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Pilgrim, Billy. [170 years] Billy Pilgrim. [The 50’s] B.P.

December 15, 2011

                                                                      

 The end…

He went to the party but didn’t understand what people were saying. He left, walked outside by the river and overheard some of the kitchen staff talking.

‘I fucking hate rich people.’

‘Me too, man.’

‘They’re all vampires.’

‘Huge fucking vampires.’

He understood this, but couldn’t be a part of it. He walked on, stopped, sat down and saw a rat. It wasn’t huge, but if it were a movie it would’ve been. And he would’ve shot it with a slingshot…

Foucault’s Daughter is not a real daughter.

Four years later, he was in Bucharest. Coming out of the subway he asked two Romanians how to get to Kovescu street. They tried to tell him in English. The man was pretty and so was the woman. He wished he could impress them with Romanian, but he knew nothing. Fuck it. What were they saying that was so different anyway? Different sounds, same trauma. He walked on, found the street and talked himself out of buying any more dictionaries…

Foucault’s Daughter is not a real daughter, she’s a plot device.

The next night there were three dogs. They were strays and they knew how to bite. Dogs in Bucharest had personality. The dog you met on street number seven might not bite you, but the dog on street fifty-two would rip out your throat. He’d read this in a book somewhere. Maybe it was true, maybe it was fiction. He walked on, ignoring the dogs, thinking of the man he’d never killed or put in the abandoned church…

Foucault’s Daughter is a plot device with huge meaning.

Back in time, but not too far, he sat on an island next to a beachside hotel. It was a lodge for honeymooners. He waited for some of them, to see their faces on clocking the shitty hotel. But no, they never came, and he didn’t really care. Neither did Camus. Or Deleuze. Or Nakagami. The rooms were empty. The beach was dirt yellow. The charcoal, on fire…

Foucault’s Daughter is not a real daughter, she’s a metaphor.

In a forest near Brasov, with the other computers far, far away, he sat and waited in the cave. The bears would be back soon. They’d help him. They were decent, bears. Unless you said the wrong thing. But mostly they were decent. Not phoney like all the others…

Foucault’s Daughter is a figurative thing.

Two days later, the bears came back. They woke him up. He said the wrong thing. They ripped out his spine…

Foucault’s Daughter is a figurative thing with a story around her.

The witch was dead. The night before he’d tried to rape her, but she’d flung him across the bedroom and nearly broken his spine, so they were even. Outside it was snowing. Inside there were old books and a dead bitch. He didn’t know where to go next. Ha, he said…

Foucault’s Daughter is fiction.

In Lisbon he wrote a story. The main character would fill the following belief: Better to be the Portuguese Zine King than a fake somebody. He smiled. It would work. Key word: conviction…

Foucault’s Daughter is not easy to describe.

It was the future or a different reality or a videogame in his head and somewhere along the way he’d changed his name to Xolo. There were kids and sultans and space-folk running from his knife. He was tough. They died easy. Killing did and didn’t matter. That’s the way it was written. God-head the author. Chapter seven. It was deep space and the Genocide hole was losing integrity. Ninety-six pages, all done. How? Descriptions were tighter. Actions faster. The bad guys plotted four chapters ahead of the narrator. Xolo had to improvise. Try to remember where and what he was before. It was important to know that. He sat down, ignored the slaughter and thought back to the 50’s…

He sat in the hotel room, trapped in the bowels of New York, every road out of there a trickster. There was nowhere to go and nothing to see. People wanted to talk to him. Touch him. Fuck him. It was over. He’d been into space already, and that was a hundred and seventy years in the future, so the only thing left was to keep going. He’d keep the typewriter, but that was all. From now on everything he wrote would be invisible…

In Lisbon he planned his story. The main character lived on the streets. He thought things like: ‘I will make zines so I can read my blanket while I sleep’…

She really isn’t his daughter, it’s just a writing device.

Years later, the zine novels were released onto the streets of Hong Kong. They had already been seen in Ljubljana, Zagreb and Bucharest, but now there were more…

Back to the end

He went to the party but didn’t understand what people were saying…

************

Meaning of this

It’s simple. The use of Billy Pilgrim is the [ab]use of Kurt Vonnegut. The release of the zine novels into a Universe where time is a living, flowing thing means they were released in 2011 and the 50’s simultaneously. The end is not the end, we’re all on a loop. This has been said before many times, which should, theoretically, kill the piece stone dead, but this is a Benky-futurist piece, so all criticism of redundancy goes out the window. [One of the original tenets of Benky-futurism says that no piece is redundant as long as at least seven words have been changed. In short, they believe the theme of a piece can appear to be identical to the original [in this case, Slaughterhouse Five] because the fluid nature of time and themeology means the theme will not and cannot ever be the same twice. You only think it can, obviously.]

What else?

The death of the main character occurs somewhere in the middle, when the bears get him. However, his life continues. This is a recurring plot device in Benky-futurism. In fact, it is almost a stipulation. In the last few years, Neo-Benky-futurists have argued it is better for the ‘hero-anti’ to die, not in the middle of the piece, but around the three-quarter mark. The theory being that it is ‘unnatural’ or ‘too finely balanced’ for something to die so centrally in the text.

Any more?

The quest for, and then rejection of, a second language. According to Benky-futurism, nothing captures the nature of time better than the learning of a language. These are the three steps:

1] The yearning to study the language. [Potential future]

2] The regret of not studying a language before. [Past]

3] The sum knowledge from previous study and continuing study of the language, and the frustration/joy of this unfinished state. [Present Continuous]

All three steps are shown in this piece.

Aren’t some of the paragraphs taken from Zizek Press books?

Yup, some of the characters are present. Another distinction of Benky-futurism is the claim that all characters written under one press are actually the same character. Xolo is Billy is Oli is Tony is Foucault’s Daughter. Although ‘Foucault’s Daughter’ isn’t referenced directly in this piece, it is very much present between the lines.

There you go.

El meaning.

Lots of it.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. December 16, 2011 10:24 pm

    very clever. very naughty. very funny.

  2. Stavrogin permalink
    December 20, 2011 2:17 pm

    I did wonder if the humour would come out. I hope it has.

Trackbacks

  1. Foucault’s Daughter’s Father Speaks « zizekpress

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