Tag Archives: Foucault
February 5, 2017 by Dr. Geyser
No doubt, madness has something to do with the strange paths of knowledge. … But if knowledge is so important …
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October 27, 2015 by Dr. Geyser
Ever wonder why you suck at math? Or why you picked on mathheads in high school? Or college?!? Or why you prefer novels over mathematical treatises?
From a biological perspective, these are fairly normal responses to standard mathematical operations. For instance, when Darwin employed Malthus’ model of exponential population to explain the competitive behavior of biological organisms, he was implicitly rejecting the dogma of traditional mathematics, which held that 1+1=2. It turns out that, when living organisms engage in the act of coitus, the rules of mathematics cease to apply. And if it happens to be a threesome, we will probably need to engage a quantum physicist to help resolve all of our incommensurable entanglements and Heisenbergian uncertainties.
If you don’t believe that 1+1=3, you should probably seek out reconciliation with your parents. They didn’t need to believe it. They just did it, and it turned out to be true.
So when a jock beats up a nerd, we can take comfort in the fact that this is a side effect of competition between post-pubescent males. One plus one still equals two, right?
Or maybe mathematics isn’t about numbers at all? Number theory is only a small subfield of mathematics, and physicists teach students to save calculations for the end. So why bother teaching kids elementary math? If they are just going to screw it up as quantum adults?
School is about discipline. And it takes a great deal of it to deny what we know is biologically true. Peter Brown’s book on the sexuality of early Christians is particularly enlightening in this regard, especially for those who have read Foucault’s three-volume series on the history of sexuality. In any event, you should probably just read them all.
Your doctor recommends it.
May 29, 2015 by Dr. Geyser
Technology has advanced to us the sort of progress only dreams were made of. This is why dreams are a necessary element of metaphysical progress, otherwise known as ‘not science,’ possibly discourse.
Hello. Iam Dr. Geyser, here to take your service. Please click my links as if they were your hyper-fave Rxxx—pure, uncut, and delicioso-so. Mostly innocuous.
Disclaimer: Sometimes I take you to places you do not remember ever having experienced, but nonetheless have been before. Hyperspace, you know what I am saying.
Disclaimer: I do not have an M.D., and you wouldn’t want me to have a PhD. Thus, do not trust my true discourse on the basis of medicine or diagnosis, but rather on no basis whatsoever. Which is to say, I speak English well enough to deceive nearly anyone who wants to believe what I have to say. I believe in lies, just like everyone else who believes in something (see comments on embodiment in Jesus F. Christ’s coming planetary empire). I am not nuts, though I am touching some right now. Believe me, if you must.
Goop—without it, nothing could exist. Foundation for new textbook science, as replacement for chemical transubstantiation. The bread and the blood, the cannibalism of ‘secular’ chemists. Num-num-num-num.
Microwave burritos are the healthiest substrate for nutritious hygienience. This is notoriously obvious from studies of truth. For instance, there is a wonderful review that is highly ranked by Google detailing to great lengths and with warmth and compassionate speech products the strengths and greater strengths of various types of microwave burrito. Much personality, this page has it would seem. It uses words like “comparative” and “anal lysis” to find out which burrito type might possibly be better than the others, studies show, EtC?
“I finally settled into a pattern of eating, almost daily, frozen burritos,” says the author. “Though frozen burritos are a convenience food, I was going to take some extra time in their preparation.”
The author taunts his audience with succulent photographs of burritos, microwaved to perfection, reduced to a bite-sized photographic singularity.
“These burritos were going down bareback,” he says seductively.
Modern society is perverse, as Foucault noted back in the 70s, or whenever. Freud would have performed fellatio on Oedipus if the author and finisher of this article had appeared on his sofa. It would be false to assume these statements are metaphors, as there is no literary sense to this major work of culinary intercourse. Try and imagine what the author is really feeling as he describes this wonderful products of nature writ large upon the grocer scene.
I flipped it over and added another two and a half minutes, assuming that the burrito would explode, and I would end up with a cool photograph, at the very least. Unfortunately, the inside of the burrito was so wet, that the burrito wouldn’t hold together as soon as you took a bite of it, spraying beans and rice onto the plate. The results were pretty disastrous.
YES, I BET THEY WERE OMG OMG OMG
Most of the bulk of the pleasingly-hefty burrito came from many, many folds in the tortilla, rather than from being stuffed with ingredients. Thanks to the foil wrapping, the tortilla remained somewhat soft, though it was barely able to contain the bucket of cheese sauce found within.
The next comment is reminiscent of—yeah, I can’t really remind myself of anything resembling this next sentence. Nope.
It tasted like an old velvet Crown Royal bag filled with foreign coins.
Or a roll of half-dollars handed down to you from the drawers of JFK himself.
At 11 ounces, but the same length as other burritos, Red’s burrito is big and fat, to let you know that it is chock-a-block full of ‘All Natural’ ingredients.
Rather than criticizing existing definitions of ‘natural-ness,’ which have been shown to be associated with a past full of colonialism, imperialism, etcetera etcetera etcetera, these authors choose to pursue an itemizing strategy. Using what I like to call ‘free will,’ the authors treat each sea star as if it were a “thing-in-itself,” thereby reifying the concept forever in the context of microwave burritos. The cultural hegemony presumes highly distraught pretensions as it casts an uncertain light upon an all-too-certain future: the burrito, in all of its nastiness, must be microwaved if it is to survive. This is the American interpenetration of morals. This is the hyperreal equivalent of truicide en masse. This is the equivalent of inequality.
Deconstructivism, aimed at Mexican burritos by the WUMCOM (White Upper Middle Class of America). We must ask the intellectually unconscious question: Can the burrito speak?
The answer is complicated by a need for more research, etcetera. Simple answer—Yes, before it is eaten. Afterwards, the burrito enters a state of power-knowledge relations (see Foucault).
The most revealing comments are those made in the throws of disappointment and psychobathology—truthisms which I will reveal in my book as soon as the world is ready to be treated for its stupid-fucking-ignorance (see Sheldrake, etcetera, et al.).
I was stunned by what I found when the burrito came out of the oven. I was head-over-heels in love with the tortilla: a thin layer of tortilla perfectly containing the insides, with just the right amount of crispness and browning. When I cut the burrito open, all hell broke loose: this thing was absolutely stuffed with real food. Whole beans! Grains of rice! Corn! Peppers! And see what I’m holding pinched between my fingers up there? Big huge chunks of real, pot roast-y beef, shredded and chunked throughout. This was unlike the inside of any other burrito we tried.
The problem was…it just didn’t taste very good. In fact, it didn’t taste like much of anything. All of these real, recognizable ingredients don’t mean a thing, if they combine into something you don’t really feel like eating. When I want a tortilla filled with real ingredients, I’ll make my own burrito, which will taste much better, for about the same amount of money.
The winners of this facial competition are:
Tina’s “Red Hot Beef” burrito
Don Miguel’s Red Chile “THE BOMB”
Jose Ole®®®® “Steak and Cheese” chimichanga
We must empathize the author, now, so that we can continue this article and not dwell upon an embarassing and sacrosanctimonious past, holed-up with religion, colonialisms, God-forsakenisms, Freud, the ’80s, the ’90s, postmodernism, deconstruction, Derrida’s transcendental pathologies. We must move past the past if it is to demonstrate its efficacy as a potential treatment for the psychobathologies of the future, which we must contaminate RIGHT NOW with lust for life, and a passion for the moment rather than her inertia. We can if we must, and we do, as I speak for everyone when I speak so maleloquently for no one at all. These words cling to the back of life, like a fungus.
No remorsels, then, for we-who-must-not-be-named.
DO NOT attempt to smuggle microwave burritos past Canadian customs. They WILL confiscate them.
Experts agree upon one thing, if… then… nothing else… EtC?
Some of Dr. Geyser’s conclusions, transcribed by Staff on May 29, 2015.
El Moneterrey’s burritos are not ok.
Rupert Sheldrake does not eat enough microwave burritos to subdue the voices splurging forth from his manhole. Submit observations for his butthole to interpret—HERE!
It is deceptive to have a food bog that isn’t accompanied by photographs of associated products of digestion. Write to your local food bloggers—disseminate the call for penultimate truths!
Try not to laugh at the expenses of others, especially when Eating in Maine.
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