else in regards to the phenomenological telos of brain change, theophany, and Unverified personal gnosis (often abbreviated UPG and perhaps best expressed in PKD’s Valis). Said a different way, movement of this sort makes clear the meaning of our inalienable birthright.

PRIZZA PAGANISM OR ACQUIRING LUCK FROM THE GOD OF FATE Photography is about a simple point of a moment. Its like stopping time. As everything gets condensed in that forced instant. Photography has a kind of a reality which is almost illusion. Shooting makes you aware of this. But if you keep creating these points, they form a line which reflects you life. -Araki Nobuyoshi Serving as an organizational principle for understanding and punctuating existence, abandoned pizza boxes can be made into and function as holy shrines. In this form of Paganism, everyday consciousness is spiritualized, and the world becomes re-sacralized. Analogous to the mentality of the Catholic approaching the alter to take the Eucharist, the Prizza Pagan remains in this state of cosmic anticipation whilst doing nothing more than enjoying the movement of the sun and moon. The play of these celestial bodies is indeed holy to the Prizza Pagan as they illuminate the pilgrimage between pizza box shrines. Every moment of life for the Prizza Pagan is a Hajj in that an empty pizza box may lay beyond the next corner. But why would we regard an empty pizza box as a holy shrine? Fate. Empty pizza boxes are the domicile of Fate. Thus, the regularity in which one encounters one of Fate’s holy shrines can be understood as a sign that Fate shines upon them, for, each holy shrine bestows upon the pilgrim a measure of “baraka” which translates from Arabic as “luck” or an increase in charisma. As homages to Fate, the shrines produce luck and the pilgrim are their natural and rightful recipients. In this peripatetic Paganism, Fate does not share its favor with all people. Only those who can see these shrines for what they are can understand the chaos beyond the possibility of balance presupposed in the term “chaos”. The ubiquity of discarded pizza box shrines in one’s life reflects Fate’s perfect determinism. The more shrines one encounters the more “baraka” one will come to possess. To revere the perfect boxness of these boxes and the magnanimity of Fate’s jealous wraith, one must take a photo (real or imaginary) of them every-time they are encountered. The faithful observation of this ritual orients life around the numinous that makes existence worth continuing. Currency, holy books, jobs, assignments, politics, televisions... these are the idols which this Paganism interrogates and laughingly dismisses. Art as religion, religion as art, religion as something you do on occasion, as something that does what it needs to do in doing it. In seeing a box of pizza filled with pizza, we are analogous to the Protestant in that the box full of pizza is like the wine and bread in the Eucharist in that it is merely a symbol of this Paganism. The hidden knowledge within the full box reveals itself to those who can understand and appreciate its power when emptied. In the face of such power, we must admit that these notes are mere hymns to this power. The snap of the shutter is both the prayer and the prayer fulfilled. What is fulfilled is the ever-ending, ever-renewing commitment to beauty amid a world steeped in the sludge of banal thoughts and actions.

Local Deities In the 1950’s the French Situationists developed a technique for travel which they called the derive, the “drift”. They were disgusted with themselves for never leaving the usual ruts and pathways of their habitdriven lives; they realised they’d never even seen Paris. They began to carry out structureless random expeditions through the city, hiking or sauntering by day, drinking by night, opening up their own tight little world into a terra incognita of slums, suburbs, gardens, and adventures. They became revolutionary versions of Baudelaire’s famous flaneur, the idle stroller, the displaced subject of urban capitalism. Their aimless wandering became insurrectionary praxis. And now, something remains possible - aimless wandering, the sacred drift. -Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism To ensure that the reality of our dreams takes precedence over the quotient demands of our jobs or schooling, we must make constructive advances in both the physical and mental terrain of our environments. One of the most expedient means of doing this is the creation of a network of shrines dedicated to our dreams and the guardians who protect them. These shrines, and deities, as well as the manner in which they are supplicated can be anything and take any form. For example, in the Pizza Paganism as described in the last postcard discarded pizza boxes functioned as shrines for Fate, and in order to receive a blessing from them all one must do is snap a photo of the discarded box. Similarly, deities can be (or be represented by) a sticker you made or a plastic army man position in the nook of a wall. And in order to gain their blessing all you must do is acknowledge them in some manner, even if this means willfully ignoring them. The concept of willfully ignoring a deity is a good point of departure for describing the psychogeography of this religion. As creating a personal sacred geography is one of the pillars of this religion, it bears mentioning that deities can be understood as the guardians of specific locations, which reflect their personalities. Therefore, perhaps the deity that is worshipped by being willfully ignored shall serve as the guardian for shy people and shall be found in a forgotten corner somewhere. Likewise, you may understand the army man as a idol for the god of war and make a shrine for him near a high school football field or an alleyway where fights commonly occur. Further, your may choose to see all army men as idols for one of your deities or you may select one particular army man as the deity itself, or whatever variation occurs to you. The goal would be to have a city full of deities, all of which represent a certain feature and invite supplication in exchange for particular blessings. A God of Chaos at an especially busy intersection, a Goddess of sex in the Red Light District, Eris inside an Airport. By withdrawing attention from your everyday routine, the act of supplicating these deities shall serve to reorientate your life towards your desires and if honored correctly your pantheon may come to serve you metaphysically.

The creation of a network of shrines is an extension of the derive insofar as drifting is essentially a dowsing for psychic energies. Yet, instead of simply experiencing the flow of psychic energy as they flow from one territory to another, the creation of a shrine establishes a node in an alternative cartography. Withdrawing your consent to define the city according to a criteria as foreign and arbitrary as zoning laws or voting districts is not strictly a semantic variance, it is a conceptual revolution whose effects resonate through space and time. It constitutes an alternative to the logic that demands you always “do something”. What does Chinatown feel like to you? Where is its heart? Does the area designated “Chinatown” by the city actual reflect that designation to you? Creating a sacred geography does more than simply answers these questions, it inspires the mind to understand differently and the heart to reach new depths. The city allows for creation of this type on a strict number of occasions, the road-side floral commemoration of persons killed by drunk drivers comes to mind, but instead of occupying a mere crack in the wall of civic authority establishing shrines to local deities posits an entirely new field to be mapped and a criteria to map with. One of the gifts granted by the deities who shall come to occupy your sacred geography is topophilia, that is to say when you define the city it comes to embody your personal identity, your history, and the lives of your loved ones. First loves, haunting memories, cherished moments, peak experiences and rites of passage are far more real to you than the lines that designate area codes and as such they should be granted the geographic prominence they deserve. A new geography is needed to combat the rampant onset of social alienation. What is needed is a sacred topography that is defined along the fault lines of dreams. What lies before us is Urban Shintoism. A VISION: A city of personal shrines designated by strategically placed plastic Buddha statues, candles in front of a wheatpasted posters of bearded saints, cryptic slogans scrawled across walls in spray paint, piles of rocks, teetering wooden structures, trash cans stack atop one another and set aflame, ritual bathing in public fountains, USB drives with holy texts cemented into brick walls, buried Tarot cards predicting the future... Lives punctuated by games, photographic expeditions, afternoons dedicated to DIY

architecture, month long pilgrimages across cities, over underpasses, under overpasses, over fire-light under the stars...

through the NYC sewers, and atop bridges, drinks shared with other psychogeographers A number of us have laid the groundwork for this reality in Boston and Amsterdam. Send a message to the email in the front of the book if you create your own pantheon and together we shall collide our metaverses.


Under such conditions, to completely stop the processes of production and distribution, even if only temporarily or in a single locale, would be to cause great disruption to economic and social life. While impressive, large-scale urban festivals are now making their resurgence, the suspension of everyday order during festivals--to whatever degree it occurs--is limited to an extremely small proportion of the time, space and population of an much larger urban nexus. -Tetsurô Ashida, The Festival and Religion Boom: Irony of the “Age of the Heart”

The dream of psychotemporality... It is a dream, as all things are only real insofar as they are dreamt... There is no objective geography to speak of, there are only difference sets of demarcation, different conceptions of borders, zones, and areas. The same goes for time. There is no real time or false time, there is only different conceptions of time and they all serve at least one master. Here, let the obvious ring out: there are “places” where no geography is relevant and “times” when no measurement is worthy of thought. As the quote marks indicate, language also is subject to fail as its sole function is to translate feelings and sensations into abstract vulgarities like “times” and “places” even when neither is relevant or even appropriately descriptive. The reality of psychotemporality occurred to me yesterday while walking in the snow. It must have snowed 13 inches between midnight and the morning that day and I could not be more pleased. Burring everything, the frozen fractals converted busy roads to pedestrian thoroughfares and sidewalks to intersecting mountain trails. School was canceled and the shops followed suit. In those moments that I passed closed school and shop, I was happy to see the Weather rightfully re-assume its throne as the primordial time teller. My bow of supplication took the form of a winter stroll, my worship being the most holy and dangerous activity of man, namely, unbounded play. Considering these ecstatic moments of religious meteorology, I must revise the opening statement and say now that psychotemporality is not a matter of reality, but realities. It was not moments before I reached my doorstep that I heard the black cough and shrieking siren of civic authority: trucks had began marching down all connecting roads, literally salting the earth, making lanes for traffic, reestablishing geography and temporality by making ruins of foot-trails and the as of yet untouched snow. The snow-fortress of tomorrow were converted to the parking lots of yesterday. And they assure us, business must go on, time is money and the great work of progress must continue. In those final moments outside, I witnessed the clash of realities. When the door shut behind me, the hideous black-snow monuments of progress had already lined my entire street. To us it was not “nudism”, it wasn’t anything but what we were doing.

Step in all the puddles in the city.

1963 autumn -Yoko Ono, Grapefruit

Scream. 1. against the wind 2. against the wall 3. against the sky Map Piece Draw an imaginary map. Put a goal mark where you want to go. Go walking on an actual street according to your map. If there is no street where it should be according to the map, make one by putting the obstacles aside. When you reach the goal, ask the name of the city and give flowers to the first person you meet. The map must be followed exactly, or the event has to be dropped altogether. Ask your friends to write maps. Give your friends maps. 1962 summer -Yoko Ono

1961 autumn - Yoko Ono

[YOU CAN TELL BY THE ROOFTOPS] I lived in an area of Amsterdam that looked a lot like West Berlin (or was it Brussels? European cities have that familiar air de famille. Especially since all of them have been under-construction for the last thirty-three years Same with Tokyo and Boston I heard, from a few different people, all of the construction is being done in order to make room for more starbucks coffee shops and banks at least they were in Barcelona except for the construction on Antoni Gaudi’s Templo Expiatorio de la Separada Familia Last night I walked down Istedgade into the red light district of Copenhagen. It was empty, so I went into a shawarma shop, it had a Arabic name (or was it Jewish?) there were no tables inside, so i had to eat in front of the store on the cobblestone sidewalk the buildings across the street were all under construction one ladder was still set up At the top of the ladder was a beautiful roof it was so different to all of the other roofs i had seen but i never really look at roofs when i am walking around a city, nobody does you would get a stiff neck I have not slept the same since that day in fact, i would say that i don’t sleep at all.

The first line indicates a somewhat suspicious opinion held by the narrator. In fact Amsterdam does not overtly look like Brussels and even less so of West Berlin. It is meant to indicate the narrator’s closed field of vision, and perhaps a lack of architectural knowledge. The use of the phrase “European cities” is a reference to joke; what exact quality could be considered “European” anyways? The French phrase “air de famille” is a further play on this joke. The notion of being “under construction” is meant to be interpreted in two ways. First, it is a reference to the reconstruction of a post-WWII Europe, Asia and America. Globalization is dependent on material gain and economic growth vis a vis global construction. The second meaning concerns the use of the year 1975. A number of Western anticapitalistic movements struck out in protest during this year, causing a great deal of domestic unrest. Lastly, the number “33” is significant. It is readily held that the historical figure of Jesus died at the age of 33, and according to Catholic dogma, his death marked the arrival of salvation. In this sense, humanity is incomplete, fallen, and in their search for completion they are in a state of spiritual dilapidation, their spiritual lives are “under-construction” as it were. I extend this state of being to the entire globe, indicated in the specific naming of Boston and Tokyo. Unknowingly, the narrator is assessing a distinct worldview.

The “few different people” named in the first sentence of the second paragraph refer to the New testament authors, namely the writers whose work is referred to as the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. This opening is meant to foreshadow the continuing Biblical motif in the text. The Biblical references continue in the names of the sources of construction; the are a multi-n atonal chain coffee shop and a bank. The bank and coffee shop are representative of the money-changers that Jesus finds in the Temple as recorded in the synoptic gospels, specifically Mark 11:15–19, 11:27–33, Matthew 21:12–17, 21:23–27 and Luke 19:45–48, 20:1–8. This modern “money-changers” appear just before Gaudi’s famous Church, the Templo Expiatorio de la Segrada Familia. The specificity the narrator takes in giving both Gaudi’s full name and the full title of Gaudi’s Church is juxtaposed by the error the narrator commits in the church’s name. The error is intended to indicate the “separated” nature of the Christian church in the face of what Gaudi intended to be “last great sanctuary of Christendom”. Not least to mention the fact that the church actually never not been under construction, which began in 1882. The narrator switches locations once more, revealing the international implications of the message contained in the text. “Istedgade” is the actual name of the red light district street in Copenhagen. The one of the text’s two thematic pivots is introduced in this section; the Genesis story of Jacob’s Ladder. The emptiness of the street, the confusion over the restaurant’s Arabic-Jewish ethnicity, the lack of seating, and the stone sidewalk all speak to the milieu of the Middle Eastern desert to which Jacob had his epiphany. The single ladder leading up to the roof is symbolic of Jacob’s ladder. The vertical location, “beauty” and singularity of the roof is symbolic of the Judeo-Christian concept of heaven. When the narrator speaks about never looking at roofs when walking around a city, the reader is intended to apply all of the aforementioned allusions and come to the conclusion that religion~heaven is not what is on people’s mind as they exist in their daily life, but this sentiment is to be understood as more general then actual (i think it is clear that a lot of people are “religious” in their “daily life”). The reference to a “stiff neck” speaks to Exodus 32: 9-10, which depicts the Hebrew God YHWH admonishing Moses and the Jewish people for being obstreperous, or “stiff-necked”. The narrators usage of the phrase is intended to be somewhat comical as the narrator balks at the idea of physically getting a stiff neck when in fact he is spiritually “stiff-necked”. The last lines of the text refer to Jacob’s Ladder and the 17th century Alchemical text Mutus Liber which outline, through text and image, the process of creating the Philosopher’s stone. Jacob, like the successful alchemist, awakens from his ignorant slumber to see the truth. In this sense the truth, is the second pivot of the story; the rooftops are different, not only in Copenhagen but all over the world. The narrator is seeing for the first time the awe-inspiring multiplicity of the world and in this sense he will never be able to “unsee” it, that is he will never be able to return to his sleeping state. The beginning of the text would not seem to indicate the narrators turn of mind, however, this is intended to mirror the alchemical denial of mechanistic causality, and linear time. The text is a never ending loop, a Möbius strip of understanding and ignorance, duality, or hieros gamos as it is known in alchemical literature.

Conclusion What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior? - Gerald D. Suttles in the Forward to Ikuya Sato’s Kamikaze Bikers quoting Robert Park’s The Mind of the Hobo quoting Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass “Laws for Creation” This book is about places. Let us stop here and examine what is meant by the word place. But even before we examine the meaning of the word let us simply appreciate the word itself: Place. The graphical designation “P” appears as a sort of flag that marks the substantiating force behind the word. Raised about the spiring “l” and the weird architectural similarities that exist between the “a” “c” and “e” structures, the flag, P, marks a place by communicating an idea. All places are ideas; they are sites of construction, like a construction site, and similarly possess a parallel amount of chaos, grit, material consideration, civic regulations, legal permissions, and governmental supervision. Places are not real or fake, for to say they are either posits the opposite. Places are simply the way time/space is conceptualized for navigation, pleasure, and coherency. But only sometimes. Places are transvestite hermaphrodites, polymorphous, protean, shifting... Creating a place is an act of will set against what Camus called “the unreasonable silence of the world.” Least we fail to understand this act of creation for what it is, let me, your humbly narrator, your Virgil for the time being, tell you explicitly that there is no way out of the maze that is conceptualization. Stated more simply (and in the words of Alan Watts), all you can think are thoughts, and as such every thought you have is birthed from another thought ad infinitum and stretching in every direction for the very plain reason that ideas of past and future, not to mention directionality, are also thoughts. Needless to say thoughts make up a large part of everything for us humans, some have gone as far as to claim that everything is a matter of social construction. Here, we seem to be facing a crossroads. (You s-e-e we are still in the realm of thoughts, but do not lose heart as assuredly, Alfred Korzybski was right when he wrote that the map is not the territory and the word is not the thing defined.) What paths do we face? We may seize control of the conceptualization function by devoting ourselves to ludic behavior. Some of Camus’ Barbarian god-ism; Supreme architectuality; Zapatismo Freemasonry. But since one cannot put out fire with fire, we must ask how are we to seize control of this mechanism without falling prey to its assumptions? And, more importantly, what does any of this have to do with places? (Crossroads commonly invite confusion, dissension, and disagreement, so, we should call upon our local deities for help. As such, consider this text a form of scripture for one tribe as we chart this terrain here with you now.) In terms of understanding what is at stake when we use the word ‘place’, or, assume we know were a ‘place’ is and what it is, we should be clear that as a social construction, a place is a collective hallucination that, if anything, may serve to blind those who invest in it, sometimes. It has been called memetic warfare: Happiest Place on Earth indeed. So, as an antidote to being ‘placed’ undress all that is dressed up as ‘place’, slide your hands down its sides going all the way until you are lost, and from there go even further until ‘lost’ becomes a meaningless term insofar as lost and found are relics of ‘placement’. This type of traveling has no superior, it is a form of walking, sans terre, that has no use for the terms travel.

AFTERWORD One way the mind works: Take for example an instance where someone asks you if you know of a certain restaurant. Upon hearing the name of the place you mind conjures up a static image, a mental photograph that you associate with the name of a place. If you can recognize that place then you know it. If you cannot recognize the place your mind conjured up then you have not been there, or you have forgotten the place. What is important here is the case where you do not know of the place and have never been there b/c you created a place in your mind that has no physical referent. It is this imaginary place that you will live until you go to the place and realize that the place is “not what you expected.” You expected the place you created. You will never go to that place, but you could describe all of these imaginary places to yourself and build a city, a planet, a universe, a lover.


The Art Of Traveling: Urban Sojourns Corvid College Summer 2010 We suspect that even though travel in the modern world seems to have been taken over by the Commodity - even though the networks of convivial reciprocity seem to have vanished from the map - even though tourism seems to have triumphed - even so - we continue to suspect that other pathways still persist, other tracks, unofficial, not noted on the map, perhaps even «secret»- pathways still linked to the possibility of an economy of the Gift, smugglers’ routes for freespirits, known only to the geomantic guerillas of the art of travel.As a matter of fact, we don’t just «suspect» it. We know it. We know there exists an art of travel. -Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism What does it mean to be a “tourist”? What are the alternatives? How can we go about changing the practices and discourses that make us ‘tourists’ and not something more… I don't know… romantic? Something more fulfilling? Or is this desire to escape ‘tourism’ merely the inescapable fantasy of the tourist? These questions, as well as Hakim's reflection, will act as a point of departure as we collectively renegotiate what it means to travel, and to be a traveler in our post-everything world. During

the course we will engage travel-narratives by Henry Miller, J.R.R. Tolkien, Guy Debord, Ernest Hemingway, Henry David Thoreau, Paul Bowels, J. Conrad, and Jack Kerouac to name a few. However, more important than the words of these people will be our engagement with penpals, ‘travel photography’, exotic food and alcohol, and nature walks. Most important of all, we will let our personal insight lead us into the terra incognita that is the world that awaits to be re-discovered. This world, of course, awaits not only in lands far away, but also outside our door, and, perhaps most elusively, within our own minds. Running interests will include food, drink, sleep, maps, sex, the law, nature, animal companions, customs, companionship, and all earthly delights! With a bit of luck and the wind behind us, we will host some guest lecturers from ....


Walker Percy, Loss of the Creature Hakim Bey, Temporary Autonomous Zone G. Marcus, Selected articles Carlos Castaneda, The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge Phil Hine, Urban Shamanism Vol.I-III Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulations Select articles from the Journal of Tourism and Cultural Change Barbara Adkins, Backpackers as a Community of Strangers CrimethINC, Days of War Nights of Love Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception Michel Jackson, Selected articles Duffy Littlejohn, Hopping Freight Trains in America Stephen Laberge, Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming Arthur Compton-Rickett, The Vagabond in Literature Jean Genet, The Thief 's Journal Sara Mills, Discourses of Difference: An Analysis of Women's Travel Umberto Eco, Travels In Hyperreality Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation Georg Simmel, The Metropolis and Mental Life Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism, http://hermetic.com/bey/tourism.html H.D. Thoreau, Walking Ivan Chtcheglov, Formulary for a New Urbanism, http://library.nothingness.org/articles/ SI/en/display/1 Guy Debord, Theory of the Derive, http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/2.derive.htm Unknown, Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/ urbgeog.htm R.V., Revolution of Everyday Life Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, G. Orwell on Henry Miller Inside the Whale Basho, Narrow Road to the Interior


G. Orwell, Down and Out in London and Paris Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer Hunter S. Thomson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Jon K, Into the Wild Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness Agamben, Bare Life Paul Kegan, Ibn Battuta, Travels in Asia andAfrica 1325-1354 Thomas Nashe, The Unfortunate Traveler Alastair Bonnett, Transgressions: a Journal of Urban Exploration. Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass Ernest Hemmingway, The Sun Also Rises Homer, The Odyssey James Baldwin, Nobody Knows My Name Jack Kerouac, On the Road Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness Boy Scouts of America Handbook Jack London, Call of the Wild J. Swift, Gulliver’s Travels J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit J. Baudrillard, America Alexis de Tocqueville, Of Democracy in America Richard F. Burton, Mecca and Medina P. Bowles, Under the Sheltering Sky Paul Kegan, Ibn Battuta, Travels in Asia andAfrica 1325-1354


Ghost Mice- Europe


Claude Lelouch- C’était un Rendezvous Urban Explorers: Quests for Myth, Mystery and Meaning http://vimeo.com/5366045 Take nothing but pictures http://video.google.com/videoplay?doc id=-4546734746003079673#


Walden Pond China Town (Boston-New York) Somerville Speakeasy Brooklyn/Manhattan Couchsurfing

The moon and sun are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on. A lifetime adrift in a boat, or in old age leading a tired horse into the years, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. From the earliest times there have always been some who perished along the road. Still I have always been drawn by windblown clouds into dreams of a lifetime of wandering. -Basho


Even a cursory glance over the bibliography will betray the predominance of male writers in the canon of travel literature. This begs the question, “how is what we think we know about travel and traveling conditioned by this canon and its sometimes insidious assumptions?” It is my hope that this question (as well as evolving answers) will reemerge throughout the course. Similarly, I would venture to say that this course is neither designed nor is it interested in imparting or unpacking the “wisdom” of the so-called travel canon, or even the concept of traveling as such. Instead, the course represents an attempt, or, more descriptively, an informant that speaks to, and, hopefully, illuminates the practices, words, sensations, and areas that lay before all of us as we both consciously travel, and do the opposite (whatever that is). Indeed, our ship has already set sail, and, with you permission I would like to discard any nagging desires to know, exactly, where we are going and what we have set out for. We are pirates, adventures, friends, buskers, vagrants, students, pilgrims, exiles, comrades, and companions who are sharing, for a time, a journey into the known unknown and unknown known. On our first meeting we need to decide on a pedagogy. So whether it is like a book club with a weekly reading assignment, or an independent approach to all of the varied sources, or whatever we should all be in agreement in terms of how we will go about this class. Just in terms of preliminaries, I believe it would be best if there was a stress on developing our abilities to write, photograph, video, etc. the Art of Traveling that we develop both individually and collectively. It is my expressed desire that we will feel motivated to collect some of our writings, photographs, and other thoughts in an anthologized zine or book at the end of the semester. To aid in the realization of this desire I have petitioned a local DIY community grant-making foundation for the money to do this. I will present our class and the project we decide on in July at their monthly meeting. Since the grant is decided the night that this organization meets on the basis of a vote conducted at the end of the meeting it would be great if everybody came and voted for the proposition I put forth! More on this later. Lastly, it remains to be stated explicitly that this is not so much a course on travel that takes books on travel to be the thing-in-itself. We shall learn by doing, reflection, participation, and cooperation. We are not students and teachers, but a think-tank cabal, where a few brave, and adventurous souls join in conviviality to enjoy the fruits of this “floating world”.


Peregrinations…Sojourns…Strolls…Trips…Vacations…Holidays... Travel Writing http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Travel_literature Tourisms http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_adjectival_tourisms Bildungsroman http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bildungsroman Journeyman Years http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journeyman_years Dromomania http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dromomania Wonderlust http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanderlust Hypermobility http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypermobility_%28travel%29 Backpacking http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Backpacking_%28travel%29 Pilgrimage http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pilgrimage Solipsism http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism

Walker Percy, Loss of the Creature Georg Simmel, The Metropolis and Mental Life Hakim Bey, Temporary Autonomous Zone Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism, http://hermetic.com/bey/tourism.html Ivan Chtcheglov, Formulary for a New Urbanism, http://library.nothingness.org/articles/ SI/en/display/1 Guy Debord, Theory of the Derive, http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/2.derive.htm

Unknown, Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/ urbgeog.htm Tom Vague, The Boy Scout’s Guide to the Situationist International:, http://library. nothingness.org/articles/SI/en/display/240] Susan Sontag, On Photography

A Person Who Walks the City in Order to Experience it, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Fl%C3%A2neur, and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Po%C3%A8te_maudit Arthur Rimbaud: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Rimbaud Arthur Compton-Rickett, The Vagabond in Literature Jean Genet, The Thief ’s Journal G. Orwell, Down and Out in London and Paris Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer Orwell on Henry Miller, http://www.ourcivilisation.com/smartboard/shop/orwellg/ whale.htm Gypsies, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romani_people Travelers, http://www.kitchensisters.org/girlstories/the-hidden-world-of-traveller-girls-npr/

Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation G. Marcus, Selected articles Michel Jackson, Selected articles Hunter S. Thomson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

Hudson River School, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hudson_River_School H.D. Thoreau, Walking, http://thoreau.eserver.org/walking1.html Walt Whitman, Nakedness, http://www.bartleby.com/229/1133.html Ryan Mcginley, http://www.ryanmcginley.com/summer# Naturalist, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naturist Jon K., Into the Wild


Andrew Wonder: http://www.undercity.org/ Urban Spelunking, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_exploration CrimethINC, Days of War Nights of Love SQUATS AUTONOMOUS ZONES, ETC. http://www.blitz.no/ http://www.myspace.com/seesquat155 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C-Squat http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punk_house http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slan_shack#.22Fans_are_slans.22 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autonomous_building http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Off-the-grid

Phil Hine, Urban Shamanism, Vol.1-3 Stephen Laberge, Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming Duffy Littlejohn, Hopping Freight Trains in America Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception

Maps, http://www.english.emory.edu/Bahri/maps.html Benjamin of Tudela, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_of_Tudela, http://www. sacred-texts.com/jud/mhl/mhl20.htm Ibn Battuta, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ibn_Battuta John Mandeville, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Mandeville

London PsychoGeography Society, http://www.unpopular.org.uk/lpa/organisations/lpa. html Couchsurfing, http://www.couchsurfing.org/

Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering. -Saint Augustine

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