oh build your ship of death
Tweeting Through Antichrist
What I get most of all from LvT (watching Antichrist right now) is hatred of intelligence. Intelligence must be humiliated…
Intelligence must learn that it is not intelligent, that stupidity is more powerful than intelligence. Stupidity is the prime mover.
Intelligence cannot accept that stupidity is more powerful than it, and is stupid because it cannot learn the rules of stupidity.
Stupidity rules over beauty, emotion, nature, the depths of things. Intelligence misconstrues the world as intelligible.
Violent grief, perversion, rage, imbecility, self-harm are authentic. Intelligence obstructs authenticity with its inauthenticity.
LvT sees women as fundamentally aligned, simpatico, with the underlying stupidity of things. Men are misaligned, and trust in intelligence.
Cinema, as a sensual art, outruns intelligence: it can tap into reserves of stupidity. Cinematic immersion is a stupor, self-abandonment.
A fundamental identity: for LvT, cinema is feminine. The cinematic subject is woman. Men appear in cinema in order to be eclipsed by women.
Antichrist is extremely beautiful to look at, even if one distracts oneself by tweeting about it. A mad, kitsch, factitious beauty.
A beauty that mocks intelligence, which seeks to see truly. Antichrist’s beauty is the beauty of things that are not there.
This is also a formula for cinema: the beauty of things that are not there.
“You’re just so damn arrogant!” “Your thoughts distort reality, not the other way around”.
“I’m cured! You’re so clever!”. Everything must necessarily go to shit from this point on. “You can’t just be happy for me, can you?”
“Chaos…reigns!” And then it….rains. Reality puns.
Writing degenerates to a childish scrawl.
Let’s role-play nature, nature against reason. Nature appears to reason as a role in reason’s role-play.
“Women do not control their own bodies. Nature does”. “You were supposed to be critical of those texts!”
You are not supposed to be critical. Critique masters, neutralises, subordinates to reason. Nature’s stupidity is beyond critique.
Nature’s answer to phallogocentrism is blunt trauma with a block of wood.
Willem Defoe battering a small bird to death, having crawled backwards into a dank hole. Now he gets it. Silly man!
“A crying woman is a scheming woman”. Nature projects its schemes through abjection.
“None of it is any use”. Grim and frosty hail. Improvidence, inutility, loss and waste: pure expenditure without return.
Foraging, watched by woodland creatures. Typical LvT fake-out ending, equivalent to bells in Breaking The Waves: jarring false resolution.
Well, that was indeed both grim and tr00.
I think of LvT’s false resolutions as final farts in the face of intelligence. He knows what he’s about.
Antichrist less aggravating than Breaking The Waves because largely void of pathos, which acts as a kind of apologetics for the worldview.
I don’t object to a work of art’s being the product of a sick mind. Most interesting ones are. I object to apologetics, special pleading.
What non-Catholics see as Catholic sentimentality is just this form of special pleading, a way of circumventing rational evaluation.
You are supposed to be terribly moved; you are supposed not to argue with what moves you so terribly.
Antichrist is what it is: you can enter and leave its world, which has its own integrity and consistency as depressive worlds generally do.
It also - as I said about Xasthur - shows you the facticity of depressive thinking, the bare circularity on which it depends.