ORDINARY

AFFECTS

 2007 Duke University Press

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acknowledgments

ix

Ordinary Affects

I am grateful to the National Endowment for the Humanities for

a fellowship year at the School of American Research in Santa Fe;
to the University of California, Irvine, Humanities Institute for
six months in Orange County; and to the University of Texas for
a Dean's Fellowship and a Faculty Research Assignment.
Versions of various small parts of this book have been published
elsewhere, as follows: Annual Review of Anthropology 28 (1999);
Intimacy, ed. Lauren Berlant (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 2000); Cultural Studies and Political Theory, ed. Jodi Dean
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000); Cross Cultural Poetics 3,
no. 3 (2000); Modernism, Inc.: Essays on American Modernity, ed.
Jani Scanduri and Michael Thurston (New York: New York University Press, 2002); "Public Sentiments: Memory, Trauma, History, Action," ed. Ann Cvetkovich and Ann Pelegrini, special issue
of Scholar and Feminist Online 2, no. I (2003); Aesthetic Subjects:
Pleasures, Ideologies, and Ethics, ed. Pamela Matthews and David
McWhirter (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2003);
Transparency and Conspiracy: Ethnographies of Suspicion in the
New World Order, ed. Harry G. West and Todd Sanders (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2003); Histories of the Future,
ed. Susan Harding and Daniel Rosenberg (Durham, N.C.: Duke
University Press, 2005); Handbook of Qualitative Research, ed.
Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln (London: Sage, 2005); and
"Uncharted Territories: An Experiment in Finding Missing Cultural Pieces," ed. Orvar Lofgren, special issue, Ethnologia Europea:
Journal of European Ethnology I, no. 2 (2005).
Many people have read or listened to parts or all of the various
versions of this book. I am especially grateful to Begona Aretxaga,

Lauren Berlant, James Clifford, Ann Cvetkovitch, Steven Feld,

Donna Haraway, Susan Harding, Mary Hufford, Laura Long,
Jason Pine, Gretchen Ritter, Betsy Taylor, Greg Urban, and Scott
Webel. From the start, the life and stories of Daniel Webb have
been an inspiration for my work in this volume. Some excellent stories also came from Andrew Causey, who is permanently
missed in the neighborhood, and one came from Penny Van Horn
who is still an excellent presence even though I never see her. My
mother, Claire, and my brothers, Frank and Michael, each contributed a story. Other members of my family also built, and continue to build, the affective and narrative ground on which this
book roosts. The Public Feelings group at the University of Texas
has been the most intellectually and affectively stimulating and
supporting academic scene I have ever been part of I thank Ken
Wissoker for knowing what this project was about long ago and
being there for it, so patient and clear. Ronn Dula, John Dula,
and Ariana Stewart have spun around the thing, day to day, with
grace, squeals of laughter and rage, rolled eyes, whispers, headaches, distractions, interruptions, and smiling eyes (or knowing
smirks). Thank you for that.

Ordinary Afficts is an experiment, not a judgment. Committed

not to the demystification and uncovered truths that support a
well-known picture of the world, but rather to speculation, curiosity, and the concrete, it tries to provoke attention to the forces
that come into view as habit or shock, resonance or impact. Something throws itself together in a moment as an event and a sensation; a something both animated and inhabitable.
This book is set in a United States caught in a present that
began some time ago. But it suggests that the terms neoliberalism,
advanced capitalism, and globalization that index this emergent
present, and the five or seven or ten characteristics used to summarize and define it in shorthand, do not in themselves begin
to describe the situation we find ourselves in. The notion of a
totalized system, of which everything is always already somehow
a part, is not helpful (to say the least) in the effort to approach
a weighted and reeling present. This is not to say that the forces
these systems try to name are not real and literally pressing. On
the contrary, I am trying to bring them into view as a scene of
immanent force, rather than leave them looking like dead effects
imposed on an innocent world.
The ordinary is a shifting assemblage of practices and practical
knowledges, a scene of both liveness and exhaustion, a dream of
escape or of the simple life.1 Ordinary affects are the varied, surg1 See Lauren Berlant's essay "Cruel Optimism"
(Differences, forthcoming) for a brilliant discussion of how objects and scenes of desire
matter not just because of their content but because they hold promise

ing capacities to affect and to be affected that give everyday life

the quality of a continual motion of relations, scenes, contingencies, and emergences.2 They're things that happen. They happen
in impulses, sensations, expectations, daydreams, encounters, and
habits of relating, in strategies and their failures, in forms of persuasion, contagion, and compulsion, in modes of attention, attachment, and agency, and in publics and social worlds of all kinds
that catch people up in something that feels like something. 3
Ordinary affects are public feelings that begin and end in broad
circulation, but they're also the stuff that seemingly intimate lives
are made of. They give circuits and flows the forms of a life. They
can be experienced as a pleasure and a shock, as an empty pause or
a dragging undertow, as a sensibility that snaps into place or a profound disorientation. They can be funny, perturbing, or traumatic.
Rooted not in fixed conditions of possibility but in the actual
lines of potential that a something coming together calls to mind
and sets in motion, they can be seen as both the pressure points of
events or banalities suffered and the trajectories that forces might
take if they were to go unchecked. Akin to Raymond Williams's
structures of feeling, they are "social experiences in solution"; they
in the present moment of a thing encountered and because rhey become
rhe means of keeping whole clusrers of affectsmagnetized to them.
2 See Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus:
Capitalism and
Schizophrenia, vol. I, trans. Brian Massumi (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 1983), andA Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, vol. 2, trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987).
3 See Lauren Berlant's introduction to Intimacy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000) and her essays "Nearly Utopian, Nearly
Normal: Post-Fordist Affect in Rosetta and La Promesse" (Public Culture,
forthcoming) and "Slow Death" (Critical Inquiry, forthcoming) for discussions of an individual's abstract yet contingent desire to feel like he
or she is "in" something or can recognize something.

"do not have to await definition, classification, or rationalization

before they exert palpable pressures."4 Like what Roland Barthes
calls the "third meaning," they are immanent, obtuse, and erratic,
in contrast to the "obvious meaning" of semantic message and
symbolic signification.5 They work not through "meanings" per
se, but rather in the way that they pick up density and texture as
they move through bodies, dreams, dramas, and social woddings
of all kinds. Their significance lies in the intensities they build and
in what thoughts and feelings they make possible. The question
they beg is not what they might mean in an order of representations, or whether they are good or bad in an overarching scheme
of things, but where they might go and what potential modes of
knowing, relating, and attending to things are already somehow
present in them in a state of potentiality and resonance.
Ordinary affects, then, are an animate circuit that conducts
force and maps connections, routes, and disjunctures.6 They are a
kind of contact zone where the overdeterminations of circulations,
events, conditions, technologies, and flows of power literally take
place. To attend to ordinary affects is to trace how the potency of
forces lies in their immanence to things that are both flighty and
hardwired, shifty and unsteady but palpable too. At once abstract
and concrete, ordinary affects are more directly compelling than
ideologies, as well as more fractious, multiplicitous, and unpredictable than symbolic meanings. They are not the kind of analytic
object that can be laid out on a single, static plane of analysis, and
4SeeRaymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (New York:Oxford
University Press, 1977), 133, 132.
5 Roland Barthes, "The Third Meaning: Research Notes on Some
Eisenstein Stills,"in The Responsibility of Forms: Critical Essays on Music,
Art, and Representation, trans. Richard Howard (Berkeley:University of
California Press, 1985), 318.
6 See Nigel Thrift, Knowing Capitalism (London: Sage, 2005), for a
discussion of how capitalism forms an "animate surface" to life.

they don't lend themselves to a perfect, three-tiered parallelism

between analytic subject, concept, and world. They are, instead,
a problem or question emergent in disparate scenes and incommensurate forms and registers; a tangle of potential connections.
Literally moving things-things that are in motion and that are
defined by their capacity to affect and to be affected-they have
to be mapped through different, coexisting forms of composition,
habituation, and event. They can be "seen," obtusely, in circuits
and failed relays, in jumpy moves and the layered textures of a
scene. They surge or become submerged. They point to the jump
of something coming together for a minute and to the spreading lines of resonance and connection that become possible and
might snap into sense in some sharp or vague way.
Models of thinking that slide over the live surface of difference
at work in the ordinary to bottom-line arguments about "bigger"
structures and underlying causes obscure the ways in which a reeling present is composed out of heterogeneous and noncoherent
singularities. They miss how someone's ordinary can endure or
can sag defeated; how it can shift in the face of events like a shift
in the kid's school schedule or the police at the door. How it can
become a vague but compelling sense that something is happening, or harden into little mythic kernels. How it can be carefully
maintained as a prized possession, or left to rot. How it can morph
into a cold, dark edge, or give way to something unexpectedly
hopeful.
This book tries to slow the quick jump to representational thinking and evaluative critique long enough to find ways of approaching the complex and uncertain objects that fascinate because they
literally hit us or exert a pull on us. My effort here is not to finally
"know" them - to collect them into a good enough story of what's
going on- but to fashion some form of address that is adequate
to their form; to find something to say about ordinary affects by
performing some of the intensity and texture that makes them
habitable and animate. This means building an idiosyncratic map

of connections between a series of singularities. 7 It means pointing always outward to an ordinary world whose forms ofliving are
now being composed and suffered, rather than seeking the closure
or clarity of a book's interiority or riding a great rush of signs to
a satisfying end. In this book I am trying to create a contact zone
for analysis.
The writing here has been a continuous, often maddening,
effort to approach the intensities of the ordinary through a close
ethnographic attention to pressure points and forms of attention
and attachment. Ordinary Afficts is written as an assemblage of
disparate scenes that pull the course of the book into a tangle
of trajectories, connections, and disjunctures. Each scene begins
anew the approach to the ordinary from an angle set off by the
scene's affects. And each scene is a tangent that performs the sensation that something is happening-something
that needs attending to. From the perspective of ordinary affects, thought is
patchy and material. It does not find magical closure or even seek
it, perhaps only because it's too busy just trying to imagine what's
going on.
I write not as a trusted guide carefully laying out the links between theoretical categories and the real world, bur as a point of
impact, curiosity, and encounter. I call myself "she" to mark the
difference between this writerly identity and the kind of subject
that arises as a daydream of simple presence. "She" is not so much
a subject position or an agent in hot pursuit of something definitive as a point of contact; instead, she gazes, imagines, senses,
takes on, performs, and asserts not a flat and finished truth but
some possibilities (and threats) that have come into view in the
effort to become attuned to what a particular scene might offer.
From the perspective of ordinary affects, things like narrative
SeeJohn Rajchman, The Deleuze Connections (Cambridge, Mass.:
MIT Press, 2000),
4-13, for a discussionof the analysisthat works to
make connections.
7

and identity become tentative though forceful compositions of

disparate and moving elements: the watching and waiting for an
event to unfold, the details of scenes, the strange or predictable
progression in which one thing leads to another, the still life that
gives pause, the resonance that lingers, the lines along which signs
rush and form relays, the layering of immanent experience, the
dreams of rest or redemption or revenge. Forms of power and
meaning become circuits lodged in singularities. They have to be
followed through disparate scenes. They can gather themselves
into what we think of as stories and selves. But they can also remain, or become again, dispersed, floating, recombining-regardless of what whole or what relay of rushing signs they might
find themselves in for a while.
Walter Benjamin's 1999 Arcades Project is one model of this
kind of thinking: his nomadic tracing of dream worlds still resonant in material things; his process of writing captions to found
fragments and snapshots gathered into a loose assemblage; the
way his thought presses close to its objects in order to be affected
by them.
Roland Barthes's S/Z and A Lover's Discourse are models too:
his attunement to the movements, pleasures, and poetics of language and things; his sense of the expansive, irreducible nature of
forms of signification; his attention to the fragments that comprise things; his notion of the punctum-the
wounding, personally touching detail that establishes a direct contact.
Leslie Stern's The Smoking Book assembles an array of brief
ficto-critical stories united only by some mention of smoking,
embedding theory in the situations encountered. The result is a
mass of resonances linking precise moments and states of desire
through a single, thin line of connection. It leaves the reader with
an embodied sense of the world as a dense network of mostly unknown links.
Michael Taussig's My Cocaine Museum and The Magic of the
State and Alphonso Lingis'sDangerous Emotions and Foreign Bodies

also serve here as examples of ficto-critical efforts to perform the

intensity of circuits, surges, and sensations.
D. ]. Waldie's Holy Land: A Suburban Memoir is a surreally
realist chronicle of Lakewood, California, which in the 1950S was
built, overnight, as the "world's largest" subdivision. Like the subdivision grid, Waldie's memoir is constructed out of tiny bits of
personal narrative, hometown tales, and moments in the history
of real estate development, all held together with the mortar of a
singular though widespread form of ordinariness.
David Searcy's Ordinary Horror brilliantly performs the attachment to fantasy that arises out of mundane sights and situations.
Many other novels, such as Edward Jones's The Known World, Ian
McEwan's Atonement, or Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, produce scenes of a world saturated by jumpy attunements.
Finally, Lauren Berlant's mode of thinking and writing on the
affects of the present moment serves here as a direct inspiration
and source of insight. In her work, the academic concept becomes something new and promising. Embedded in the intense
and complex affective attunement of her writing, her concepts of
the noncoherent, the incommensurate, and the scenic, as well as
of attachment, intimacy, exhaustion, and the unlivable but animating desires for rest or for the simple life have sent me back to
rethink scenes over and over again.

It's been years now since we've been watching.

Something surges into view like a snapped live wire sparking
on a cold suburban street. You can stare at it, transfixed by its erratic thrashing. Or you can shake it off fast and finish your morning walk as planned, eyeing the thing as you pass on your way to
the dog park.
At the park, there is talk, and the dogs run around madly, as if
recharged.
The flashing up is real.
It is delusional.
The dogs take to sleeping in nervous fits and starts. They throw
one eye open, raising a single eyebrow in hard surprise. They
cower under legs for no good reason and whimper at the sound of
branches brushing up against the bathroom window in the still of
the night. But with a simple, reassuring look and a murmur in the
ear, a kiss on the head, or the glimpse of a tail running by, they're
off again, stretching their legs in sheer pleasure.

Everyday life is a life lived on the level of surging affects, impacts

suffered or barely avoided. It takes everything we have. But it also
spawns a series of little somethings dreamed up in the course of
things.
It grows wary and excited.
There are all the details of getting the rent money together or
of home remodeling, getting messed up and recovering (or not),
looking for love (or not), trying to get into something, or trying

to get out of something you've gotten yourself into, shopping,

hoping, wishing, regretting, and all the tortures of exclusion and
inclusion, self and other, right and wrong, here and there.
The ordinary registers intensities-regularly,
intermittently,
urgently, or as a slight shudder.
We wish for the simple life that winks at us from someone else's
beautiful Rowerbeds. We Rip off other drivers, eye strange or delicious characters on the subway or the street. We scan the headlines, read the luscious novels and sobering memoirs two pages at
a time before falling asleep at night. We lose hours at a time disappeared into some pleasure or obsession, or Ripping hamburgers
or filing charts all afternoon to the point of literal senselessness.
Attention is distracted, pulled away from itself. But the constant pulling also makes it wakeful, "at attention." Confused but
attuned.
We're busy if we're lucky.
For some, the everyday is a process of going on until something
happens, and then back to the going on.
For others, one wrong move is all it takes.
Worries swirl around the bodies in the dark.
People bottom out watching daytime television.
Schedules are thrown up like scaffolding to handle work schedules and soccer practice or a husband quietly drinking himself to
death in the living room.
We dream of getting by, getting on track, getting away from
it all, getting real, having an edge, beating the system, being ourselves, checking out.
But first we take the hit, or dodge it.

Modes of attending to scenes and events spawn socialities, identities, dream worlds, bodily states and public feelings of all kinds.

,rr: -

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socialities, identi-

:'::dings of all kinds.

None of this is simply "good" or "bad" but always, first, both

powerful and mixed.
She's in a cafe in a small West Texas town. A place where
ranchers hang out talking seed prices and fertilizer and strangers
passing through town are welcome entertainment. The sun is
going down and she's halfway through her fresh-killed steak and
her baked potato when a biker couple comes in limping. All eyes
rotate to watch them as they move to a table and sit down. Their
hair is tousled, their clothes rumpled and torn. They talk intently,
locking their startled eyes.When she walks past their table on her
way out, they raise their heads to ask if she's heading out on the
west road and if she can look for bike parts. They say they hit a
deer coming into town and dumped their bike. The deer, they say,
fared much worse.
The room comes to a dead stop. All eyes and ears tune in to
the sentience of the crash still resonating in the bikers' bodies.
Then, slowly, taking their sweet time, people begin to offer questions from their tables, drawing out the details. First there is just
the simple will to know what happened. But the talk, once set in
motion, expands into a thicket of stories and social maneuverings.
There is talk of other collisions and strange events at that place on
the west road. Some people make eye contact across the room .
There are sly smiles of recognition. Little seeds of speculation
begin to sprout. The scene in the restaurant becomes an ordinary
maze of inspirations and experiments.
It's as if the singularity of the event has shaken things up, lightening the load of personal preoccupations and social ruts. As if
everyone was just waiting for something like this to happen. A
"we" of sorts opens in the room, charging the social with lines of
potential.
As she leaves, she imagines how, in the days to come, people
will keep their eyes open for bike parts when they travel the west
road and how there will be more talk. Conversations will gather
around the event and spin off into talk about the overpopulation

of deer or the new law legalizing riding without a helmet. There

might be talk of what parts would break in a speeding encounter
with a deer caught in a headlight, or of who is a good mechanic
and who doesn't know what he's talking about. Or talk might
turn to the image of hitting the open road, or surviving the desert
injured, or to abstract principles like freedom, fate, and recklessness.
But one way or another, the little accident will compel a response. It will shift people's life trajectories in some small way,
change them by literally changing their course for a minute or a
day.
The chance event might add a layer of conflict or daydream
to things. It might unearth old resentments, or set off a search
for lessons learned. It might pull the senses into alignment with
simple choices or polemics: good luck and bad, laws and liberties,
wild rides and common sense. But for now, at least, and in some
small way in the future, too, the talk will secretly draw its force
from the event itself resonating in bodies, scenes, and forms of
sociality.
And the habit of watching for something to happen will grow.

The ordinary is a circuit that's always tuned in to some little something somewhere.
A mode of attending to the possible and the threatening, it
amasses the resonance in things.
It flows through cliches of the self, agency, home, a life.
It pops up as a dream. Or it shows up in the middle of a derailing. Or in a simple pause.
It can take off in flights of fancy or go limp, tired, done for
now.
It can pool up in little worlds of identity and desire.

It can draw danger.

Or it can dissipate. :~.:.-

She's Vlsltlllg a place _~_

poverty and stereotype' ,:
Strangers passing thrc_;-, '
tight.
Right now, Bobb~' ,.
there's been trouble v,: I,-_
The Whitakers are '-,,',=incarnation of mour:;:-=-~,::
she met them, years ~e~:::
with a doctor from ::-,:
ker had congestive he-=--::-=propped up in a beaI-":,=-:::
boys ran in and out 0:' I,-,: -

Three or four youn~e: :' __

smiling, curious.
Then the mother c~-=--'-,
an old cowboy hat ar:=-.:.::1
sequins and drifted c~
of the others, cashinz =-',=_:
day to the little store,,-: =-',= :
Dongs, coffee, and IiII_= : -=--_
For years now, ne:;~,::
clothing, carrying th~~, :: =-:
from being taken b:' t:--,= :' ::
old trailer, now deca','~-=--=-I =cars have piled up a~=- =--: '
Some of them have b..:_: I'-__'
smallest of tool shed" =- ,_

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It can draw danger.

Or it can dissipate, leaving you standing.

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life.

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She's VISItInga place in the mountains where there is abject

poverty and stereotypes so strong they thicken the air like a stench.
Strangers passing through drop their jaws and lock their car doors
tight.
Right now, Bobby is worried about the Whitakers because
there's been trouble with some rich kids from town.
The Whitakers are wild looking. Everyone points to them as the
incarnation of mountain stereotype. She remembers the first time
she met them, years before, on a home visit to their tiny shack
with a doctor from the local poor people's clinic. Mrs. Whitaker had congestive heart failure. She sat with her swollen ankles
propped up in a beat-up recliner while four or five mute teenage
boys ran in and out of the house gesticulating some kind of story.
Three or four younger children sat on a mattress on the floor,
smiling, curious.
Then the mother died. After a few months, the father put on
an old cowboy hat and a beautiful red and yellow satin shirt with
sequins and drifted off. Mary Jo, the oldest, was able to take care
of the others, cashing their disability checks and walking every
day to the little store at the end of the holler to get weenies, Ding
Dongs, coffee, and little cans of sweet evaporated milk.
For years now, neighbors have been bringing them food and
clothing, carrying them to the hospital, and fighting to keep them
from being taken by the state and split up. Someone gave them an
old trailer, now decayed and collapsing on the spot. Broken-down
cars have piled up and the Whitaker boys are now grown men.
Some of them have built their own tiny shacks, no bigger than the
smallest of tool sheds. Driving past their place on the narrow dirt

road now, you see several men and women standing frozen in the
yard, watching you pass. If you wave, they'll smile and wave back.
If you don't, they'll just stand there woodenly and stare at you.
Two of the women go to the Tommy Creek Free Will Good
Hope Baptist Church next door. They testify in a language the
others can't understand, even though speaking in tongues is a
regular thing. This language seems like a special connection with
the divine.
The trouble started when a visiting preacher from town spotted
the Whitakers on his way to the Tommy Creek church and then
went back and told his congregation. A church committee brought
food and clothes. Bobby says they must have realized what they
had here, because they came back at Christmas with a camera
and shot a video to show the congregation. A group of teenage
boys in the church were seized by the images, so one dark night
they surged toward the Whitakers's place. They threw rocks at the
shacks to draw them out. A few weeks later they were back, and
this time the Whitaker men came out showing guns. Bobby is
afraid that the next time the rich kids will be back shooting.
An escalating exchange is sparked by a visceral encounter of
images. In a video that blankly records an arresting image, young
embodiments of a mainstream in the making come face to face
with an otherness that compels a closer look. The order of representation gives way to a more violently affective contact.
Calling out the Whitakers, the kids from town surge toward a
scene of their own confident force. The Whitakers learn their part
in the face of threat-the headlights shining in their sleepy eyes
and the crack of hostile shouts.

Her brother makes foreman at GE after twenty some years on the

line. His first job is to layoff a lot of the other guys. Guys with

The politics of orci~-=-:- ond when police CC:~'::e standing in a dark.::: : ~ ~

moment when some ~__ _
come into view. 0
any surge depends plays itself out and ~:-~

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Ideologies happc~ ~: trenched. Identities :~-:e :

at the drop of a har. :-:._:- :
quality of a somethir~;::

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shooting.

twenty or thirty years in. It's horrible (he's a storyteller). One man
has a heart attack in his office, so he calls the ambulance. He
finds counseling for others who are having anxiety attacks and
severe confusion. One man needs suicide intervention after his
wife kicks him out of the house.
Her brother's stories are shell-shocked and they have no endings. They leave you hanging.
There's a strike over healthcare cuts and job security. He and
the other foremen have to cross the picket line. It's horrible. He's
been a union steward. He's given union speeches. Now things
are getting ugly. Something powerful and painful flashes through
him.
Soon after, there's a call for a one-day national strike. He and
some of the other foremen go to management. They say they're
not comfortable crossing the picket line. They're told they can
take a personal day. Lucky for them it's only one day.
They're a weak link in the chain of command. They're strong,
brave, and scared. They've hit a wall in what they can and can't do.
They're a short circuit in a flow. They're lucky.

::::Jl encounter of
.. ~::'::=-.gimage, young

-.:: ::>:ne face to face

-:-=-.'" order of repre.:: :ontact.
- .,::'. surge toward a
. :.:,:::::5 learn their part
._
their sleepy eyes

::::-. 'orne years on the

: :=-."'I guys. Guys with

The politics of ordinary affect can be anything from the split second when police decide to shoot someone because he's black and
standing in a dark doorway and has something in his hand, to a
moment when someone falls in love with someone else who's just
come into view. Obviously, the differences matter. The politics of
any surge depends on where it might go. What happens. How it
plays itself our and in whose hands.
Ideologies happen. Power snaps into place. Structures growentrenched. Identities take place. Ways of knowing become habitual
at the drop of a hat. Bur it's ordinary affects that give things the
quality of a something to inhabit and animate. Politics starts in the

animated inhabitation of things, not way downstream in the various dreamboats and horror shows that get moving. The first step
in thinking about the force of things is the open question of what
counts as an event, a movement, an impact, a reason to react.
There's a politics to being/feeling connected (or not), to impacts
that are shared (or not), to energies spent worrying or scheming
(or not), to affective contagion, and to all the forms of attunement and attachment. There's a politics to ways of watching and
waiting for something to happen and to forms of agency - to how
the mirage of a straightforward exercise of will is a flag waved in
one situation and a vicious, self-defeating deflation in another (as
when someone of no means has a get-rich-quick daydream-a
daydream to be free at last-that ends them up in jail). There's a
politics to difference in itself-the difference of danger, the difference of habit and dull routine, the difference of everything that
matters.

The hard, resilient need to react has become a charged habit.

For her, it started early. Because she was a girl. Because her
family, like all families, built its skin around dramas and luminous
little tales with shiny scenes and vibrant characters. And because
the storytellers kept track of what happened to everyone-the
ends they came to. (Which, of course, were never good.)
The social and natural worlds could be seen through the outlines of impacts suffered.
They registered, literally, in a kind of hauntedness, a being
weighed down, a palpable reaction.

::e--:-.::1(he vari-:: -=-:-:.-: first step

... - =._::'=::':1of what
_ :::-=--,::1
IO react .
. : = . w impacts
.- ..:".:::r scheming
': :': :::::",'of attune: --,.-.aching and
:' .:...::::=-:,:\'-to
how
. ~ -=,L.-::-~ waved in
_______
- -::",::::. another (as
,= _=:: Ja\'dream-a
_:-.:".lj). There's a
.:.::."-:".::er,
the differ: --::'~er:'thing that

:. -: Te-edhabit.

',-,-~.;rl.Because her

'::':e--::asand luminous
.T.::.:.:.==-:rs.
And because
- :-: - ::.::.=0 everyone- the
,'" - ~-.'ere-ood.)
- - --t:l
:::::::.c:hrough the out-

For years now her early childhood has been coming back to her as
shocks of beauty, or beautiful shocks.
She remembers her kindergarten class walking back from
Woolworth's, carrying a box of furry yellow chicks. The look of
red tulips standing upright in her mother's garden is married to
the taste of found raspberries and tart rhubarb ripped out of the
ground when no one was looking and eaten with a spoonful of
dirt.
The scene of her mother in a beautiful black dress and red lipstick getting ready to go out cuts to the brilliant blood exploding
from the face of the boy next door when he fell from a cliff and
landed face down on the cement in front of her. Then the scene
cuts to the rhythm of shocks, days later, as her father and the other
men tear the cliff apart boulder by boulder. Each time one hits
the ground it shakes the glasses in the pantry with an impact that
seems transformative.
There is a spectral scene of her little brother hunched over
something in the row of pine trees that hug the house. She passes
him on the way to school; on the way back at lunchtime, there is
the sight of the house in flames and the driveway full of fire trucks
with flashing red lights. The phrase "playing with matches" seems
to be written across the blue sky in huge, white, cloud letters.
Or there is the day that all of her grandparents come to visit and
they are floating up the treacherous driveway in a big, wide car.
Then the wheels are sliding off the icy edge and the big car lurches
to the edge of the cliff and hangs suspended. The white heads in
the back seat sit very still while she runs, yelling for help.
There are her fingers crushed in the milk door on the landing,

her screams stifled in a panic to keep the secret that there are wild
rabbits running around in the cellar.
Sunday drives are ice cream cones dripping down sticky fingers
in the back seat and the wordless theft of the baby's cone, silent
tears running down fat cheeks. There is the unspoken agreement
among the older kids not to alert the front seat.
There's the dreamy performance at the VFW hall. Her sister is
the "cancan" girl covered in clanking cans, and she's the "balloon
girl" dancing in floating plastic spheres to the lyrics of "Itsy Bitsy
Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" while everyone laughs.
Later, there are Saturday mornings spent fidgeting at her
grandmother's table while her mother and her aunts tell graphic
stories prompted by the seemingly simple work of remembering
kinship ties and married names-stories of alcoholism, accidents,
violence, and cancers.
There are the nights walking the streets with her mother, peering into picture windows to catch a dreamy glimpse of scenes at
rest or a telltale detail out of place. A lamp by a reading chair or a
shelf of knickknacks on the wall, a chair overturned.
So still, like a postcard.

A still is a state of calm, a lull in the action. But it is also a machine

hidden in the woods that distills spirits into potency through a
process of slow condensation.
In painting, a still life is a genre that captures the liveness of inanimate objects (fruit, flowers, bowls) by suspending their sensory
beauty in an intimate scene charged with the textures of paint and
desire.
Hitchcock was a master of the still in film production. A simple
pause of the moving camera to focus on a door or a telephone
could produce a powerful suspense.

Ordinary life, too. -=-:-~.

arrest. Stilllifes punc~_~'::
with ribbons and wir::: ;:'-:
in the back seat of d'.:: ;::.: .c
lake, the collection c,c' :'c. c~:
after a hike in the ffiC_C. ~"--:
in the closet, the mccc.O:C.
lurch into view wi~:,,-c
.~

out when a strange CC."--'-- .. O:

perience that pull a~c c -,-.c_"frame.

A still life is a sta:::c :~.c':

nance. A quivering ;c. ~.-.:: _
gives the ordinary th:: cc_,,--';
It is the intensity :c cc. ::
or a glitch in the proi::cc --::
a life. Or a simple sw:::: ._.;:
When a still life lC~C;: ~::
a shock or as some .~=.:~.
- of sheer pleasure-2.r: _cc_:
feeling. Or an alibi c'cc =-- :
insanity folded into c~_:: ::::
can be a flight from L_CC.C'.c
strategies of carrying 'c."It can turn the self :-.~: c

There was a time ,,'le::c. ~_-_0:

traipsing around sme..:.-=-.--C.
vation and faded be2.:':"C'-:--.
ornate, stone-cut Geccc.-'-C. c _
now hosting gift shcF'

_- -- ~~--~,
- - --_'-..~ that there are wild
~,

:: _=_0:: -:lawn sticky fingers

- ----;~ babv's
cone, silent
,

me:

:.-::

-~_~~:lspoken agreement
'1.:::

~- ~

~,~
I: ,--

'-

hall. Her sister is

~_i she's the "balloon
- - : ~ :nics of "Itsy Bitsy
__:~ 'everyone laughs.
0

-:=T

fidgeting at her
~_~raunts tell graphic
_0 -,'-,erk of remembering
::: .:c:::oholism,accidents,
':: ~:-H

Ii: ':_-"- - :-:-_:-::

-<::, her mother,

peere: _ ::- ~c--.-_-- dimpse of scenes at

1::: - :.--.- ::::"~ a reading chair or a
~r:urned.
l!I:

00:'

"3 '..Itit is also a machine

Ordinary life, too, draws its charge from rhythms of flow and
arrest. 5tilllifes punctuate its significance: the living room strewn
with ribbons and wine glasses after a party, the kids or dogs asleep
in the back seat of the car after a great (or not so great) day at the
lake, the collection of sticks and rocks resting on the dashboard
after a hike in the mountains, the old love letters stuffed in a box
in the closet, the moments of humiliation or shock that suddenly
lurch into view without warning, the odd moments of spacing
out when a strange malaise comes over you, the fragments of experience that pull at ordinary awareness but rarely come into full
frame.
A still life is a static state filled with vibratory motion, or resonance. A quivering in the stability of a category or a trajectory, it
gives the ordinary the charge of an unfolding.
It is the intensity born of a momentary suspension of narrative,
or a glitch in the projects we call things like the self, agency, home,
a life. Or a simple stopping.
When a still life pops up out of the ordinary, it can come as
a shock or as some kind of wake-up call. Or it can be a scene
of sheer pleasure-an
unnamed condensation of thought and
feeling. Or an alibi for all of the violence, inequality and social
insanity folded into the open disguise of ordinary things. Or it
can be a flight from numbing routine and all the self-destructive
strategies of carrying on.
It can turn the self into a dreaming scene, if only for a minute.

=_:0 potency through a

u- -_-.:.
- ::.:.:::~::eSthe liveness of in:: ;~';,ending their sensory
ILL: _ - _ =_-_ -=-.-_; textures of paint and
=_

==_rf_
:,roduction. A simple
:: =_ -,--door or a telephone

There was a time

traipsing around
vation and faded
ornate, stone-cut
now hosting gift

when the two women would go on day trips,

small Texas towns in various states of preserbeauty. There were town squares rimmed with
German buildings from the nineteenth century,
shops or a local campaign headquarters. There

were serendipitous scenes like the cafe that featured pies piled
high with whipped cream and butter icing and where the waitress
described every ingredient in supple, loving detail. Or the antique
shop where a woman with big hair and a big accent described the
ancient armoires and gilded birdcages that went for a song at last
night's auction. People came from all around and left with their
arms full.
There was the little police station where the two women went
to find a public bathroom. A group of men in uniform talking
about fishing stopped and stared at them for a long minute. Then
a woman kindly took them behind the desk.
There was the weeping icon in a monastery on a dusty hill
where the women had to choose wrap-around skirts and headscarves from a big box by the door before they could be ushered
into the chapel.
There was the time they saw two teenage girls ride bareback
into town, leaving their horses untethered behind the dry goods
store while they got ice cream cones.
The day-tripping had struck other people's fancy too. There was
a day trips column in the weekly entertainment paper. There were
local travel books to take along to help recall the name of the
fabulous barbeque place with the great pork chops or the authentic Mexican cantina tucked away on a side street. The New York
Times had started a weekly section of the paper called "escapes."
But the two women's traipsing seemed intensely private, and
special. Its concrete pleasures and compulsions held the dream
of being "in" a life- its rhythms, its stopping to contemplate still
lifes. They could rest their eyes on the scenes they happened into.
They would pick up little tidbits to bring home: Czech pastries,
some peanut brittle, a butter dish in the shape of a sleeping cat.
Cabins covered in creeping vines took on the solid ephemerality
of an inhabited place. Local characters flickered in and out of view
like dream figures. The women would drift into a feeling of possibility and rest.

The potential SIO~C'=

_:and relays.
Fleeting and alT.,:-~:-:
emergent assemblc.SC',~ =-"
Yet it can be as :' c-: c., =
Potentiality is c. ,:-' __~
perience and dreae. :,', ':
nary, it engenders c.':'- = ~
unfolding of thins:s.

People are collec:::-~ ~'

metaphorical side ::: =-. =
,he loop or ha,'e 0e=__ =~
:r' thev are the k 'c
/

...
~..
~---

'2

'.
_._1.

The snatchins ::= c.:- =.

something) wid: :.--:'C'
::-ipping over a ba~;c-'
are happening too.

=.'

~~'= ::-.lI
!ll-=~

featured pies piled

lnd whete the waitress

:_:"z

detail. Or the antique

=,~ig
accent described the
0..:.-== -=---,_=_~ ;..-ent for a song at last
--'--.::.~:::':ld and left with their
1C'::'= ,.'

~...

:..--_::.

_:"Z

_=_

twO women went

in uniform talking
lonominute. Then
b

c~c ~~e
,: :-:-,=:"
-

- ::._-,-,~enon a dusty hill

--~.::':ld

lilt
lil

skirts and head-

-=~'.~e ~-_e;:could be ushered

--;,

-::::::.

::.z:::girls ride bareback

IJC,'=-=--::::e::. :::,::-hindthe dry goods

tn,::

::':c.::' ,=' rillcy too. There was

~ ,- _- '-,~.::-:lIpaper. There were
- ::.::' :::-.:::.11
the name of the
, ::.'~:: :hops or the authen, ::.= oueet. The New York

1:'

=--, e ::.::.:'e: ca11ed" escapes. "

-::- ~ i-:'.Ienselyprivate, and
-:: __'i!Jns held the dream
- , ::.':::,-z to contemplate still
e : ~;-.::-s~
they happened into.
- :,::.,z :-.ome: Czech pastries,
i:c: - :.-:: ':-.dpe of a sleeping cat.
e
".:"~:le solid ephemerality
r'c:-: =-=_.:::::-:-ed
in and out of view
.. ::. ::.::.~-=-: i:lLOa feeling of possi-

EC

It was certainly not small-town values or clean living they were

after, but rather the way that the synesthetic web of fabulated
sights and tastes made scenes and objects resonate. It was as if
they could dwell in the ongoing vibrancy of the ordinary, leaving
out the dullness and possible darkness.
The imaginary still lifes they carried home from their forays
held the simple but profound promise of contact.
And the charged particularity of the objects, images, and events
encountered framed the importance of making implicit things
matter.

The potential stored in ordinary things is a network of transfers

and relays.
Fleeting and amorphous, it lives as a residue or resonance in an
emergent assemblage of disparate forms and realms of life.
Yet it can be as palpable as a physical trace.
Potentiality is a thing immanent to fragments of sensory experience and dreams of presence. A layer, or layering to the ordinary, it engenders attachments or systems of investment in the
unfolding of things.

People are collecting found objects snatched off the literal or

metaphorical side of the road. Things that have dropped out of
the loop or have been left sagging somewhere are dragged home as
if they are the literal residues of past dreaming practices.
The snatching practice mixes a longing for a real world (or
something) with the consumer's little dream of spying a gem or
tripping over a bargain. And in the mix, all kinds of other things
are happening too.

Andrew, out scavenging the neighborhood, finds a letter written

in 1914 by an old woman to her nephew going to medical school.
It's like a letter in a bottle. A curiosity piece. People like to look at
it and hold its yellowed stationary in their hands.
Sunday nnd dawned dazzlingly fair but still too cold for comfort.
However, I braved the blast to give a birthday greeting to a friend-a
Dutch woman born in Holland, whose cake blazed with one hundred candles. I took as a little offering a pretty birthday card and
a box of orange blossoms. The beautiful sprays were cut from rwo
trees of the Louisiana orange I bought and my daughter Faith and I
planted ourselves three years ago. The cold seems not to have touched
them and I learn that this tree will live and thrive in a temperature
of eighteen degrees. Well, the lady in attendance on the sweet centenarian selected a tiny wreath of the fragrant white buds and blossoms
nestling in the glossy green leaves, and pinned it on the black silk cap
of the old, old lady. The room was crowded-everyone

applauded

and the recipient was charmed. The first orange blossoms she had
worn since her young girlhood's marriage.
I trust all this doesn't bore your majesty-crowned

with the

weighty and mighty honor of rwenty-one years! I'm glad you have to
work-a

boy is gravely handicapped who has a well-filled purse. God

speed you to a true and worthy success! No matter ifI do believe that
work-honorable

work-is

the salt that savors life, had I money I'd

fill your purse, I would. As it is-keep

your dawn unsullied-and

work for your purpose.

The strangely vibrant rhetoric of the letter makes it a "something" in itself, as if it could embody the conventions of a past
time and yet also defYcapture.

Ordinary scenes ca~ ~e::-::

story let out of the ~~; .
Matter can shic:-::.e:: c
weight of received C~~~~_
One day she's\\'aL=-:_-_:: :.-~
California (where, a' :':--:
the trash cans sit c:-_ -rows"). She comes a:::
parked at the curb
door are the word: .~
your-face attitude. :~: a:

~.:-_~s a letter written

~_;: ~ J' medical schooL
- " ~-~J:,le tike to look at

~: ':' cold for comfort.

to a friend-a

-_.

c-oo-;no:-- - - ----0

__:: : _:2ed with one hun:

'::-=-:-

birthday card and

: -.:--, ',':ere cut from two

: -

'::':clghter Faith and I

_ _,~_, :Lotto have touched

. ' :. ~.-.::
__
:e in a temperature
- .. :.:.:-_::: 0:1

the sweet cente-

_-._~::
Duds and blossoms

Her neighbor advertises his moving sale in the paper. He's got
quality items: a new couch, oak bookshelves, and major appliances. By seven AM a hundred people are gathered outside the
gates. It's a tense and strangely vital scene as strangers, bent on
getting stuff, half bond and half vie for the best place to rush the
gates when they open. One man goes and gets coffee and donuts
to share. A woman and her daughter strategize about how to reach
before anyone else both the media console sitting at the far end
of the yard and the washing machine propped up on a dolly in
the driveway. A grandmother is a habitual yard-saler. She laughs
about how it got so bad she had to buy a pickup truck and build
a second garage to store all the stuff.
Now bodies begin to maneuver and align. When the gates open
at eight they rush in. By ten, everything has been carted away.

. - c:' _~Jr, the black silk cap

:.~:.- ::-,-eryone applauded

: :.'.ze blossoms she had
"-:-:':'
. =--

crowned with the

=':11

glad you have to

.:-ell-filled purse. God

-:-.:-:-::::if! do believe that

: :'it'<e, had I money I'd
...: '::':"\"nunsullied-and

: ::-:-::::makes it a "some-.':: :.-':1Yentionsof a past

Ordinary scenes can tempt the passerby with the promise of a

story let out of the bag.
Matter can shimmer with undetermined potential and the
weight of received meaning.
One day she'swalking through the gated communities ofIrvine,
California (where, as some who can't afford to live there, say, "All
the trash cans sit on doilies and all the weeds grow in perfect
rows"). She comes across a late-model, fire-engine-red Ford sedan
parked at the curb on a cul-de-sac. Sprawled across the driver's
door are the words "PMS POWERED." A snazzy car with an inyour-face attitude, it back talks the social snickering of PMS jokes.

She imagines the car driving around town as the moving scene of
an attitude adjustment.
But when she walks around the car, she sees that both tires
on that side are missing. The car is actually listing on one hastily
placed jack left either by thieves in a hurry or by the harried carowner in the middle of a compound problem. Now the car becomes another kind of thing. More complicated. Perched on the
unpredictable or unimagined edge of the ordinary, it takes on
the full charge of potential's two twisted poles-up or down, one
thing or another. It sparks in the tension between drudgery and
routine-the barely holding on-and the flash of event.

She's driving across the Texas Panhandle with a friend. A hotel

rises up out of the cotton fields like a mirage in the middle of
nowhere. They stop for the night. There is only the hotel, a gas
station, and a truck stop surrounded by fields and highways as far
as you can see.
They float in the big family pool in the lobby atrium. It's full of
exotic plants. Two stairways cascade down from the balconies on
the second and third floors. A few people are eating in the restaurant. The bar on the second floor is empty. The scene is a little flat,
dead, not quite right. It's like an imitation mall in a place where
mall culture has not quite taken off yet, even though the whole
thing looks so five minutes ago relative to more urban-suburbanexurban places. It's like a partially realized (or, in other words,
failed) miracle. A fantasy tentacle floating in the stormy placidity
of the nowhere of dully compelling force peppered by dreams of
getting out or something.
They walk across the street to the Rip Griffin truck stop. Half a
dozen old men are sitting at the counter telling stories, bragging,
and making public performances out of teasing each other. She

==0~hat both tires

~~=-_~on one hastily

~ =-- =~,,-e
harried care -:-_ ~~'-JW

the car be-

:c -=~ Perched on the

: ~~

lIl-,

it takes on

_ - ''':':J or down, one

=0-:-'=:-:1drudgery and

_=_-_
1 friend. A hotel
- ~e-.::::- i:1 the middle of
: =-_> the hotel, a gas
::..:l..,d highways as far

: = =-- atrium. It's full of

- ~::-::l the

balconies on
-0 ~:-in ab in the restau--=-.-:- oceneis a little flat,
- .--:=~lin a place where
::-=-_ though the whole
.--:::e urban-suburban::::.
'Of. in other words,
~-

_~l

~ = _=. ~~

=hestormy placidity
=- =??ered by dreams of

.:-~~:==~n
truck stop. Half a
.-:- :=_:i:1gstories, bragging,
- -~:,ina
each other. She
. - -~
L:l

imagines their homes in a small town somewhere out of sight

across the fields, and how they must come to sit in this place
because it's connected to "the road" and the real and imagined
modes of traveling that ride its back. The scene has the moving
stillness of an apparition of some kind of life marked as southern,
or western, or rural, or small town, or ranch, or something.
As the two women walk in, the old men turn to look, stopping
in mid sentence. They hold the silent stare for what seems to her
like a shockingly long time. Then they return to their business bur
they keep shooting looks back at them, obviously aware not so
much of having an audience, she thinks, as of having some kind
of potential to plumb from the scene of the two women traveling
together. As if strangers entering from the highway bring something with them. Or at least "strange" strangers in the middle of
some kind of situation or event.
A few years later, she stops again. The truck stop has become
a shiny yellow mini mall with a Pizza Hut, a Burger King, and a
southern fast food place called Grandy's. It stinks of plastic. The
old men have migrated to the hotel restaurant, which is now full
of people and loud with banter. Everyone is smoking. There's only
a tiny nonsmoking section tucked away in an isolated corner.
The hotel pool is closed to guests because there's a wedding. On
the way back to her room, she stops to watch. The bride descends
the open stairway. The pool has been decorated with tea lights,
so it takes on the glamorous glow of a mini Taj Mahal. The men
in the wedding party all wear black cowboy hats and boots, black
jeans, and white shirts. The ceremony is brief and the reception
that follows consists of sheet cake, potluck dinner, and nonalcoholic drinks. It seems unbelievably subdued for a wedding .
When she returns one last time a few years later, the hotel looks
old and rundown. Her room smells of smoke and mold. The restaurant has closed. The hotel manager says it's too bad but they
just can't keep good help. "They go back on welfare."
She crosses the street to the truck stop where an industrious

young woman in uniform is washing the floors in the yellow food

court. The young woman takes the trouble to ask the cook at
the Grandy's to make another steak even though it's technically
closing time.
She reads the local paper as she eats. A man is found not guilty
by reason of insanity in his dad's murder. Turns out he's been
having auditory and visual hallucinations for more than twenty
years. A bridge has collapsed and divers have recovered more
bodies from the river. There has been a head-on collision of two
trains. No one knows how the two trains got on the same track.
A bolt of lightning has killed a twelve-year-old boy. A few of the
high school graduates are receiving small scholarships of $200 or
$300, there are winning lottery numbers, the author of the Nancy
Drew detective series dies at ninety-six, the authorities say it was
a feud that led to the slaying of a South Texas man who had been
shot and dragged by his ankles several blocks behind a pick-up
truck. Two men are arrested for stealing street signs after the
police receive a tip, a man reports someone putting water in the
gas tank of his vehicle, a woman reports subjects dumping dead
animals and trash in two vacant lots, two gas station clerks report
gas drive-offs in the amounts of $9.30 and $3.00.
As she leaves, she reads the community bulletin boards by the
door. There are people looking for odd jobs. There are ads for
exercise classes, diet pills ("I lost 40 pounds in three months!").
There are a lot of ads for used cars ('84 Lincoln Continental, fully
loaded). There are public service announcements for low-income
services, a domestic abuse hotline, and the Texas runaway hotline. There are pictures of missing children. There are legal ads
("traffic ticket problems?"), church ads (Full Gospel Holy Temple
Broadcast of Deliverance), ads for medical insurance, and baseball
schedules.
These are only glimpses of a public culture shifting over time.
Partial scenes saturated with expectations, impressions too easily

A world of shared bc.:-_,hausting underw\\-,

picture of staged pc:-:-'=
::. sense of shock or re~:,,:'~: :A weirdly floati:1[
enters a mall, or \Y::',,:-,
nds, watching scene, _:-.::

~:

:-

- -~.~, ~ound not guilty

: e' -=..:.
.
r~sout he's been

lII;:,:L!:.

1lIIi"

: ~, ~:-~
[he yellow food
- ~e ::: ask the cook at
:.-~ :":'=Q it's technically

..-::-lore
than twenty
-~~~:'recovered more
- :' c':'- ::: collision of two
~ :: ::: ~:1[he same track.
::-~-:.: bov. A few of the
::- ~.-,.
ships of $200 or
~- e ~..:.:horof the Nancy
-

~': ~

~- e ~":'::1oritiessay it was
-:-:':=--, ~an who had been
: :::~ behind a pick-up
::"':'cI signs after the
. -:' -..-..:.rring
water in the

h1" ~~_ -;

_.:'ccs dumping dead

;:..: 'c~cion clerks report
- - ~~~:,dn boards by the
: :c,. There are ads for
- _.::' ~:-.three months!").
- ::: .:-~Continental, fully
_~-:e::::':-~:stor low-income
-: ~-:' -=-:,:\:a5
runaway hot::e:c. -~lere are legal ads
-::__~:;ospel Holy Temple
::.'..:.
.
ance, and baseball
~_ .
_~:'shifting over time.
.:::~
?ressions too easily

gathered into a narrative of social decline (or whatever). These

Boating images do not begin to approach what might be happening to the ordinary in this time or place. It's just that the images
strike her, seem to unfold into a puzzle's pieces or to promise some
direct line into what's happening somewhere-in some place, this
little corner in the cotton fields. You could say, of course, that the
images that strike her in passing hide as much as they reveal. But
you could also say they mean only exactly what they say- Look at
this! Imagine that! Things happen! Here's something that might
be for you! It's the paying attention that matters - a kind of attention immersed in the forms of the ordinary but noticing things
too.
By now, Rip Griffin has a Web site with the headline "A family
owned and operated business." It's a corporate myth with meanings that Bash. "Since the early days of the Pony Express rider ...
evolved into modern travel centers ... Rip Griffin
started his
corporation with a one-pump gasoline station
it has since
grown to a $250 million company ... with Truck and Travel
Centers in Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, California, Arizona,
Wyoming and Arkansas." But no one who enters the truck stop
for a coke or a meal cares about the Web site or corporate meanings per se.

A world of shared banalities can be a basis of sociality, or an exhausting undertow, or just something to do. It can pop up as a
picture of staged perfection, as a momentary recognition, or as a
sense of shock or relief at being "in" something with others.
A weirdly Boating "we" snaps into a blurry focus when one
enters a mall, or when one is Bipping through reality Tv channels, watching scenes unfold: the simulated thunderstorms tacked

onto the national map on the weather channel; the bedroom

transformed into an exotic dream room on the extreme-makeover
shows; or the meal made like magic on the cooking channel.
The animate surface of ordinary affects rests its laurels in the
banality of built environments and corporate cliches.
The "we" incites participation and takes on a life of its own,
even reflecting its own presence.8 It's a thing that happens when
e-mails with joking commentary show up in your in-box and you
pass them on for some reason. Or when intimate public slogans
float into a collective mode of address: "Know what I'm sayin'?"
"That's just wrong," "I don't THINK so," "That's what I'm talkin'
about," "I hear you," "It's all good." Or when bumper stickers talk
back to each other as if they can't help it: "Shit happens," "Magic
happens," "My child is an honor student," "My child beat up your
honor student," "Just say no," "Just do it," "Vote Bush," "I voted
for Bush and got Dick," "Bush is a punk ass chump," "Bush bin
Lyin'."

We take our cues so directly from circulating forces that the term
"hardwired" has become shorthand for the state of things.
Little undulations are felt as pleasures and warning signs, as
intoxications and repetitions in daily routine.

In "July Mountain.
incipient universe.
Weirdly collective sensibilities seem to pulse in plain sight.
A woman shows up at her door in the middle of the afternoon.
8

See MichaelWarner, Publics and Counterpublics (NewYork:Zone

Books, 1997).

____
, ,ne bedroom
-_-~ ~::,,;:me-makeover
: ::-~_~channel.

She and her husband

of buying

the big house across

the street. She wants to know if anyone in the neighborhood

chemicals

. _ :: _:s laurels in the

are thinking

uses

on their lawns, or if anyone uses dryer sheets.

At first, she has to ask the woman

what a dryer sheet is. But

then images pop into her head: the sweet smell of dryer sheets
- -'.~ile of its own,
- ~ :--_-'.:happens

when

_, i::l-box and you

, - -_-'.:;: public slogans

'I'
-'-,_at
---'.:'

. '""1"
m saym,

'i,-hat I'm talkin'

: - - _"'_:Jer stickers talk

-__: _-_-'.:Jpens,""Magic

coming

in with the breeze on a cloudless day, the bright blue sky

and the flowers in the yards, the little orange flags sticking up out
of the grass at the schoolyard,
sprayed, the ChemLawn

warning

that chemicals

have been

trucks parked up on widows' hill in front

of the places with the big lawns.

She mutters
standing

a shorthand

version of these things to the woman

at her door, but really all it takes is a look and the woman

is gone, leaving little seeds of anxiety to sprout.

_ ::-_ild beat up your

-::;: Bush," "I voted
:,_'.:.mp," "Bush bin
The ordinary

throws

itself together

pleasures,

encounters,

distractions,

solutions,

shape-shifting

portunities

"-z
-,

~: ,:es that the term

:-'.::: of things .

out of forms, flows, powers,

drudgery,

forms of violence,

denials,

daydreams,

practical
and op-

lost or found.

Or it falters, fails.
But either way we feel its pull.

.:.".: -,'.-arning signs, as

In "July Mountain,"
incipient
_:: _'" plain sight.
.:::'~eof the afternoon.

Wallace Stevens describes

universe.

We live in a constellation
Of patches and pitches,
Not in a single world ...
The way, when we climb a mountain,
Vermont throws itself together.

the poetics

of an

The "Vermont" that throws itself together in a moment is already there as potential. In other words, it's already problematized; already a question and a something waiting to happen. It
exists in the differences and repetitions of a grab bag of qualities and technologies that can be thrown together into an event
and a sensation. It is a potential mapping of disparate and incommensurate qualities that do not simply "add up" but instead
link complexly, in difference and through sheer repetition and
not through the enclosures of identity, similarity, or meaning, or
through the logic of code. It is fall colors, maple syrup, tourist
brochures, calendars, snow, country stores; liberalism and yet the
fight over gay marriage; racial homogeneity and yet everywhere
white lesbian couples with babies of color; the influx of New York
wealth long ago rushing in to shore up that certain look of rolling
hills and red barns and yet also the legacy of the dairy industry
written onto the landscape and property laws; and the quirkiness,
quaintness, dullness, and! or violence of village life in this time
and place. The question is not where, exactly, this Vermontness
came from - its "social construction," strictly speaking- but the
moment when a list of incommensurate yet mapped elements
throws itself together into something. Again. One time among
many. An event erupting out of a series of connections expressing the abstract idea- Vermontness-through
a fast sensory relay.
Disparate things come together differently in each instance, and
yet the repetition itselfleaves a residue like a track or a habit-the
making of a live cliche.

It's an odd scene-c~~-=-~~

ing about her work=-.:=,:.::
not obsessive abom :=: " pulls out bottles o:',:=-=---=of these when I w~:~ _:
noon. These are gooc :':: :::
lotions and rubs the~~ ~..
He maintains a c-=-:~~_
:.'J

to be going well for ~.~~

A few minutes lace:
biscuit man, "Of co-.::::
nodding. "Of course, :.
and gravy. His eyes ',' -=-.:-,
:::: ,
the range of possible :c":: ::'
plate and eats.
She wonders hO'o-, -.
before Internet dar:L~
local newspaper. i\ k: ~"O'
aged people in the (,y...:: =Just to see what ,,'OL.: ,':::
right, even though ":, .

Face-to-face interac=:::.
quick relay to floati:::=:::'
tion that link us.

In Las Vegas in r}~e~-===:

ad hoc storefront wir~~-=with eclectic inexpeLs:: :='
and store are closed -'~:

=.:

She stops in at a cafe on a town square in Ohio.

Two middle-aged people sit awkwardly together at the next
table. A thin, blonde, carefully tanned woman is having a grapefruit while the heavy-set, pasty man is eating biscuits and gravy.

uses the space.

In one meeting a .

, ~ ,~, -'-:noment is al",-~::--,-d~'

problema~_:_~c;TO happen. It
_ :::--,-:,bag of quali~=~~::-~into an event

---=.-':Jarateand in~~'::''':'F''but instead

. :=~rc:petition and
',I'I,r meaning, or
=-'-; i::- ,nup, tourist
. ~:-~:,:n and yet the
- ",--,
~ :.'c:teverywhere
" = ,~_=-..:.s of New York
::'-:-'-~,look of rolling
-- =__,:': dairy industry
",--.
~ :he quirkiness,
this time
::,:=~, Vermontness
'-~:Jina-but
the
' __
b
.' :-:'-,-ppedelements
=-":1C: time among
~.~.c:;::rions
express_;. -'-I~'t sensory relay.
. ::--,-=h
instance, and
r-=.::.=,-~
or a habit-the

....=~= .J:~ in

.::.
: zc:.::.her
at the next
- ~_ ~,having a grape-; ~is;::uitsand gravy.

It's an odd scene-clearly their first meeting. The woman is talking about her workout schedule and what she eats. She says she's
not obsessive about it but she likes to keep her body in shape. She
pulls out bottles of vitamins and herbal supplements. "I take two
of these when I wake up, these are with meals, these in the afternoon. These are good for energy if! feel a little low." She takes out
lotions and rubs them into her skin .
He maintains a careful look of interest. But things don't seem
to be going well for him.
A few minutes later she hears the grapefruit woman say to the
biscuit man, "Of course, you'd have to lose thirty pounds." He's
nodding. "Of course, oh yes." He's looking down at his biscuits
and gravy. His eyes wander around the table at a level well below
the range of possible eye contact. Then he lowers his head over his
plate and eats.
She wonders how these two people found each other. This is
before Internet dating, so maybe they used personal ads in the
local newspaper. Maybe they were the only two single, middleaged people in the county. Whatever it was, it was an experiment.
Just to see what would happen. And things were happening, all
right, even though "it" was so "not happening."

Face-to-face interactions and common encounters jump in a

quick relay to floating sensibilities and the conditions of connection that link us.
In Las Vegas in the late 1980s, a post office outpost shares an
ad hoc storefront with a flower shop and a gift shop sparsely filled
with eclectic inexpensive ceramics. At noon, when the post office
and store are closed for lunch, a color therapy group sometimes
uses the space.
In one meeting a dozen people sit in a circle on gray-metal

folding chairs. One man is talking about a relationship problem

that has something to do with the fact that he's a magenta. The
people in the group respond with intricate discussions of the
shades of color and color combinations that connect different
personal energies and styles. Then a young woman begins to talk
about a problem at work that stems from her being a yellow.
Now alternative health practitioners and mystics advertise color
therapy on the Web. They use colored gemstones, candles, wands,
prisms, light bulbs, water, fabrics, bath treatments, and eyewear
to balance the body's energy and stimulate healing. Each color has
a vibrational frequency; warm colors are stimulating; cool colors
are calming; a strong attraction to certain colors might signal a
particular imbalance.
You can playa game with color codes if you want to. Red is
active, daring, passionate, and optimistic. Red people are courageous, confident, humanistic, strong-willed, spontaneous, honest, and extroverted. Purple is grand, idealistic, and sensitive, but
may lack self-criticism and maturity. Purple people make good
inspirational leaders. They are kindly and just, humanitarian, selfsacrificing, visionary, creative, and strong mentally. Magenta is
less aggressive and more spiritual than red and also more practical than purple. Yellow is intellectual and communicative. Yellow
people are good-humored, optimistic, confident, practical, and
intellectual.
You can imagine yourself through the model of one of the
types. Or against it. Maybe you'd like to be orange. Orange is
more ambitious and self-sufficient than red, but lacks its warmth.
It has the intelligence of yellow without its loftiness. Orange
people are enthusiastic, happy, sociable, energetic, sporty, selfassured, and constructive. But then you might think you're actually probably closer to a green. And that's on a good day. Green
is healing, sympathetic, steadfast, and restrained. Green people
are understanding, self-controlled, adaptable, sympathetic, compassionate, humble, generous, nature loving, and romantic. You

might begin to piece to:~~:-~~

:
making things up.
But the people \'vhe ~: ~=;
colors as symbols or coC~,.
colors and what the\,-G:':-~ .~: -:-

-=-~-:

They're fooling arounc "are made of Theywam ~::~ ~

talking things over witt

Meanwhile, down the ,,:::~

that the color therap:~ g:: _~
cal factory explodes ac": :.
Nevada.
The FEMA hearincr,
- -: c'
t:'~ '-- --::-

Small businesses have

carrying dangerous ch::-:~~:
of backyards where in=--~:..:
~__~ _

big business operations '_:::: of callous disregard for ~:.~_:: ~

She starts talking \,,~:
t:-.~~-:~:
owners. He feels sligh'::": ::' _

frontations with local F=~~

~~: ~
are fights. They're diggi=--.;:. ~ ::
voting his life to the C2':": ::-::
distance phone calls :',:'- unearth stories: the vo':'=--~~
-..:.

poisonous snakes in i:, :::c"--=

everything in the blast: ~~-~:
'~looking for peace or sc:-:~::_-_~
sound of windows and
and the smell of gas.

__ - : :-_,~ipproblem
:-:'2.genta.The
- =-_:-.:-ssionsof the
- - -:: -_:-_~;::L different
-- : -~~(Tins
to talk
_0---'-:::-

-=--

,- -:~_:-_:2.nllow.
::' 2.dnrtise color
_, -:2.-1dles,wands,
, - ~:-_:O. and eyewear
, __,-_: Each color has
- _-=--:::-.~: cool colors

might begin to piece together combinations of colors and blends,

making things up.
But the people who are really into color therapy don't read
colors as symbols or codes. They're into the real surface qualities of
colors and what they can do. They don't care what colors "mean."
They're fooling around with the forces that be, to see what things
are made of. They want to set things in alchemical motion. They're
talking things over with like-minded people. You never know.

::' Tight signal a

: _ ".am to. Red is
- _=-~~:ple are coura::: :1:aneous, hon, - sensitive, but
,. c' : ~y::, le make good
- ~,-.:-~anitarian, self...c':-.:jl:-. Magenta is
_~=-':":'50 more practi_ :-:'_:-:,'-.:-rricative.
Yellow
- ~ =-c':_:,practical, and
-- :::.d of one of the
. : :ange. Orange is
-:..::~acksits warmth.
:: ~oftiness. Orange
_:-,~:~c'[ic, sporty, self-~:,: chink you're actu: :-_2.good day. Green
:: 2.-:lcd. Green people
__ ,-,-mpathetic, com_ 2.-1dromantic. You

Meanwhile, down the street, at practically the very same moment

that the color therapy group is meeting in the post office, a chemical factory explodes and blows up half the town of Henderson,
Nevada.
The FEMA hearings drag on for months. There is testimony.
Small businesses have been ruined by the blast. Unmarked trains
carrying dangerous chemicals have been running along the edges
of backyards where innocent children play. There's talk of secret
big business operations supported by the federal government and
of callous disregard for future generations.
She starts talking with the de facto leader of the small business
owners. He feels slighted by FEMA. He and the others have confrontations with local politicians. There are sinister threats. There
are fights. They're digging for dirt and finding plenty. Bob is devoting his life to the cause. He spends hundreds of dollars on long
distance phone calls every month. He organizes a campaign to
unearth stories: the young man who was raising tarantulas and
poisonous snakes in his apartment to pay for college and lost
everything in the blast; the retired couple who came to the town
looking for peace or something and who awoke that night to the
sound of windows and glass doors smashing all over the house
and the smell of gas.

When Bob and the other small business owners get no satisfaction from the government, they decide to take things into their
own hands. They come up with an idea to start over by building
a chemical factory of their own. They already know plenty about
manufacturing. This is America and they can do anything. Someone says he knows an engineer who'll work with them. Now they
just need someone who knows something about chemicals.
Things keep getting worse. Bob is calling her every night. Then
he's piecing together a conspiracy too big to talk about over the
phone. She meets him in a church parking lot on the edge of
town. The sunset is spectacular. Bob wants to tell her his life story:
the big, beautiful, wild Nevada of his childhood; hunting and
fishing in a pure land; his return, years later, to start his own business and raise his children right; then the explosion, just when
he was beginning to get on his feet again. Now there are days he
just wants to end it all. He takes his son fishing up at the lake and
they're floating in a pristine scene. He has his gun with him and
he's going to blow his head off. Because he's the kind of guy who,
ifhe comes to the bottom of a mountain, he elimbs it, straight up,
no problem, that's just who he is. But the system is throwing up
roadblocks in front of him so he can't even get to the mountain to
dig his heels in and start working.
It's getting dark. He's talking too much about himself. She
says she's talked to other people who have experiences like his
and think the way he does. This makes him mad (much to her
surprise). He's an individual. There's no one in the world like him.
He isn't like anything. He comes on to her. She gets out of there
but now she's anxious and her stomach is queasy. He keeps calling. She visits him once more-this time at his house with his
wife and children. There's no furniture left in the house. They sit
on the carpet in the empty living room and eat pizza out of the
box. Everyone's very quiet. It's scary and depressing; there's something just a little bit "off' and terribly wrong. Now he's mumbling
bitterly about things she can't quite hear and then she half real-

izes his talk has becoT~ happening. The air gOe'

moving toward the
-, -"
leaves the house. He c~.'
to report on the pro:;~~':
him on the phone, no: ~~.::
ing her distance (too l,,-:~

Watching and waitim: ~.-'-:~..

She's no different f~c~. -'--.mg "pay attentIOn.'
. I" b C::~.:.
idea.
Hypervigilance has :-'--':~-pulsives who keep elm:: :::0:,..
Like the guy she heard "-~: .... :
life recording everyth:,.~ .-.::_'
splashed cold water 0" .-:: ~:...
the bathroom, 6:45 m,,-d~ ...::-:. :

Or there are those ;:~:~:_ ~ :

gan where she and n\o: :.-.~-:.
houses. The neighbor's::'. ~~.
his walks in the woods .. -..: . :J.
into Polish folk dances ".-.~:~ .
dance floor together, d-.e~. :.~'':
lic church in town. Or.:: ;:: - ,

gathered at one of thei~ ~.:..:::

of himself walking aroc:..~.:.-- ~

(At the same time he ~':

without explanation. -=:-.~.....-::
have a nice evening.) _~-=-:~~ :..::.
home video. They hear ;-.. _ 0:

-~~:~'get no satisfac.~~~-~incrs
into their
~--" - 0
- -.: .:.~.erby building
~:.:-~
.:.'..~plenty about
- ~: -=..n\L:hing.
Some~ - ~_ ~lem. Now they
-< _~ :iemicals.
- :--:~ :""'0' night. Then
.:.~_-:about over the
-; :.:. :m the edge of
.:.:_~",r his life story:
~-_~.:.::.:hunting and
- ~ '.:.-=..:t
his own busi=::?" ~5ion, just when
::.~ereare days he
-~ ..:.::'at the lake and
~..:.nwith him and
-_-: ~;:ind of guy who,
= :~~_--:_:'5
it, straight up,
-:.:."':-::-_
is throwing up
-,.:..:.:~'le mountain to
~ : ~.c~

-=-:::

y~[

himself. She

:c:riences like his

- ~:-=-i (much to her
- ::.-_C ,,"';oddlike him.
;:-: gets out of there
.:._ c-=..5~". He keeps callhouse with his
-:_~:house. They sit
_~-.:. :-=-: Dizza out of the
.
h'
_"=~:c":::lg;
teres
somee':' _-_:,

.-

:- ~".:.'.'.~
he's mumbling
_- ~ ::-c",nshe half real-

izes his talk has become lewd and is directed at her. This can't be
happening. The air goes out of the room. She stands up and starts
moving toward the door. She thanks his now wide-eyed wife. She
leaves the house. He calls only once more, a couple of days later,
to report on the progress of his case with FEMA. She's cool with
him on the phone, not encouraging him to keep in touch. Keeping her distance (too late).

Watching and waiting has become a sensory habit.

She's no different from anyone else. All her life she's been yelling "Pay attentionl" but now she's not so sure that's such a good
idea.
Hypervigilance has taken root. There are the obsessive compulsives who keep close track of everything because they have to.
Like the guy she heard about on the radio who spends his whole
life recording everything he does. "Got up at 6:30 AM, still dark,
splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, 6:40 went to
the bathroom, 6:45 made tea, birds started in at 6:53 ... "
Or there are those like the neighbor on a little lake in Michigan where she and two other anthropologists live in a row oflittle
houses. The neighbor's hobby is video taping every move he makes:
his walks in the woods, his rides in his Model T Ford, his forays
into Polish folk dances where old women go round and round the
dance aoor together, the monthly spaghetti suppers at the Catholic church in town. One night when the three anthropologists are
gathered at one of their houses he stops by to give them a video
of himself walking around the lake in the winter snow and ice.
(At the same time he also gives them an xxx-rated porn video
without explanation. Then he just leaves, saying he hopes they
have a nice evening.) After dinner, they settle down to watch his
home video. They hear his every breath and footstep. There are

some deer droppings on the path and some snow piles that have
suspicious shapes. Then he's walking up to Bob and Alice's cabin
(they're in Florida for the winter) and he's zooming in on a massive lump pushing out the black plastic wrapped around the base
of the house. Uh-oh. Could be ice from a broken water main.
Maybe the whole house is full of ice. He wonders what will happen when the (possible) ice thaws. Could be a real problem. He
says maybe he'll send a copy of his video to Bob and Alice down
in Florida. Then he moves on. Back to the breathing, the icicles,
the footsteps in the snow. Things are (potentially) happening and
he is in the habit of paying strict visual attention. But he is not
necessarily in the habit of getting to the bottom of things or of
making a decision or a judgment about what to do. He is making
a record of his own ordinary attention to things and it's thisthe record of his attention-that
he shares, indiscriminately, with
the anthropologists gathered next door and maybe with poor Bob
and Alice down in Florida. Possibilities and threats that pop up
in the process remain lodged in the actual look of things and are
preserved as such. He's an extremist, pushing things for some reason, but the close, recorded attention to what happens and to
the intense materiality of things make some kind of sense to a lot
of people and not just when they're watching America's Funniest
Home Videos or reality TV.
There are those who give shape to their everyday by mining
it for something different or special. Like her friends, Joyce and
Bob, who live in the woods in New Hampshire. He is a lumberjack. She cleans the little I950S tourist cabins with names like Swiss
Village and Shangri-La. Joyce left her husband and four kids after
years of living straight in a regime of beatings under the sign of
Jesus. She went out the back window one day and never looked
back. Then she met Bob when she was tending bar and they took
a walk on the wild side together that lasted for a dozen happy
years (though not without trouble, and plenty of it). She let him
have his drinking problem because he worked hard. He would hit

The anthropologisrs ~:~:=- .:.

poking around. The' ~=-.-,-::
huts on the frozen l'e-:-::-=--sit down on the benc~_ Not even "Who are -::.
sit together in a wile . .:c-'
hole in the ice to the:: ~~=a single question that :::~:."
When they take \,.-~~:::They are more talLe::--:
anthropologists to kr.: -, :",

some other hunters ""=-: :_

nice. They've been to c: __~::::

~~:~'. piles that have

~ ~:: "-red.L'\lice'scabin
: ~_:::_gin on a mas": ::::.:."-::oundthe base
::::n water main.
" .:.::::,\\-hat will hapc

:::::

_" :::: "- ::::J problem. He

:= ::: "--''1d
Alice down
::::::"-~~ing,
the icicles,

- ~"--_- iappening and

_"::~.:~:::".But he is not
- ~-:: ~_ of things or of
- c-:: 20. He is making
-___::~:::'and it's this::. .:.~,:::::minately,with
_~:--:~:c~~~::
\\~ithpoor Bob
" :: ~-_:::arsthat pop up
~~__ rhings and are
-;: ~-:~::.:s
for some rea=~.:.:iappens and to
-- : ~'=-::-.': of sense to a lot
- ".:::_-:'i!{'i'icas Funniest
:~::::-day by mining
~ -::: ~::::nds,Joyce and
::"_.:::. He is a lumber_:!" :lames like Swiss
- ..".:. "--=,_d
four kids after
::-;o_:lder the sign of
-: ::.:- ':'Ld never looked
- =_=;::a and they took
~::.:.::-:':a dozen happy
- _" =-~ :::- ir). She let him
: .:._-_ad.He would hit

the bottle when he got home at night and all weekend long. She
called him Daddy even though she was a good ten years older and
pushing fifty.
They moved from rental cabin to rental cabin in the north
woods. They invited raccoons into their cabin as if they were pets.
They got up at 5 AM to write in their diaries. When they got home
at night they would read their daily entries out loud and look at
the artsy pictures Bob took of treetops and bee nests. Finally, they
were able to get a low-income loan to buy a little fixer-upper they
had found in some godforsaken place on the north side of the
lake.
But then a card came from Joyce that said Bob had left her for
"that floozy" he met in a bar.
She wonders if Joyce still keeps a diary, if she still fancies the
serendipitous discovery of happiness and looks for ways to deposit
it in the ordinary, or if something else has happened to her ordinary.

The anthropologists keep doing the fun things they do together,

poking around. They knock on the doors of the little fishermen's
huts on the frozen lake. They invite themselves in for a visit and
sit down on the bench inside. But the fishermen don't say a thing.
Not even "Who are you?" or "What are you doing here?" So they
sit together in a wild, awkward silence staring down through the
hole in the ice to the deep, dark waters below. They can't think of
a single question that makes any sense at all.
When they take walks in the woods, they come across hunters.
They are more talkative than the ice fishermen. They want the
anthropologists to know that they aren't "Bambi killers." Maybe
some other hunters are, but not them, the new breed. They're
nice. They've been to college and have things to say about politics

and the environment and the state. Most of the time there's a
woman in the group. They're teaching her to hunt.
The game wardens are the bad guys. Everyone cowers when
they come around a bend looking for poachers. They drive postapocalyptic cars with burned paint that have been specially outfitted with giant guns and spotlights mounted on the hood. Rogue,
mean-looking guys, they fix hard stares on you and you can see
the muscles jump under their camouflage suits. These guys are
Jumpy.

In Austin, joggers passing over the high bridge on the river stop
to stretch their hamstrings on the metal rails. The expansive scene
from the bridge suspends elements together in a still life: fishermen sit upright in flat-bottomed boats; giant blue herons perch
on drowned cottonwoods; limestone mansions on the cliffs above
throw reflections halfway across the river. Crew boats glide silently
over the water. A riverboat thrusts itself slowly up the river, dredging the hard mass of the water up and over its wheel.
At times, the bridge is a stage for human dramas of intimacy,
rage, quiet desperation, or simple pleasure.
One morning a crude sign is taped to the railing. At the top
of the sign, two names, ANGELA AND JERRY, are slashed through
with big black Xs. Below the names, the sign reads: RELATIONSHIP

DESTROYED,

WITH

MALICE,

[Austin Police Department]

U.S.

CONSTITUTIONAL

BY FEDERAL

FOR BELIEFS

BILL

OF RIGHTS.

AGENTS

& A.P.D.

GUARANTEED

UNDER

I MISS

YOU ANGELA,

It's signed ALWAYS, JERRY. Below

the signature, the words YANKEE GIRL are encased in a pierced
heart and the words PLEASE COME BACK are highlighted with a
thick black border. At the bottom of the page, the sign continues:

JESSICA,

& FURRY

DOG

REEF.

::- ::.,;: time there's a

~_-':'~lt.

GOD

- ==--.Y:lecowers when
: _:~_=:'.They drive post= ::'een specially outfit_- -=::.: ~_:he hood. Rogue,
- --:~ and you can see
- ;-':'::5. These guys are

:.. :: ::.~eon the river stop

-=-:.,;: expansive scene
::'c -.' ":: _::. a still life: fisher::..:....-_:
~lue herons perch
on the cliffs above
= :e ~oats glide silently
.. _-- '",p the river, dredg=: .:' ",.-heel.
. -.:....:_:::amas of intimacy,
. : ~.S

::.-. :.:_erailing. At the top

c, dIe slashed through
_::.~_
reads: RELATION_

::.::. :::c_'-.::.

.-\GENTS

& A.P.D.

:;- -\R--\NTEED

: '.ass

UNDER

YOU ANGELA,

Below
: _ :..:=encased in a pierced
.:..:ehighlighted with a
. c : :..~e.the sign continues:
. ::.<.T-\YS,

ANGELA,

JESSICA

AND

HAVE MERCY

TIVE

PEOPLE

DID

SO WITH

WHO

FURRY

ON THE

CONSPIRED

SUCCESS.

DOG

SOULS

REEF

...

OF THE

I MISS YOU.
HATEFUL,

TO TAKE YOU

ANGELA,

I WILL

FROM

LOVE

YOU

MAY

VINDICME,

AND

ALWAYS

Then another pierced

heart memorializes YANKEE GIRL. On the ground beneath the
sign there is a shrine of yellow ribbons and a Sacred Heart of Jesus
votive candle with half-burned sticks of incense stuck into the
wax.
The sign is both cryptic and crystal clear. Its fury quivers in its
wavering letters. It does not ask to be interpreted, but heaves itself
at the world, slashing at it like the self-slashing of people who cut
themselves to feel alive. This is a poetics as common as it is striking. It's the kind of thing you see everyday in the graffiti written
on train trestles, or in the signs the homeless hold on the side of
the road, in the wild talk of AM radio talk shows, in road rage,
in letters to the editor, or in the barely contained resentments of
workplaces and intimate spaces .
This is the ordinary affect in the textured, roughened surface of
the everyday. It permeates politics of all kinds with the demand
that some kind of intimate public of onlookers recognize something in a space of shared impact.9 If only for a minute .
People might be touched by it, or hardened to its obnoxious
demands. But either way, a charge passes through the body and
lingers for a little while as an irritation, confusion, judgment,
thrill, or musing. However it strikes us, its significance jumps.
Its visceral force keys a search to make sense of it, to incorporate
it into an order of meaning. But it lives first as an actual charge
immanent to acts and scenes - a relay.
AND

FOREVER.

I MISS

YOU BABE,

JERRY.

JERRY.

For a discussion of "intimate publics," see Lauren Berlant, The

Queen of America Goes to "Washington City: Essays on Sex and Citizenship.

Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1997.

Affects are not so much forms of signification, or units of knowledge, as they are expressions of ideas or problems performed as
a kind of involuntary and powerful learning and participation.
Alphonso Lingis noted the jump of affect in his description
of touring a mine at the Arctic Circle: "The young miner who
showed me the mine put out every cigarette he smoked on his
hand, which was covered with scar tissue. Then I saw the other
young miners all had the backs of their hands covered with scar
tissue .... when my eye fell on them it Binched, seeing the burning cigarette being crushed and sensing the pain .... The eye does
not read the meaning in a sign; it jumps from the mark to the
pain and the burning cigarette, and then jumps to the fraternity
signaled by the burning cigarettes."lo
Here, the abstracted sign of collective identity-the
scar tissue
on the back of everyone's hands-not
only retains its tie to the
problems of sense and sociality but demonstrates, or proposes,
an extreme trajectory. It shows where things can go, taking off in
their own little worlds, when something throws itself together.
Ordinary affects highlight the question of the intimate impacts of forces in circulation. They're not exactly "personal" but
they sure can pull the subject into places it didn't exactly "intend"
to go.

10 Alphonso Lingis, "The Society of Dismembered

Body Parts," in
Deleuze and the Theatre of Philosophy, ed. Constantin Boundas and
Dorothea Olkowski (New York: Routledge, 1993), 296.

Positions are taken, l:>c~_~:

wounded.
And just about e'.e-:-:everyday life to get \\'~.c.~.
She thinks it's son::
face tension of some ~::..:.c.::. :.:
cipient vitality lodgec :C. ::..----=-.,
And nimble. If YOL:e

There are games vou cc.:-: -:_..c

Like the game of c_:~: .;
about to change lane,. ::::::--:_
/

about this. They can te::

driver isn't signaling 0: ~.'.e:.c.:the edge of the lane 0: c.:~._-;
Or there's the game:': ~-:-.=in a glance. This one', C.c.:::::
woman have coupon,: -:--.c'
one looks like a talke:. -:-:: ':
gencies. Even a brilli2.'-~ :.=
dreaded price check c: c.-:;
you've made your cho:::e
Stuck in a fast lane;: c.: :
perate for something:: ::.:
a list in your head, ge: ~: the surrounding bodie' c.c::, .

IImr1:L

--~;

jllm:Jr

- ,:-

1..,'

!l'--

-, :: units of knowl: _==-::15

performed as
.'.--:.dparticipation.
,=-_his description
',',"una
miner who
b
0

:::= =-_=
smoked on his
_: -:-:_==-:
I saw the other
- ,.:-_ =-0:oyered with scar

.e,~'"

ifB;:;.c

":-n -

~",jJ(

Positions are taken, habits loved and hated, dreams launched and
wounded.
And just about everyone is part of the secret conspiracy of
everyday life to get what you can out of it.
She thinks it's sort of like being a water bug, living on the surface tension of some kind ofliquid. Seduced by the sense of an incipient vitality lodged in things, but keeping oneself afloat, too.
And nimble. If you're lucky.

~,':T'_

~,,-

~j_

-:-==-, seeing the burn--: :- .'.-=-"

, , . The eye does
~-: =-:::Lhe mark to the
_-=-,-::'0
La the fraternity

1-'
:. =C"_:: C''- -

the scar tissue

~
:=:ains its tie to the
:_,::ates, or proposes,
~'l",c:::-: -, - z: : C-ll go, taking off in
.",:::-'::T, -',,:_ ',,- ,,_~: ',''-<- l'Lselftogether.
- - :,:' the intimate im1v " persona 1" b ut
- -: =-':",Ct
- - :._~n'rexactly "intend"

jD!',,::_:-

~;

= -, c,:-:-,=:,ered
Body Parts," in

= ,=-",antin Boundas
:= -: .296.

and

There are games you can play.

Like the game of noticing when the car up ahead in traffic is
about to change lanes. Some people have developed a sixth sense
about this. They can tell when a lane change is coming even if the
driver isn't signaling or the car itself isn't surreptitiously leaning to
the edge of the lane or acting nervous.
Or there's the game of trying to pick the quickest checkout lane
in a glance. This one's harder. How fast is that cashier? Does that
woman have coupons? That one looks like a check writer. That
one looks like a talker. There are so many variables and contingencies. Even a brilliant choice can be instantly defeated by the
dreaded price check or a register running out of tape. And once
you've made your choice, you're stuck with it.
Stuck in a fast lane gone bad, you might start to feel a little desperate for something to do. But you can make a phone call, make
a list in your head, get to work on your palm pilot. You can scan
the surrounding bodies and tabloid headlines for a quick thrill or

an inner smirk. Or you can just check yourself out with a copy of
House and Garden or Glamour or Esquire. Picture-perfect scenes
flash up and snap into sense. You can relax into the aura of tactile
bodies, living rooms, and gardens jumping from fantasy to flesh
and back again right before your eyes. The glossy images offer not
so much a blueprint of how to look and live as the much more
profound experience of watching images touch matter. The jump
of things becoming sensate is what meaning has become.

Sensory games spread fast, animating the pleasures and compulsions of being attuned to some kind of a common world of banal
yet unspoken, or even occulted, sensibilities.
Shifting forms of commonality and difference are wedged into
daily interactions. There are hard lines of connection and disconnection and lighter, momentary affinities and differences. Little
worlds proliferate around everything and anything at all: mall culture, car culture, subway culture, TV culture, shopping culture, all
the teams and clubs and organizations (sports teams, dog breeding clubs, scrapbooking clubs, historical re-creation societies,
homing pigeon societies, off-road vehicle users clubs, book clubs,
collecting clubs, fan clubs, country clubs, professional organizations, walking clubs, home schooling groups, ethnic organizations, adoption groups, sex groups, writers groups, neighborhood
hangouts, coffee drinkers), addictions of all kinds (drugs, alcohol,
sex, overeating, undereating, cutting, kleptomania), diseases of
all kinds, crimes, grief of all kinds, mistakes, wacky ideas. There
are scenes of shared experience-of tourists, or of locals versus
newcomers, or of people of color walking on a white street, or of
people waiting all day at the food stamp office.There are common
attachments to musical genres or to dreams of early retirement.
But everyone knows there's something not quite right.

Stress is the lingua t:-~~::

wear that shows thar '.~~_:: :
busy, multitasking, ill -=-:-: c~:
against being OVenYOi~~:':'
_
system, or subject to.:. ~:-~:
:::-=:
Stress can motiY2.ec~~:_
alone in times of e'.:.~~:_::~
ambient fear.
It can tell the sIO'.~
or marginality. Bm ie'
stems not from a mea:-_~:-~c
::
culations through forcc' :.:-.:.
ture, the power of rhe:.:.-_~ .
indifference, political':':~':e
of countless intricare> .:.::~
social injuries or im~e::.
'.-: ::

Stress is a transper5::-~-'--"
A thing like stress c.::..:-~ __-~
flow out of a househo:.:.-._--,::'
one who has been ur:.c::.:.:::.Any job.

This kind of thing is :-~~, :-:.

Tom Lutz's Amei'i.~~:
':
traces how neurasther..i: :: ~
at the beginning of rhc :--:-

--: ..:~\'.ith a copy of

- -----'-- --~-nerfect
scenes
t
- ::: ~ ;::aura of tactile
- ::.-::::-:-_iamasy to flesh
_ ::,- :cnages offer not
: -'--'~he much more
- __:_-.:-:-_luer.The jump

:::-,--,-..:r;::s
and compul_,_--:-.:'D world of banal
-o:::"_:c:are wedged into
. : :"_:".c::rion
and discon-'-----_::.
differences. Little
--_::1eT at all: mall cul- -- ---:0
- -: ':"_::ppingculture, all
:~:: [c:ams, dog breed_ :::-creation societies,
- _:::' :lubs, book clubs,
::: :::'c:ssionalorganiza::-: .::::. ethnic organiza- :::-::.:.ps,neighborhood
- ~_-::...:::.ds
(drugs, alcohol,
:::::::':-:lania), diseases of
-'-'~::''.,,-ackyideas. There
.-_:::'_ or of locals versus
- :: .:"_a white street, or of
=:c:. There are common
___
--_.:::- early retirement.
__ ::: quite right.

Stress is the lingua franca of the day. It can be the badge you
wear that shows that you're afloat and part of what's happeningbusy, multitasking, in the know. Or it can be a visceral complaint
against being overworked, underpaid, abandoned by the medical
system, or subject to constant racist undertows.
Stress can motivate you, or it can puncture you, leaving you
alone in times of exhaustion, claustrophobia, resentment, and
ambient fear.
It can tell the story of inclusion or exclusion, mainstreaming
or marginality. But its widespread power to articulate something
stems not from a meaning it harbors inside but from its actual circulations through forces and trajectories of all kinds: self-help culture, the power of the drug industry and direct advertising, social
indifference, political depression, road rage, or the proliferation
of countless intricately detailed little worlds built around major
social injuries or inventive forms of recreation or reaction.
Stress is a transpersonal bodily state that registers intensities.
A thing like stress can linger and do real damage. Or it can also
flow out of a household like water down the drain, as when someone who has been unemployed for far too long finally gets a job.
Any job.

This kind of thing is not exactly new.

Tom Lutz's American Nervousness, I903: An Anecdotal History
traces how neurasthenia, or "nerve weakness," snapped into place
at the beginning of the twentieth century as a widely experienced

mix of symptoms-insomnia,
lethargy, depression, hypochondria, hysteria, hot and cold Bashes, asthma, hay fever, "sick headache," and "brain collapse." Lutz describes the phenomenon as the
embodied sensibility of an excitable subject adrift in a world of
large-scale modernist social transformations. He also describes it
as an unsteady and fraught structure of feeling that mixed a gothic
imaginary of hidden threats and unseen forces with the optimism
of the new consumerist-therapeutic ethos of self-realization, personal magnetism, and corporate charisma. Its hegemony spread
not through the power of a master narrative to gather up widely
disparate identities and conditions of life but because it literally
articulated competing and conBicting forces of science, technology and medicine, religion and ethics, psychoanalysis, gender
and sexuality, health and disease, class and race, art and politics.
Like stress now, it was a weird super-sign of difference turned
on the body. And like stress now it could only be seen through its
singularities: it had to be told as an anecdotal history in order to
see how its elements kept throwing themselves together through
difference and event.

Rogue intensities roam the streets of the ordinary.

There are all the lived, yet unassimilated, impacts of things, all
the fragments of experience left hanging.
Everything left unframed by the stories of what makes a life
pulses at the edges of things.
All the excesses and extra effects unwittingly propagated by
plans and projects and routines of all kinds surge, experiment,
and meander.
They pull things in their wake.
They incite truth claims, confusions, acceptance, endurance,

tall tales, circuits of dc:c.~=-~~

the most ordinary for::-~' :::

It's the 4th of July a:-:.~~~':

works.
Her friend Danm~ c-r. ~ they notice that the :..:.~'=- -=-lose it. He backs up 2...' ::~c..: ~.

then surges forward C'':-' ~~-~ ~ .:-:

opens in front of him.
moves into slow mor~c:. -.:--

= ~-_-

he can and then purs ~: _=-~ ~:

hard. He pulls his car ::~:- :.

They look at each orhc:: :-r ~

car again, this time ric:r~; _=hood. His wheels spin C.r~~
and then he just sits r~~c::::::
on the Boor of the G.r :-:~~ ~staring at the guy bur
goes over and tells the c: ~ C.r"
Boor. He points out tl-~c.:
::~~:
walk. Danny sees the :: ::
guy out of the car. He:: ::.=-_;:
him.

The cultural landscarc

sensed.

~e'ssion, hypochon___
-=--feyer, "sick head-

,e::l __-~

pw:T

~~:

tall tales, circuits of deadness and desire, dull or risky moves, and
the most ordinary forms of watchfulness.

- ~-_
~ ::~_e'nomenonas the
_~~-=-i.-iii:
in a world of
:-Ie'also describes it
'-::

- ~ ~~car
mixed a gothic

~~~,,.'.-~ththe optimism
~-''''~--realization, per:~, :,egemony spread
~ ~ =, gather up widely
-" = -.:.~ ':ecause it literally
~~",'of science, tech: .--::coanalysis, gender
_- ~ ~-=-~'"
art and politics.
,::= ~- difference turned
=_-- :e seen through its
_~_~"-:-jstory in order to
- :-"', ~ogether through

It's the 4th of July and the roads are gridlocked after the fireworks .
Her friend Danny and his girlfriend are stuck in traffic. Then
they notice that the guy in the car in front of them is starting to
lose it. He backs up as far as he can, touching their bumper, and
then surges forward to the car in front of him. Then a big space
opens in front of him. Danny and his girlfriend watch as the scene
moves into slow motion. The guy pulls his car forward as far as
he can and then puts it in reverse and floors it, ramming them
hard. He pulls his car forward again and throws it into reverse.
They look at each other and jump out of their car. He rams their
car again, this time riding up right over the bumper and onto the
hood. His wheels spin and smoke when he tries to dislodge his car
and then he just sits there. Danny sees him reach for something
on the floor of the car and imagines a gun. A traffic cop is now
staring at the guy but he doesn't make a move toward him. Danny
goes over and tells the cop about the something reached for on the
floor. He points out that there are all kinds of people on the sidewalk. Danny sees the cop is afraid. Danny goes over and pulls the
guy out of the car. He brings him over to the cop. The cop arrests
him.

~_=_~> propagated

by
-, <rge, experiment,
The cultural landscape vibrates with surface tensions spied or
sensed.

She gets called to jury duty. A young African American

facing five years minimum
the jury selection,

stories of injustice

bread for his children?).

rude. Mter dismissing
tention

but the live events.

(what if he was stealing a loaf of

a few other objections,

When

all women.

They listen carefully

They're

much

mated

now. They're

If this man did what they say he did, he should

saying they have no problem

the four women

be pun-

go up to talk to the judge. He dislawyers

enter a guilty plea. The man gets twenty-five

mornings,

this is no utopia

up with hilT.

reach him. She asked :-,.' :-_~

hanging

in the kitchc

:': - :
~ :-=-.,

the state and loaded

over it as if that were ,,-_ -:"',~

his motorcycle.

The,' .=.:.:::_

someone

it P"-:::~':'

found

must have put it there.

humor

in p:.::_,::

contact

rel~,,-,_ ~

down the street. Men of all colors, but

Oh! They both gaze a:: :::-~ :::

says the guy in the ca: ,:- ::::

and wildness,

come on buses or walk across town carrying

they

all their belongings

Then they make the trek back again. You can

She knows a woman

sardonic
of human

line. That's her. It takes ,',~::.=

men line up for breakfast

out of place. Like stick figures of abjection

tell they hate this particular

s_=-=..--=_

intensities

And then a tiny act: ~ . --:

at the

homeless

church

Unwanted

She pulls up to a tC__:'::

of racial mixing. They look hot, tired, sour, and

in dirty backpacks.

broken

(b~:-::~ -

years

because it's a repeat offense. She's amazed at the whole thing.

Jehovah's Witness

used to be parties

with punish-

misses them from the jury selection. Then the defendant's

Sunday

who rented a cute lic:~ ,~::-_

more ani-

ished. But it isn't their place to judge. That's the Lord's place. The

immediately

-:.

for the day, she falls into step on

the four women.

ment.

next morning,

She hears of a suici~~

answers they get.

the crowd is dismissed

behind

they focus their at-

in the room,

them. They ask them questions.

the sidewalk

She tells

The lawyers are dead bored and openly

on the only four black people

to the brief, dignified

At

people

She wants to know the circumstances.

And not just dead circumstances,

They prompt

and entering.

with that. She says she does. She objects

sentencing.

hypothetical

for breaking

the lawyers ask a room of four hundred

if anyone has a problem

to automatic

sentence

man is

moment

ar~

brown bab,'.

boys dressed tough,

one of the boys sa)'

s: =-=-~,
S:-,: _. ':

:':D

:.:=-, ~

in her forties who has never married

and

and family, all

She's driving

omo

:.:"----=-:: _

front of her stops in :::-.~:-:'_':'

kinds of passions and forms of self-knowledge.

But it's like there's

set woman

no frame to announce

She knows this is

Then she looks back. ~:: ~ ~.

ridiculous,

that her life has begun.

but she swims against a constant

see that cute baby?"

in their week.

lives alone. Her life is full of work, good friends,

She and Ariana

woman,

undertow.

cross the s:::~~: ~

big smile, vaguely'y.=.'

"-

- .-_-=-.:::~ican
man is

; ~.i entering. At
_~.-. .:.:".dredpeople
::.::::s.She objects
~.-.= ::~cumstances.
: :::::1[5. She tells
'-' :~:::jing a loaf of
.::. ~:~:::d and openly
. =- ~ocus their at.. : -:: =. all women.
-:-:.:-.::srell carefully

She hears of a suicide in the neighborhood. A man in his thirties

who rented a cute little stone house with a great yard where there
used to be parties (before he moved in). His girlfriend had just
broken up with him. Then she got worried when she couldn't
reach him. She asked his neighbor to go in and look. He had been
hanging in the kitchen for days. His relatives came from around
the state and loaded up his stuff on trucks. They were fighting
over it as if that were all they cared about. They were looking for
his motorcycle. They accused the girlfriend of stealing it. Then
someone found it parked in a neighbor's front yard; someone
must have put it there.

-: ~'~_s into step on

.: ~..:.ch more ani~.-== ,,.,-irhpunish-

..
_ _-.=

'~.ould be pun=-":=-:~d's place. The

.: =-".:::
judge. He dis. : ::':~::::"idant's
lawyers
::. ...-.,.-:::nty-five
years

..... ': '~lole thing.

. :: ~ :creakfast at the
.:.- :~.all colors, but
- :~. [ired, sour, and
. ~.i \vildness, they
-; .:....~:leir belongings
::.::.::~again. You can
::.::".:::'.-er
married and
. ~-=.-is. and family, all
: _~= 3u.r it's like there's
- ::_=-. Sie knows this is

Unwanted intensities simmer up at the least provocation.

And then a tiny act of human kindness, or a moment of shared
sardonic humor in public, can set things right again as if any sign
of human contact releases an unwanted tension .
She pulls up to a tollbooth in New Hampshire. The attendant
says the guy in the car in front of her has paid for the next car in
line. That's her. It takes her a minute to process what she's hearing .
Oh! They both gaze at the car up ahead pulling into traffic.
She and Ariana are out walking in the neighborhood: white
woman, brown baby. Some teenagers pass them, scowling; brown
boys dressed tough, showing attitude. But as they pass she hears
one of the boys say to the others in a sweet boy's voice "Did you
see that cute baby?"
She's driving onto campus early one morning. The pickup in
front of her stops in the middle of the road to let an older, heavyset woman cross the street. The woman scampers across, too fast.
Then she looks back, first at the man and then all around, with a
big smile, vaguely waving. Too grateful.

are released into the c.i~, = ~

up in an out-of-this-v"=~.~.-,
Disappearance has :..,"-=

Little fantasies pop up. Like the one in the car ad where two
hip young white people are driving through the streets of New
Orleans listening to a pleasantly funky soundtrack. Suddenly they
realize that the vital scene of African American street life outside
the car has come into synch with the music inside. They look at
each other and shrug their shoulders in the pleasure of a surprise
event. It's unbelievable but they can take it in stride. Keep moving. They (or you, the viewer, or the couple form, or whiteness,
or hipness, or something) are sutured to a pretty picture with surround sound. They can just drift for a while.
A sensory dream of seamless encounter floats over the currents
of racial fear, rage, segregation, discrimination, violence, and exhaustion.
This is not just ideology but an event, however fleeting or insignificant it seems to be, and whatever purpose or underlying causes
it can be slotted into.
It's one of the many little somethings worth noting in the direct
composition of the ordinary.

Ecstatic little forms of disappearance have budded up. We dream

the dream of a finished life. The dream job or the dream body
settles into a perfect form.
Or we dream of the kind of magic that comes in a flash. The
sweepstakes cameras appear at your door when you are still in
your housedress, and big bunches of balloons in primary colors

masses. We are gifted c=-'----=-:

capture the slip, if or:>' ~
surface.
Blankness has blc.I'.::-::=

through the comfonc.~= __=

communities, and the ':~c.-.
stores for every corner: ~._~~
bed and bath, pizza, t2.:=
Banality is the vital::- :: ==
places where it's on di'?-='
feeling disconnected ;-~=~
-=: _:

Everyone knows there', ': - -"

sprawl: the deserts of?'~'
getting fat eating POt;;,:,::.-.:'
of the affordable dre2L-,: .-:

plans no matter where ~'

But the houses are: ,Z :':
expected to have. :\ Ie:e ::.='-.=
into a model home. I: ~"==_-

is set up for the perfee: ~'-=---=-~_

baby's room all read,' >= ::.-in." It makes it look 5[' =::..:-~
She visits a maSter-: ,~ __
plane outside of to\\T. -=-,-,-:~-:
tion, a day care, and c.;~-:-:-~,
trees around yet and ::-,=,-,:_,

: ~~ .::.dwhere two
~_-_=
,~:-eetsof New
_--~~~~Suddenly they
..__
-_ <:-=o:~
life outside
-.------c:. They look at
~ :.::..~:-eof a surprise
- :~~~ie. Keep moy: :: :-:-:~.or whiteness,
:-~.::mrewith sur;

- c-'

are released into the air. Or UFOS come in the night and lift you
up in an out-of-this-world levitation trick.
Disappearance has always been the genius of the so-called
masses. We are gifted dreamers of getting away from it all, giving
capture the slip, if only by slipping into the cocoon of a blank
surface.
Blankness has blanketed the country, spreading smoothly
through the comfortable uniformity of theme parks and gated
communities, and the sprawling new shopping meccas of big-box
stores for every corner oflife - home, pets, coffee, books, garden,
bed and bath, pizza, tacos, hamburgers, toys, babies, office.
Banality is the vitality of the times. You can slip into any of the
places where it's on display and check out for a while without ever
feeling disconnected for a second.

:'.'O:[ the currents

--:<Jlo:nce,and ex-

--=.eetingor insig:.::_:"'_derlyingcauses

- c::-

- _::..iedup. We dream
: r the dream body
in a flash. The
-- ,-_enYOU are still in
~ : ::-:10:5

: '.' in primary colors

Everyone knows there's something not quite right about suburban

sprawl: the deserts of plywood spreading over hayfields; the kids
getting fat eating potato chips in front of the TY; the creeping lure
of the affordable dream house that comes in the same four basic
plans no matter where you are.
But the houses are big, beautiful, white, more than you ever
expected to have. More than you can resist. One day you walk
into a model home. It feels like walking into a dream. Everything
is set up for the perfect family: the boy's room, the girl's room, the
baby's room all ready like they're saying "Come on, family, move
in." It makes it look so easy. So over and done with.
She visits a master-planned community built on an empty
plane outside of town. There's a fire station, a school, a police station, a day care, and a green belt with running paths. There are no
trees around yet and the house siding is still unmarred plastic.

She stops at a convenience store built to look like a southern

country store. The sales office next to it is a cute little bungalow.
Two men wearing pressed shirts are playing horseshoes on the
lawn. They wave at her, big smiles. They yell, "Hey, neighbor!" She
realizes these guys must be the realtors staging a scene. But this is
obvious. It's as if it's not nostalgia for a small town that is being
offered but the fabulousness of the built environment itself. It's as
if the value of the new and emergent-the
up-and-coming mode
of community itself-is embodied in a shared dream of finished
surfaces. It's a game of living lite. A value that only goes so far.
Maybe it's not only the dream house (the more-house-for-yourmoney) that people are after when they buy a house here, but also
the move to be part of what's happening and to be part of the light
inevitability of it all, too, the seamlessness.
The air is full of sneering stereotypes about gated communities.
There are cartoons about it all over the place, like the one about
the older couple sitting in their living room complaining that
that dead body is still out there on the lawn next door. But the
sneering at cliches of conformity and isolation doesn't really get at
what's going on. There's also something more basic about how the
dream world is desirable precisely because it only goes so far. And
something abour how that dream wants to be sutured to the moment when things snap together. It's like flexing one's watching
and waiting muscles, keeping them limber. And it's just as attuned
to the possibility that things will fall apart, the elements dissipating or recombining into something else. Not exactly "passive," it's
hypervigilant and always building itself up to the intensity where
action can become reaction.

Three million retirees live in upscale RVS fully loaded with

kitchens, bathrooms, marble countertops, and TVS front and

back. Everything is
mostly couples, mos:>~
have bumper stickers : ~.c:-::

"On the road and of- ~,= ~:~

beginning. If you dOL: ':' ~
and drive away. The:' :~_.c:':<
They visit war monu:-::-_=:-~_
and Clark Trail. Or d-_='~

hunt treasure with ill:::-=-: :,-

They seek out beautif~: '::=-:':

gazebos.
They use the natioL-=-~.
their itineraries. The- ':==:: ..
day of driving, the:' cc.:-_,~~~..

back out to the parkiL~ .::: -:

a walkie-talkie set so ::-~=' ::~.
meet other Rvers in (h:: :::c..:.'__-:
Wal-Mart is bad for ~;~c._:-;~:
without competition: -=--:-.:'
what can you do? Ib:;::: :::.;;=

The objects of mass

itself-travel,
instam

lure of new lifestyles Fc.::::-~=:"

into scenes of a possil:<=._::~:
The experience of 2::::-.; .=
sory experience oflitcc....' :" happening.
But nothing too h::c.-

. : : =; like a southern
__ .::.::little bungalow.
. -;:: :-_=rseshoeson the
. :-:::~,,"
neighbor!" She
-r.;:: c.scene. But this is
::.::.",'.n
that is being
.r: :-.:-:lentitself. It's as

IF

-:-.:...

. ~- ':"cd-coming mode

jllw":~

1Iir~1
~.

0-

jiml:IL"

-cC:: '::'reamof finished

__

::,,-.c.::'
only goes so far.

r::-house-for-your. _ :: ..yc:.sehere, but also

.'.~.:

.m"r:::~L:-:- _' ::.::.:r,c

p.n:c:" .
""f"-~:
~""'::'

I-'
~

E=:cc
t-.

part of the light

.::. ;::c.::.cdcommunities.
= .:l",ethe one about
.:-r. complaining that
r. r.clI door. But the

- c::'

:-:

back. Everything is built in, tucked away, clever. The retirees are
mostly couples, mostly white. They wear matching T-shirts and
have bumper stickers that read "Home is where you park it" or
"On the road and off the record." For them, every day is a new
beginning. If you don't like where you're at, you can just get in
and drive away. They have pets and projects. They're history buffs.
They visit war monuments and ghost towns or follow the Lewis
and Clark Trail. Or they visit theme parks all over the country. Or
hunt treasure with metal detectors or prospect for gold nuggets.
They seek out beautiful scenery or little New England towns with
gazebos.
They use the national Wal-Mart atlas of store locations to plan
their itineraries. They sleep in Wal-Mart parking lots. After a hard
day of driving, they can shop for whatever they need and then go
back out to the parking lot to make supper. They buy gadgets like
a walkie-talkie set so they can find each other in the store. They
meet other Rvers in the parking lot and tour their rigs. They know
Wal-Mart is bad for Main Street but where would this country be
without competition? They say social inequality is a fact oflifewhat can you do? Their biggest problem is the price of gas.ll

-~~~:~::~:lr~~~~
::.= s..lmredto the mo-

===:':'rlgone's watching
as attuned
::"'.::elements dissipat.: ::.:::,:c.CI
I""
. ,s
y paSSIve, It
_r ::.:::.~-:.e
intensity where

, : ---=- . .::.:I"S just

~Jllv loaded with

.:..-.i TVS front and

The objects of mass desire enact the dream of sheer circulation

itself-travel,
instant communication, movies, catalogues, the
lure of new lifestyles patched together from commodities gathered
into scenes of a possible life.
The experience of being "in the mainstream" is a concrete sensory experience ofliterally being in tune with a "something" that's
happening.
But nothing too heavy or sustained.

It's being in tune without getting involved. A light contact zone

that rests on a thin layer of shared public experiences.
A fantasy that life can be somehow seamless and that we're in
the know, in the loop, not duped. That nothing will happen to
us, and nothing we do will have real consequences - nothing that
can't be fixed, anyway.
The experience of being "in the mainstream" is like a flotation
device.
But its very surge to enter life lite leaves in its wake a vague
sense of all the circuits that give things a charge.

Home is where the heart is. You can get inside and slam the door.
We dream of the big, beautiful, sensate commodity-to-live-in, the
bathroom done in the textures of old stone and precious metals,
a utopia of colorful decor. But the synaesthesia of being at home
is always already afloat in the circuits of the prevailing public
winds- privatization, sensible accumulation, family values, or
some kind of identity or lifestyle or something.
The American dream takes the form of a still life: the little
family stands beside the suv in the driveway, looking up, stock
portfolios in hand, everything insured, payments up to date, yards
kept trim and tended, fat-free diet under their belts, community
watch systems in place. Martha Stewart offers advice on the finishing touches.
But then the little disappearing acts start coming up right in
the middle of home's retreat, adding a different charge to things.
There are times when it seems as if everything the heart drags
home is peppered with a hint of addiction, aloneness, something
rotten or worthless.
Horror stories leak in over the airwaves. Seemingly ordinary
intimate spaces are revealed to be scenes of hidden corruption,

catastrophe, isolation. ~:-.~ :..

beaten to death in tic.: .'.
worker; men who bur,: .:-': -,
them and their new .~,
after the neighbors he~: ::-~ "
News of the weird feaL":':~:.: middle-class couple v.':-.:
behind a hundred ca" -; in the walls.

Sylvie's neighbor Torr:.r:-.'.'.~ :

bottom of the hill. He .-.~ ~ c;

drinker. She sits in fror.: ::' -=-' : :

Sylvie has seen her dm":-.:.' =-~
language you've ever hc~:~ ==:
to send Juanita dov;n t':-.~:e.
down there, Tomm\'
and he was smashin'(Th~- '~:. ,
take him away. Andbth:~----- -'
Sylvie said you'd onh- .~c.'~.
Tommy and the WO~2:-. : __~ .:...
she hoped they did, bu: ::-~ ::C'
little girl. Juanita took ::-.~;:. tain until things settle2 :.:

In Las Vegas, she suspec:~~:" family. She would he~:- :='z',: c:

the trailer. He'd yell, ,0:::' ;: ..._' ~

contact zone
~ ~iCTht
;:,
_ :::~ ::~:ences.
--:-~::"and that we're in
- ~_: ~':-":::lg will happen to
_~..:.::.:-_ces-nothing that
c -

--

: ~c ~

~L

_.:-_'::'e and slam the door.

~_:11Odity-to-live-in, the
:. :~: .:-_::
and precious metals,

.me:-

~:::

- -a::'~~,::sia of being at home

_ ~: : ~ ,he prevailing public
.., --:-__a::on, family values, or

It:

- ::- :::~l.:ng.
a still life: the little
-::-:.-a;.',
looking up, stock
:. ::-a:-::nentsup to date, yards
_.:-::.::~
Their belts, community

J[[

::

ilL

IllL

::.:_

~~Jtfers advice on the fin-

-:-

catastrophe, isolation, and crime. There are children on welfare

beaten to death in their homes between visits from the social
worker; men who burst into their exgirlfriends' trailers, shooting
them and their new lovers in their beds; bodies discovered only
after the neighbors hear the dog barking in there for days on end.
News of the weird feature stories like the one about the educated,
middle-class couple who calmly goes away on vacation, leaving
behind a hundred cats - some dead, some alive, wild ones living
in the walls.

Sylvie's neighbor Tommy has been "into it" in his house at the
bottom of the hill. He has a woman in there with him. She's a
drinker. She sits in front of the tube and never sticks her head out .
Sylvie has seen her down there drunk in the yard and the foulest
language you've ever heard. One time it got so bad that Sylvie had
to send Juanita down there to see about them. When Juanita got
down there, Tommy had this woman handcuffed to the radiator
and he was smashing her head against the floor. The police had to
take him away. And then, of course, she went right back to him.
Sylvie said you'd only have to beat up on her once. Juanita told
Tommy and the woman she didn't care if they killed each other,
she hoped they did, but they better not do it in front of Tommy's
little girl. Juanita took the girl to stay with her up on the mountain until things settled down.

a:~' s~art coming up right in

a :.::tferent charge to things.
- - ::-ernhing
the heart drags
:~:o~, aloneness, something

-~

1iIl:_>~
:It

c _:._

_ :...::--aves.Seemingly ordinary
ill

:::

~e:les of hidden corruption,

In Las Vegas, she suspected that the guy next door was beating his
family. She would hear fights at night through the thin walls of
the trailer. He'd yell, something would go thud against the walls,

the woman would scream, teenagers would skulk out of the trailer
and hang around outside, despondent. Then one day the guy was
having a cigarette on the little porch. The railing broke and he
fell face down in the gravel expanse that serves as the yard. He
lay there face down without moving. His wife and kids came out
slowly, carefully; they peered at him from a good twenty yards
away. ''Are you ok?" Long pause. "No. I'M NOT OK." But they
kept their distance, frozen in a vignette.
Not long after that, the family was gone. No moving vans or
waves good-bye, just there one day and gone the next. Then she
realized that the guy was still in there. One night she heard him
laughing maniacally. Full beer cans thudded against the walls.
After that, she began to notice the TV turned up loud at night, its
blue light flashing in the darkened trailer, and him laughing loud
at the wrong moments. One night she caught him standing at
his living room window staring out at her. She got heavy curtains
and kept them closed. Then she would notice the top of his head
peering out of one of the three little window panels on his living
room door. She pictured him standing on his tiptoes. She thought
he must be completely deranged by now, if he hadn't always been.
Every once in a while at night she would take a quick scan to see
if the top of his head was there at the little window.
Years later, a friend living in Austin told her the same story.
There was some weird guy next door in there alone after the
woman left him. He was throwing beer cans against the walls in
the dark and laughing at the wrong times to the flashing blue light
of the TV.

working when he was "-~~~:

had his jaws locked 0 r: ~-.: ;'_
Luckily, the guy had h:, ~:. . ".
and killed the dog. Yr.: ::.:;
pairman was a victim c..,-.::' C. .".:
When she heard th:,
from an acquaintanc: .
,-"
quirky stories:
A homemaker's c>.
man. Since she had c: ::: .
leave the key under ::.: - ::.'
the counter, and I'll :-:::.c...
_ -.:1
about my Doberm2.':
.
do NOT under A:':Y c.: :_:: .~'_
pairman arrived at t'-l: r.:
the biggest and me"-.-.:':.
just as she had said, :r.: ::"~
the repairmen go 2.':X..::.

him nuts the \vhoL: c.::.:

name-calling. , ,Fir ..:.... _.
any longer and )'elL:':::
replied, "GET HL\f,~" -

Home is where the h:.:..-~

and things get sketch" :.:.: or the sudden rino0" _.
t:'
-- - - _-c

Her brother's cable is out. When the repairman arrives he says,

"Do you know who I am?" It turns out that he's been on the news.
He went into a house to repair a TV. He was down on his knees

_.

canny resemblance b:.-:~ - ":

cocooning we no\,; Cd...-.: -:
The home cocoon ::
nerable, and jump:',

_.:. :~~.:.lk
out of the trailer
~ .::~..'l.e day the guy was
-.:: :i.ling broke and he
,==,.'e5as the yard. He
.:eand kids came out
.:.good twenty yards
:--;OT OK." But they

_"

moving vans or
. ~ ;:: l.e [he next. Then she
.~':-.::
:light she heard him
.. _.:. .:ed against the walls.
up loud at night, its
_ );'0

tilL

ill

II' ..:::.c:

::. -'.:'.d him laughing loud

.:: :.:..:.ght him standing at

I' 1~

Sie got heavy curtains

lit
_ ':' .. : :::e the top of his head
II::~C"
,:-. .: .'.\' panels on his living
1ISl:._ .. :;: ::-. ::.istiptoes. She thought
III
.
.~ie hadn't always been.
tiir~ '_,: :ake a quick scan to see
f"
-::..=\yindow.
in. -_. - :.d her the same story.
~.: .:.: .l. there alone after the
= .. :,:::

IIIlFt...::

1IIf:

working when he was attacked by the family's pit bull. The dog
had his jaws locked on the guy's leg and the family just laughed.
Luckily, the guy had his tool belt on, so he grabbed a screwdriver
and killed the dog. The dog's owners were outraged. But the repairman was a victim and a hero on the local news.
When she heard this story, she remembered an e-mail she got
from an acquaintance who liked to send her stupid jokes and
quirky stories:

A homemaker's

dishwasher quit working so she called a repair-

man. Since she had to go to work the next day, she told him, "I'll
leave the key under the mat ...

Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on

the counter, and I'll mail you the check ...

By the way, don't worry

about my Doberman ... He won't bother you, but whatever you do,
do

NOT

under

ANY

circumstances talk to my parrot!" When the re-

pairman arrived at the homemaker's place the next day, he discovered

the biggest and meanest looking Doberman he had ever seen ... But
just as she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet, watching
the repairmen go about his business ...

However, the parrot drove

him nuts the whole time with his incessant yelling, cursing, and
name-calling

...

Finally the repairman could not contain himself

any longer and yelled, "Shut up, you stupid, ugly bird!!" The parrot

..

replied,

"GET HIM,

Spike!"

=::: ::2J15against the walls in

=' :0 the flashing blue light

,.< ......

.. = :epairman arrives he says,

: ...: :~,-athe's been on the news.
:-Ie was down on his knees

Home is where the heart is. But take one foot out of the frame
and things get sketchy fast. At the unwanted knock on the door,
or the sudden ring of the phone at night, you can feel the uncanny resemblance between the dazed state of trauma and the
cocooning we now call home .
The home cocoon lives in a vital state-open, emergent, vulnerable, and jumpy.

It lives as a practiced possibility, emergent in projects like home

remodeling, shopping, straightening up the house, rearranging
furniture, making lists, keeping a diary, daydreaming, or buying
lottery tickets.
Practices that stage the jump from ideal to matter and back
again can fuse a dream world to the world of ordinary things.
Objects settle into scenes of life and stand as traces of a past still
resonant in things; on a dresser top are loose change, pens, receipts, books, scattered jewelry, knickknacks, a kid's drawing, and
a long-discarded list of urgent things to do. A small wooden table
arranged by a window holds the promise of a profoundly secluded
interior.
But the dream of approaching the ordinary lives only in the
moment of its surge- in the resonance of the still life or the practice of the perfectly manicured lawn. Left to its own devices, it
undoes itself through its own excesses. It drifts off in a flight of
fancy, leaps into a wild plan of action, and overextends itself. It
grows wild tendrils that harden into nodules of paranoia, perfectionism, or private dysfunction. It tries to fix itself into a code as ~
if it could imprint itself on the world -like magic. In the gated
community the rules of community order soon reach a tottering
point open to parody and endless legal contestation: garage doors
have to be kept shut at all times, drapes must be in neutral colors
only, no digging in the yard without permission, no clotheslines
in the yard, no pickup trucks in the driveway, no planting without
permission, no grandchildren visiting in a senior compound. No
exceptions.

The Turner Diaries is a racist, fascist novel from 1996 written under
a pseudonym (Andrew MacDonald) by William Luther Pierce,

the late leader of the :'~.:.~ . -

nization. The book is .:.::~: _ _

on racial genocide. 1L" ,~~ ~'invented past when go': :::-.- ,,- tore apart seemingl.v 5::<_ ..

rested hordes of peop:: ::: _:: =gin trauma incites a IT':~:::':' =

through the details of.:. r
"how-to" manual for r:c::~-~~ ~~ -.::
~
ists, and it has been ere: .._~=..
.1

homa City bombing. S: =." =description at the end:: ~~-: ::.:

the Pentagon and the 2.::::-_-,-- . -:.~1

In the book, SC:::~==:::- ::

nization" carries OUt 2.r~ ~.:: _date is also William L:~-.::,:: ~::'-::
strange and floating L-_:~ ...
-~- 2001.

But what is most 5:"::::: =.: _=,- .3

mestic scenes and the:::::. -.:..offers are not just aboL~ .-.:
but also how to set L:: ::.._
underground. The her::: ::..:..=
bravery and camarader:: r _~:: :
shooting, sexual perfo=-=.:.:-::::,:..
It's a recipe book to::::. -:-.::::
A little world comes ~:-.~:
model of communir. .:.r..
with the textures and '::-. . __
world.

This lived, affecti',-: ::: r- __~.

make the book not iL':::..r~ is) but also a scene o::~~.::~=
- sions, and hoped-for 5:~

-..::- -~_ ?rojects like home

- - -:: ~_:use, rearranging
--=-~::-,-~ing,or buying

the late leader of the National

nization. The book is a prophesy

-:- ordinary

things.

:: -,-cesof a past still

: ':: change, pens, re.c~id's drawing, and
-_ ;:-:18-11
wooden table
- ~ :---::oundly

secluded

only in the

--:: ;:Jllife

or the prac-

-- :: ::s own devices, it

::.: _:=-:' off in a flight of
:-:::extends

itself. It

_ ::: ::- paranoia, perfec_:,;:1finto a code as

thugs broke into citizens' houses,

tore apart seemingly solid walls to unearth

hidden guns, and ar-

them up like cattle. This ori-

gin trauma incites a militia movement,

which the book imagines

through

"ordinary." It reads like a

the details of a postapocalyptic

"how-to" manual for right wing conspiracy theorists and survivalists, and it has been credited with inspiring,
homa City bombing.

in detail, the Okla-

Some also draw uncanny

links between the

at the end of the book of a suicide mission to bomb

the Pentagon and the actual attack that occurred on September

2001.

In the book, September

nization"

II

II,

is also the date that "the Orga-

carries out an assault on the city of Houston

date is also William Luther Pierce's birthday).

(and the

Such is the world of

strange and floating links that The Turner Diaries comes from.
But what is most surprising

about the book is its focus on do-

mestic scenes and the ordinary details of everyday life. The tips it

_ ::"_-'-gic.In the gated

offers are not just about how to organize armies and make bombs

: : ~_:each a tottering

but also how to set up cozy shelters and keep house while living

- -:::-,-:ion: garage doors

of a new world order founded

rested hordes of people, rounding

description
- -=-_-~- hes

orga-

on racial genocide. The story begins with "the terrible day" in an

invented past when government

:: :natter and back

Alliance, a white separatist

underground.

The heroes distinguish

: c e in neutral colors

bravery and camaraderie

<:1. no clotheslines

shooting,

~_c planting without

=~_:J[ compound.

No

themselves

not by acts of

but by honing their skills in engineering,

sexual performance,

and housekeeping.

It's a recipe book for domestic competence.

A little world comes into view. It is a world based on a military
model of community

and skill, but it is one that is filled, too,

with the textures and sensory details needed to imagine a dream

world.
This lived, affective constellation

of practices and sensibilities

make the book not just an ideological diatribe (which it certainly

-- - _.-_=996 written under

__:-,-m

Luther Pierce,

is) but also a scene of life filled with worries, fetishes, compulsions, and hoped-for

satisfactions.

It is possible to imagine how, for those readers who fInd it compelling but are not about to build bombs, it's a kind of self-help
book. Self-help racism.
For the uninducted reader, on the other hand, reading it is an
eerie experience haunted by what seem at fIrst to be bizarre links
between a racist rage at disorder, contamination, and decay and
an appreciation for the well-tended suburban lawn, the Martha
Stewart-inspired interest in interior design, and the fantasy game
of reading catalogues to imagine oneself in that dress, with that
face, or holding that particular gun.

The self is no match for all of this.

It's a dreamy, hovering, not-quite-there thing.
A fabulation that enfolds the intensities it fInds itself in. It fashions itself out of movements and situations that are surprising,
compelled by something new, or buried in layers of habit.
It can become hyperresponsive-touchy,
volatile, and tuned
in-or it can grow dull with anxiety. It gets caught in the quick,
repetitive cycles of ups and downs-the flights of fancy followed
by disappointments, satisfactions, rages, or dreams of rest.
It exists, obliquely, in dreams of disappearing, of winning or
being done with it all. Forms of attention and attachment keep it
moving: the hypervigilance, the denial, the distraction, the sensory games of all sorts, the vaguely felt promise that something is
happening, the constant half-searching for an escape route.

Her friend Danny worked night shift on the suicide prevention

hotline for a while. He said the borderline personalities were the
worst. They kept calling back, looking for attention. He got to

know them all, indul=:c.;.

to help them ifhe co--.:: .:..;_
But then they woulc: '~
starting the cat-and-c. _: :- But at exactly 4 ..IX '-... - :
lie down on the floor ~.
He said he guessed c,'c- ~ . _.
weird, though, hO\\-ic

The affective subjeCI ;, ~ ~ can recognize it thro.:;.- ...

unsteadily in the light: .~.~': ~ _
candle. Or project it cc_
it as a pattern you h;.: .
there's nothing you c"-c.
You can comfon ic. .track, even for a mirL ~c
Out there on its c'c
-nudge it into being. I~ ... _. .
up, to free itself, to b:.rc
None of this is eas'-. ~~~, _
thinking claims thar
as if all the messy bL':,:
a bad habit or a han=c-:r ~ _..
making projects pro:ic'c'~.: _.
demics of addictions ,,-c.o . - :
The fIgure of a becc'cc- _c _:for all kinds of strarez:
reinvention, redempt:cc ,-:
rests on agency's shoc.o:
that.

': ~:ders who find it com- -, i:'s a kind of self-help

"

J.

'

!IlL::"',

go

It

''::~iand,

reading it is an
~: :=Ist to be bizarre links
. ~-:',.~2.tion,and decay and
_: _~::-2.nlawn, the Martha
,~.:,' and the fantasy game
" ,~ ;:hat dress, with that

p:,:r _,~~_~-'- -: ~_-jng.

;:ri.nds itself in. It fash-

II!-

.. ,'

"

'

B,-

Il!Ii2

III"

.,

I:

.'1

1liii!'

:,5

that are surprising,

~:2"ers
of habit.
_:r.:', volatile, and tuned
. ~::' .::aught in the quick,
: .::~:~:sof fancy followed
:Icams of rest.
:2=-ing, of winning or
, :..:.2 attachment keep it
:-:.: iisuaction, the sen. ,~. ~::se that something is
. ' : 2.c-, escape route.
:

c ~ ~

, :rc suicide prevention

-: ::-C:Isonalitieswere the
, . : 2.;:;:ention.He got to

know them all, indulging them in their tiresome games and trying
to help them if he could figure out when they were being straight.
But then they would slip out of reach and then call back later,
starting the cat-and-mouse game again.
But at exactly 4 AM all the calls would stop dead and he would
lie down on the floor to sleep for the last two hours of his shift.
He said he guessed even borderlines had to sleep sometime. It was
weird, though, how it was like clockwork.

The affective subject is a collection of trajectories and circuits. You

can recognize it through fragments of past moments glimpsed
unsteadily in the light of the present like the flickering light of a
candle. Or project it onto some kind of track to follow. Or inhabit
it as a pattern you find yourself already caught up in (again) and
there's nothing you can do about it now.
You can comfort it, like a child. Or punish it for getting off
track, even for a minute.
Out there on its own, it seeks out scenes and little worlds to
nudge it into being. It wants to be somebody. It tries to lighten
up, to free itself, to learn to be itself, to lose itself.
None of this is easy. Straight talk about willpower and positive
thinking claims that agency is just a matter of getting on track,
as if all the messy business of real selves could be left behind like
a bad habit or a hangover. But things are always backfiring. Selfmaking projects proliferate at exactly the same rate as the epidemics of addictions and the self-help shelves at the bookstore.
The figure of a beefed-up agency becomes a breeding ground
for all kinds of strategies of complaint, self-destruction, flight,
reinvention, redemption, and experimentation. As if everything
rests on agency's shoulders. But there's always more to it than
that.

At odd moments in the course of the day, you might raise your
head in surprise or alarm at the uncanny sensation of a half-known
influence.
The streets are littered with half-written signs of personal/public disasters. The daily sightings of the homeless haunt the solidity
of things with the shock of something awful. They hold up signs
while puppies play at their feet: "Hungry," "Will work for food,"
"God bless you." The sign hits the senses with a mesmerizing and
repellent force. It pleads to be recognized, if only in passing. It
gestures toward an ideological center that claims the value of willpower ("Will work for food") and it voices a simple dream of
redemption ("God bless you"). But it's too sad. It offers no affect
to mime, no scene of common desire, no line of vitality to follow,
no intimate secret to plumb, no tips to imbibe for safety or good
health.
There is no social recipe in circulation for what to do about
homelessness, or even what to do with your eyes when confronted
with it face to face.
The eye glances off the graphic lettering of the homeless sign as
something to avoid like the plague. But the sign also prompts the
surge of affect toward a profound scene.
A dollar bill stuck out of a car window gets a quick surge forward and the heightened, unassimilated, affect of a raw contact.
"God bless you."

Things have started to :=: : It's as if the solid g::-':._:_

tender cocoons susperr::,,::. and possibilities of a :i:." .-.: : -:.="
We notice our com;::::-_ .::..'._-=.
mity in it. We knO\\ i> :._~
:: ;
meltdowns as by smoo:.- : a buoyancy too. A yib: -'.:-.::
and shopping malls.

We shop.
Sometimes, or all d-." :._-=-"
Too much or nor er:.: .;::
With flare or with ,~.-'.-:"
For necessities, fo: ::-."::':
At Dollar Store or ~~e.::-:.::
We shop at the me~-'.'-.-:.:: -.
nient and everyvvhere-'.:-_::
:.-:::.
c -'

weirdly upbeat sloga,':=

a Hero" give shoppir:.~ -'.
pricing cards stick oc:.:.c-.- :::-.
_:
miss the sale items.
If you have plen n- '-.-:::. -.have no money at aL :::-.If the money is ti;:--.numbing, penny-pine:-_.:-.;:.~--

. :...:.might raise your

- ':'~~:'=1ofahalf-known
;~_' of personal/pub- ~:" iaunt the solidity
..:__-=-_"1-=:"
hold up signs
:~:':lwork for food,"
~_-,~ mesmerizing and
. in passing. It
value of will_:: .:.simple dream of
.:.~_It offers no affect
-: :i \-itality to follow,
- : ,:" [or safety or good

Things have started to float .

It's as if the solid ground has given way, leaving us hanging like
tender cocoons suspended in a dream world. As if the conditions
and possibilities of a life have themselves begun to float.
We notice our common drifting and the isolation and conformity in it. We know it's fueled as much by circuit overloads and
meltdowns as by smooth sailing. But there's no denying that it has
a buoyancy too. A vibrancy alive with gamblers, hoarders, addicts,
and shopping malls.

- ~ "--:-::~s the

- :': __'.\-hat to do about

___
:-':5 \vhen confronted

,~.~.: ~i-=homeless

sign as
--" _;=1also prompts the
;:~' a quick surge for. ~--:-:t of a raw contact.

We shop.
Sometimes, or all the time.
Too much or not enough.
With flare or with shame.
For necessities, for therapy, on vacation.
At Dollar Store or Neiman Marcus or Sears, depending.
We shop at the megastores because they're cheap and convenient and everywhere and because they're what's happening. Their
weirdly upbeat slogans like "Getting It Together" and "Go Home
a Hero" give shopping a slightly surreal charge. Day-glow orange
pricing cards stick out at right angles from the shelves so you can't
miss the sale items.
If you have plenty of disposable income, that's one thing. If you
have no money at all, that's another thing.
If the money is tight, you're supposed to shop with mindnumbing, penny-pinching care. All those coupons. All those cata-

logs, the fantasies, the games of imagining having this thing or

that and what you would do with it. Then the splurges on a tub of
ice cream or the suicidal squandering of a trip to Las Vegas.
She shops with Ariana at supermarkets that play loud music.
She runs up and down the aisles to make her laugh. People smile
or come over and say something. One day a group of kids follow
them around the store, bouncing in single file and making peeka-boo faces for the baby. Another day a man next to them in an
aisle starts making birdcalls. Ariana snaps her head to attention
and stares at his mouth, amazed, while he runs through dozens of
expert imitations.
One day in Walgreens she sees a handsome young man waiting
in line. He wears a mechanic's uniform with his name stenciled
on the pocket. When he talks or smiles he holds his hand up over
his mouth but everyone stares anyway. His teeth are grossly misshapen. A few stick straight out of his mouth. There's a double
row on one side. Like he's never been to a dentist-not as a child,
not now.
Sometimes she shops at Foodland-a poor people's supermarket that everyone calls Food-stamps-Iand. The music is more raucous than at the other stores. It smells of disinfectant and the
cashiers wear layers of thick gold chains around their necks or
thick baby-blue eyeshadow. Homeless people walk up from the
river for cheap beer and bread. People live in cars and vans in the
parking lot. She begins to notice a woman who lives with her
two kids in a truck. She has long, black hair and there's always a
big circle of white on the crown of her head. One night there's a
jumpy, red-faced man with her. He runs up to her, excited by his
discovery that they have six-packs for two dollars. She gives him a
hard stare. He says "What? Coke! I'm talking about coke! I found
a good deal on coke for the kids!" He tries to act outraged, as ifhe
thinks he's an unsung hero, but it's like he's not quite up for it.
A few days later, she sees the jumpy, red-faced man on campus.
He's on foot, crossing the street at the entrance to campus with

three other men - n'.~,:=- ~ - .

are carrying big yelle"!

ing, "Isn't this great: y:~.~- ~.::
fast, nervous and ex::::~~ ~ _~
sidewalk they hesita::e.~~-- : '
says something aboL: c ~:: _~ SHIT!" A cop car pd'
_::-man bravely goes m~e:~::: .::'
the red-faced guy sh,,~~ _ _ __
campus more than SiT:-~ .

The ordinary can hapFe: : ~- ':'

ences of shock, recog:~~::.:most ordinary practi:ec ~_- :: to catch up with \\~he:~~.~_ :~

In Target the casr_:e~

she's buying are for. "':". ~::
asking. Maybe vacuur:.: :~e~- : - :
thing. The cashier 5a~c
she just throws it a\\~8.~~.
they made bags for \8.: __: _

they make disposablc~: ~~- . ':

that's what the you:,; ::e ~:: _ .
alarmed. Or disorieme:. One day in PetS'T~::: '.
talking to a clerk in r:- ~:~:: - ~- ..
wanders from tank te ::.=.:.:::
There's a wall of aqucr.=.:~: -:- .:
orange. She has the se:;~:: ~
before, if only in a dre~:~
In the early 19905 c..':~::

r - .' - - ~- . .:.::--.g this thing or

-:--=-==-.:.-.= o?lurges on a tub of

iErlJ~': .'.:. :,:?

F.---..

to Las Vegas.

'.-2t play loud music.

laugh. People smile
.:. ;roup of kids follow

, - =,
J>

iar

~:= and

making peek-. -'---.

next to them in an
- .-.=: head to attention
': , _:--.0 through dozens of

IIl:

;:

~.
~;ciL.::

lIIa:..
-

-::-.=

~.'oungman waiting

. II'. ,.-

. ~~

:-Cisname stenciled

three other men-two Latinos and one African American. They

are carrying big yellow street signs, and the red-faced guy is saying, "Isn't this great? What did I tell you? MAN!" They are moving
fast, nervous and excited. But the minute they hit the campus
sidewalk they hesitate, gathering in a loose circle. The black man
says something about security ... the cops. "What the fuck! Oh,
SHIT!" A cop car pulls up to the curb in front of them. The black
man bravely goes over and sticks his head in the window. Then
the red-faced guy slowly sidles up to the car. They haven't been on
campus more than sixty seconds.

"'IlL". '. - : .::ishis hand up over

,:==:h are grossly mis-

~i

"6IT."
~~;"'!

_':~..

There's a double

=. -: ~_ :~st:- not as a child,

!
I'

- :: . : , ?cople's supermar_=-.= .-:lusicis more rau- ::..oinJectant and the

c: :..:.nd their necks or
. =-= -.-.,alk up from the
-. : ~:s and vans in the
-no lives with her
. . -'--cdthere's always a
, . c:: IJI1enight there's a
_ =- '::

her, excited by his

= : _~rs. She gives him a

k''"

-:: ~::,outcoke! I found

- -. ~:: outraged, as ifhe
: =-,: ': quite up for it.
>-:.::::. man on campus.
. -:: ':':-..:e to campus with

The ordinary can happen before the mind can think. Little experiences of shock, recognition, confusion, and deja vu pepper the
most ordinary practices and moves. Sometimes you have to pause
to catch up with where you already are.
In Target the cashier asks her what the vacuum cleaner bags
she's buying are for. "What?" She doesn't understand what she's
asking. Maybe vacuum cleaner bags have gone defunct or something. The cashier says when her vacuum cleaner stops working
she just throws it away. "What?" The cashier says she didn't know
they made bags for vacuum cleaners. "What?" She thinks maybe
they make disposable vacuum cleaners now, or something. Maybe
that's what the young people use. Whatever. But she's a little
alarmed. Or disoriented. Or something.
One day in PetSmart she has deja vu. Her partner, Ronn, is
talking to a clerk in front of the bank of fish tanks, while Ariana
wanders from tank to tank, pressing her face up against the glass.
There's a wall of aquamarine blue water with shimmering flecks of
orange. She has the sensation that she's been in exactly this scene
before, if only in a dream.
In the early 1990S a stapler built into a copy machine takes her

aback. It's the last week of a fellowship at the Humanities Research

Institute in Irvine. She's frantically copying journal articles to take
home with her. One of the other research fellows walks in, sticks
some papers into a slot on the side of the machine, and pulls them
out stapled. She feels a slight shock at the discovery that copy
machines now have staplers built into them. A sense of unease
spreads through her in a tangle of thoughts. What else doesn't she
know about? Why doesn't she hear about these things? She feels
her mother's anxiety about answering machines, cell phones, selfserve gas pumps, and ATM machines. It's the fear of being caught
up in something you can't master, of being found out. A kind of
illiteracy.
She uses eBay to buy crib sheets and Teletubbie videos. One
day she gets an e-mail with a colorful certihcate of achievement.
"Congratulations on your success! You're A Rising Star at eBay!"
She's earned a yellow star for getting a good feedback rating from
eBay sellers. She's a valued member of the eBay community. "Keep
shooting for the stars!" She feels slightly depressed, or slightly
stunned.
Her friend Andrew comes back to the neighborhood for a visit
after being away for a year and a half He says it's great to be back
but unnerving ("Have I been away?"). So many things are the
same, and then every once in a while there's something really different that comes as a shock, like a house all of a sudden where
there used to be an empty lot or an open field. How did it get
there? Who are those people inside, and how did they get the
basketball trophies up on the wall so fast?

Big social shifts float by on distant, cloudy discourses and scandals. The conditions of life assemble themselves into something

and then morph into ': :-'.:-- tories take root and Lt.o::-.
:.~=
Ian Hacking's Rei,.. ::
Sciences of Memol)'

([2.~0:' .-.:

daIs morphed into Io:~

extreme trajectories L:o: . _ ~rl
Satanic Ritual Abuse ~~_"
Day care was (anci:, :c:: :.<
work, gender, class, r2.~: -=--: Ii
mother had a drinki:-.~ :::: I:::
that was articulated ,,'.:_-. -=--:
situation-the
guilt. :.-.c::~=
and sexual abuse were ::-~- - her small child relate~ :c:.dream world blosson~~~ := =~
cases, convictions lie
care, women pulled 0''':': :: ..
I-~

of the picture permar-.o::-.:.

Mass-market books ~ r _. : :
vided the prototypes :: f __- =
abuse. Then therapis:; __0: f _r
multiple personalin' ': f.c
patients, asking theIT. ::
symptoms and cause',
sonality disorder b:
presenting symptoms :c:-. r.-:~ -:
dard quickly shifted r~:r:-.-:' _
over a hundred, and ::--.0: -=--C-c:I'
ing to reintegrate the ?o:: .
loging the "multiples.
Conflicts bet'iveeE -trauma culture and [2.::::- .
ries of these moveme.:':

Il.[~

_~_;.nities Research

-- -: ~

articles to take
.,., \yalks in, sticks
- c: -:-e. and pulls them
.,

II

.':' ::"O:iJ\'erythat copy

: =-=-. .:c. ,ense of unease
---:-,:-t else doesn't she
e tiings? She feels
:ell phones, self:'e:-:of being caught
:: ..:.:-.ci out. A kind of

_' .-:'

iim!s;: r._,t.-e'
R

":

_ -:-:e:..:.=:
bie videos. One

.:L.

::-==of achievement.
. -:: .'::1g Star at eBay!"
=.tee ='::<ack
rating from
- =.::t:1mumty.
. "K eep

.
_

- - c

=.e=::essed, or slightly
.: ~-.=:=.'rhoodfor a visit
.=, great to be back
:-=-.:-:='
.. things are the
: :-=-.erhingreally dif~ =.:.a sudden where
~e.='. How did it get
r
- .. iid they get the

=-.' =.oursesand

scan-:' .=s into something

and then morph into something else. Sometimes extreme trajectories take root and then take off with a life of their own.
Ian Hacking's Rewriting the Soul: Multiple Personality and the
Sciences of Memory traces how the 1980s day care (sex abuse) scandals morphed into recovered memory syndrome and then into
extreme trajectories like Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) and
Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA).
Day care was (and is) a tense issue rooted in the conditions of
work, gender, class, race, the family, and the state. One working
mother had a drinking problem that led to a working problem
that was articulated with the mass of public feelings about this
situation - the guilt, the stress, the rage. Stories of child abuse
and sexual abuse were beginning to circulate with force. Somehow
her small child related a story of sexual abuse at day care and a
dream world blossomed. Before we all woke up, there were court
cases, convictions (all later overturned), kids pulled out of day
care, women pulled out of work, male day care workers pulled out
of the picture permanently.
Mass-market books and the popular movies they spawned provided the prototypes for the extreme trajectories of trauma and
abuse. Then therapists helped their patients write the original
multiple personality stories and suggested the disorder to other
patients, asking them to identity with a compelling narrative of
symptoms and causes. Talk shows spectacularized multiple personality disorder by showcasing victims with ever more elaborate
presenting symptoms and more and more personalities. The standard quickly shifted from having sixteen personalities to having
over a hundred, and the therapeutic aim shifted from one of trying to reintegrate the personalities to one of identitying and cataloging the "multiples."
Conflicts between believers and disbelievers, and between
trauma culture and rationalism, also fueled the extreme trajectories of these movements. A professional couple whose daughter

had recovered memories of child abuse founded the False Memory Syndrome Foundation - a highly focused and sophisticated
pressure group that was eventually able to shift the blame from
parents committing child abuse to therapists and their troubled
patients producing an abuse hysteria. People with multiple personality disorder founded a society of their own that celebrated rather
than pathologized their symptoms, thereby turning the "disorder"
into a liberation movement. They began to use the term "alters,"
articulating with the diffuse New Age celebration of altered states
of consciousness to experience spiritual energies. Rationalists attacked the "pseudoscience" of the movement as a symptomatic
disease in itself Strands of feminism promoting the recognition of
child abuse contributed to counterattacks. Some therapists who
had become activists for their patients accused skeptics of being a
support group for child abusers.
Then even more extreme trajectories took off. Increasingly
bizarre events were recalled and accusations took a strange turn
into the highly scripted story of Satanic Ritual Abuse. A radical wing of the movement came to believe that patients suffering from dissociative disorders had been ritualistically abused by
satanic cults run by their parents and featuring the bloody sacrifice
of babies. Police and social workers developed elaborate lists and
maps of the elements and scenes of Satanic Ritual Abuse, using
them as diagnostic tools and standards of evidence in hundreds of
court cases. The opposing side argued that the therapeutic movement itself had practices that were very much like cult initiation,
including hypnosis and suggestion.
Such trajectories and metamorphoses are not just dead social
constructions that we can track back to a simple origin, but forms
of contagion, persuasion, and social worlding.

Flash mobs are lea2~~::

e-mail, and the \i7eb. -=---::

onstrating only that e.:= ~ - -_::- _.

At a Toys 'R Us, aid' . saurus rex, and ther: ~'::._
of hands before quick'> :.. ~:
sembled at the food cc_:- nizers (identifiable k ::: '
they were holding) :c':: .
what to do next. Sr"c~._
suddenly assembled 0::-_ . -:: '. ==
next to Grand CemL_ ~.~onds, then left.
When Howard Dee.:: .
comic strip called for d ::-= .

September 13, IO:35 _".'_ = _ ..

Link arms in an eno .:: _. _ -:
"The Doctor is in:" D:,..-::: ::
Howard Dean's "Get 1... : '-Another Bash mob .:.:::'
puter to compete \\'it:_ .'.:: -' in the world by bring:::-_;:. ~.
tion, networking thee ::::--:'
major scientific problc: = -:.,
'

,he False Meme=--,-::cdsophisticated

-__~ ,he blame from
- - -,-=-_d
their troubled
- =- ~::.

.,=-:J1Ultipleperson- ,_-.o, celebrated rather

-_=-=-_::cg
the "disorder"
_,~ ,:,e term "alters,"
- -_-.: ::cof altered states
: -:: :.~'. Rationalists at: -, .os a symptomatic
- =-; ,:,e recognition of
: : ::ce therapists who
-:-='~,eptics of being a
: ,: off. Increasingly
- ,::'-"'-a strange turn
---_, _~ Abuse. A radi: ,_-.-'-,patients suffer- _-'---:5 Iically abused by
- ; , e bloody sacrifice
:-e=-e:aborate lists and
-: ;~wal Abuse, using
- : _=-c::cce
in hundreds of
- :_-_c,herapeutic move_:_- ::ke cult initiation,
I::

=-_JIjust dead social

origin, but forms

--.=::::

Flash mobs are leaderless gatherings organized by cell phone,

e-mail, and the Web. The mobs usually do something silly, demonstrating only that a floating connection can flash into flesh.
At a Toys 'R Us, a flash mob stared at an animatronic Tyrannosaurus rex, and then fell to the floor with screams and waving
of hands before quickly dispersing. In New York, participants assembled at the food court in Grand Central Station, where organizers (identifiable by the copies of the New York Review of Books
they were holding) gave mobbers printed instructions regarding
what to do next. Shortly after 7 PM about two hundred people
suddenly assembled on the mezzanine of the Grand Hyatt Hotel
next to Grand Central Station, applauded loudly for fifteen seconds, then left.
When Howard Dean was running for president, a Doonesbury
comic strip called for a Howard Dean flash mob. Time: Saturday,
September 13, IO:35 AM. Place: Foot of Space Needle. Activity:
Link arms in an enormous circle, hop up and down chanting
"The Doctor is in!" Disperse. The idea immediately appeared on
Howard Dean's "Get Local" Web site as an action tool.
Another flash mob tried to produce a momentary supercomputer to compete with the fastest and most expensive computers
in the world by bringing conventional computers to a single location, networking them together and putting them to work on a
major scientific problem. It didn't work, but it almost did.

go~i.:-.=-.

of O. J. playing
skyrocketing.

\'\Te

,T,:, ~:-

,,"

dal spreads throug:~, .:.<~ -,::

thong panties,

the ~.:.::e ~:

a sensory imagina T:~:-. ~- '::-'1

Things

flash up-little

worlds,

bad impulses,

events alive with

some kind of charge.

Sudden
divining

eruptions

Scenes of public .:.~~e- -

-:

cial news into eccc.~~ :.1

are fascinating

rods articulating

beyond all reason, as if they're

something.

killing spree. Afte: .:.~'e

of his love life, his ~~_~~_~. - -'~

But what?

into a life of its

0\\':-. ,:-, -

run. Someone

spc'~' .-.. t::-

Mercedes

_ -=-::-11'

Benz \T,:~:-.:: .

with money. The r:~~:-e'

Scenes of impact catch the senses: LA in flames, a trailer wrapped

clothes like a [\\':5::::= ~' -

in crime scene tape, the memorial

ribbons

the king offash:c:-..

lying at the feet of a still-smoking

building.

so familiar

we can list them

and stuffed

in shorthand:

animals

The plots become

disgruntled

workers

going postal; jilted lovers and kids with guns opening

fire in pub-

lic; orderly

revealed

men who keep too much

be serial killers butying

beaten,

raped,

and killed by cops; homegrown

into rage at the sight of unmarked

lost freedoms;
bombs

to themselves

bodies in their backyards;

messages coming

or with anthrax

helicopters

through

in white powder

Th::~=-.

exactly, such thing:' .:.~e

militias whipped
and the stench of

Jokes circulate

the mail as literal letter

directly

or in a brown

together.

sandlike

abc .:~-

to semar:.:-.

One day, shon:"

the details of a breaking

as doing a crossword

event is as compelling

puzzle; once you get into it you have to stick

with it so you can get to the end and get out. One day there is
the amazing scene of O. J. Simpson's white Ford Bronco traveling
down an L.A. freeway, and before you know it you are into the
glove, the blood stains, the barking

dog, the racist words of the

detective,

Later, there are the sightings

the verdict,

the reactions.

._

to

These scenes have an afterlife; it isn't like you can put a stop to
Following

"J

the black men

substance.
them.

or something.

:= _. ~.

the neighborhooc
on quirky characr:::'
fabricated

~ _~
.:.~e

.. -.
~. .

on dro-.','-- :..- .

-TIc:

-'-~::-ailerwrapped
c~::. '::--"ttedanimals

-::. -=-:-." dots become

~ z::-'-":-:ded
workers

-.
~ ,,=-.::-.~hre

lil

of o. J. playing golf in Florida and the sales of white Ford Broncos

skyrocketing. We watch, amazed, as the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal spreads through a string of serial fetishes: the stained dress, the
thong panties, the tapes, the neckties, the cigar. The details incite
a sensory imagination that spirals off, following leads.
Scenes of public attention routinely drift over the fence of official news into eccentric circulation. Andrew Cunanan goes on a
killing spree. After a few days of trying to track the traveling clues
of his love life, his friendships, and his murders, the story flashes
into a life of its own in multiple sightings of the actual man on the
run. Someone spots him in Lebanon, New Hampshire, in a gray
Mercedes Benz with Florida license plates and his pockets stuffed
with money. The money is falling out of cracks and crevices in his
clothes like a twisted fashion statement from the guy who killed
the king of fashion. But all that turns out to be just apparitions
or something. There is never any real effort to determine what,
exactly, such things are.

pu b -

revealed to
~::.' ~:lCblack men
=-. :-:-::
:ias 'whipped
::-'::. ~.~ ~:le stench of
-':
-=-.:.... -=..s
literal letter
. - -'-::'::-,w.-nsandlike
'-.:-=-.'''.cs

. _ ::.:...-:.
Flit a stop to
IIE:JL:"::

compelling
::-" iave to stick
_: = :-.Cday there is
- :::.:3 ::-:,:-:cotraveling

: =-.: .'

2.S

::---::"-"are into the

::-:'::'.'~\\'ords of the
:.' ::~ ~" the sightings

Jokes circulate about how we might as well just wire ourselves

directly to sensation buttons and skip the step of content altogether.
One day, shortly after 9/n, she gets an e-mail from a friend in
the neighborhood who likes to keep up a running commentary
on quirky characters and scenes spied from her studio windows or
fabricated on drowsy afternoon walks. Her friend writes:
Here's a good story we would have had a few yuks about during
coffee club. A friend of mine works

St. Luke's Roosevelt hospital

in a building that housed several psychology and psychiatry offices.

Of course, it's not the big money area and the building is very rinky-

dink and tenament-ish,

not a big target for anthrax, let's just put it

that way. She works with mothers who have drug abuse problems,
and the office downstairs treats juvie-delinquent

adolescent types.

Apparently, a few weeks ago one of the women who work in the office
downstairs turns on the ale (window unit) for a little conditioning
action and a white dust sprays out all over her. Yikes! They call the

She's living in a tra::::~ ~'

Center for Disease Control and men in white suits and gas masks

Vegas. Her place is 2":'~;",-'' , .:

invade. My friend who is working upstairs is dubious-and

brick through

so the

a winc.~

people in her office just stay and work while the downstairs is cor-

less old stereo, and 5':::,:': :'

doned off and investigated. They rush the substance off to the lab and

large pair of scissors. -::-',::' .

'.
'.C

put everyone who was in the office on Cipro. Then the test results

the police. "Kids," ti,,::,::

come back. Low and behold, the substance tests positive for cocaine!

at all the stuff pulIce ': _.: . : ':,':,

So good, isn't it? They think one of the juvies hid their stash in the

ready to go. She sho'."

ale when he was afraid of being searched. I think it's a brilliant idea

look at it and then c.~~

to start pumping cocaine into the workplace. No need for caffeine

black-and-white

anymore, let's just move right on up to the next level of productivity

"Did they stick the'::

inspiration. Whadaya say?

at her.

~- =

:.',:-

::J
,

pho.:: ;~:~'_
_~ -

She calls the ma:" '::::-.:..'

can't get a piece of
her computer

over

':0

'

tells her he came hon',:: ,,':

We will follow any hint of energy, at least for a little while.
When something

happens,

had emptied

we swarm toward it, gaze at it, sniff

it, absorb its force, pour over its details, make fun of it, hide from
it, spit it out, or develop

a taste for it. We complain

compulsion

to participate.

We deny its pull. We blame it on the

suburbs

TV

and

usually another
demption:
mittee,
to do.

about

the

and ourselves. Bur we desire it too, and the cure is

kind of swarming,

a mobilization

this time under the sign of re-

for justice, a neighborhood

some way of keeping

watch com

our collective eyes open. Something

Cc

the pIa::: c...' .:

kids with her. And

five-piece

blue veh-e.:

C'

for the kids in the

\'8.:

rough, handmade

ch::~:

of the three bears: a :-:=:~'':

He had been planni:-:;,
girlfriend

is calling

~':' ;,:

-',

great the sex is with h:: ~ :-,:

over to fix their toilet ":-,:

' '::'

Out of the blue he .:..<.:' ='

she's alone. They cou.~ :,: ~

,~ _' .:. -'-..::''1r~x,let's just put it

::.~ugabuse problems,

. ':
III:

_.

r ::':::'.:adolescent types.

-'::. "'::'0 \York in the office

11:;;,

lIIIi::'

_:

:':::.

:inle conditioning

':r

'likes! They call the

';lits and gas masks

... ::

=-_Jious-and
c :.-.:

_=

so the

jo\Ynstairs is cor-

::.=::.=

off to the lab and

-=-:-.=:1 the test results

'. := :,::.'
,

:-,::'

iLi,'e for cocaine!

:ieir stash in the

. -"':-..:: ::', a brilliant idea

- ~,~:::,
:1~ed for caffeine
'c'

.:-=1 of productivity

. ':' __:c[c: while.

~::. ::. gaze at it, sniff

=_== of it, hide from
=: =-=-,=,lain
about ~he
= _, --:: dame it on the

- c..:

"= ,= = =c!. and the cure is

- = _=.-=-::r the sign of re-

'= :':' =,=:--.oodwatch com: ~'::'=!pen. Something

She's living in a trailer park outside Nellis Air Force Base in Las
Vegas. Her place is burglarized in plain daylight. Someone hurls a
brick through a window, rifles through everything, steals a worthless old stereo, and sticks a note onto the living room wall with a
large pair of scissors. The note says, simply, "Yeah, boy." She calls
the police. "Kids," they say.They roam through the rooms looking
at all the stuff pulled out of drawers, the computer unplugged and
ready to go. She shows them the note stuck in the wall. Their eyes
look at it and then drift over the walls, skimming the dozens of
black-and-white photographs of weathered characters tacked up.
"Did they stick these up too?" "No, those are mine." They look
at her.
She calls the maintenance man to come fix the window. He
can't get a piece of plywood until the next morning, so she carries
her computer over to his trailer. His living room is empty. He
tells her he came home the week before to find that his girlfriend
had emptied the place and left, just like that. She took her three
kids with her. And she took the only thing he had ever won-a
five-piece blue velvet living room suite. He had built a playscape
for the kids in the yard: a wooden bridge over a little plastic pool;
rough, handmade chairs lined up against the trailer like the chairs
of the three bears; a machine of some sort covered with stickers.
He had been planning to get goldfish for the pond. Now the old
girlfriend is calling him in the middle of the night to tell him how
great the sex is with her new boyfriend, and one day he even went
over to fix their toilet while they stood watching him.
Out of the blue he asks her to marry him since he's alone and
she's alone. They could help each other. She says no thanks. The

next day he helps her move to a single-wide trailer three streets

over. He won't take any money so she takes him out to dinner.
He wants to use a coupon a woman gave him in lieu of a day's
pay for helping her move her office. He doesn't know where the
place is, though, so she gets the name and address off the coupon.
Dean's Roadside Cafe. She drives up and down a long road lined
with strip malls. She asks him ifhe can see the place. "What letter
does it start with?" She looks at him: "a D." Minutes pass. She
asks him again if he can see it. He admits he doesn't know what a
"D" looks like. She finds the place-a sport's bar-and they order
sandwiches. Nervously, he gives the waitress the coupon and explains that someone gave it to him. The waitress stares at the little
piece of paper, scowling. "What's this supposed to be?" "She said
it was a coupon to get one free." "No, you can't use this here. It's
been whited out." She looks at him like he's a criminal.
On the way home, they have to stop at a casino. He insists
they use valet parking. Then he rushes in, changes a twenty dollar
bill, and loses it in a slot machine in less than a minute. She can't
believe how perfunctory it is-like blowing your nose or going to
the bathroom or something. They leave immediately. He says he
never brings more than twenty dollars.
A few days later he leaves on a midnight bus to Houston. He
asks her if she knows where the bus station is and how he might
get there. Then he's just gone. He doesn't say goodbye to anyone.
He doesn't let his boss know he's leaving because he's afraid he'll
be mad and won't let him go. She finds out the manager has only
been paying him enough for some food and letting him stay in his
trailer. Now he's off, looking for a life. He's got an old girlfriend
in Houston. She's married now, so she's out, but her daughter had
a crush on him when she was kid. She's a paraplegic now from a
car wreck. He's hoping he can go there and take care of her and be
her man. That's his plan. He sells everything he can to get a hundred dollars for a bus ticket. Somehow he gets himself to the bus

station and he slips

c.'c.

him.
The park manager f-'--.
:(
that all the break-ins "'fce
pened. A line ofbulb.-. '~ce~r'
the back wall of the Q..:: r::' , .
to the other. Thev m ":ffr._~
once and for all. One ':~.~.:-.
ce- ...

can't quite read.

Then people stan r'.: ~.:~.; '- .
jeep patrolling up an.~ ..::
with its headlights 06.= r:: ';::
of it slowly passing. s:-::..
or five men hanging
-=-_-~ :
.J
guns and spotlights ir'. ~':-.:.. ..:..:.
.". ane ..c.:~.:r.." :
of" commulllty
if they've been taken i:: ..~-::~c.
l~

~-

tions of reality TV CO?'.-:

over some line intO d s~"'~::
surreal scenes of SUdC:: :,
silently in the nighL.
She and some or ~.-.ce
meeting to get these ;_'
teenager.
The soldiers do \';:l.c.~ ~,-.

The nightly ne,vs re?: r-:.'

popping under pres,_::
canes. Then a reco'.-o.:--fr.:
stop watching the no." .

-.

. ::.= ~~ailerthree streets

II1U
: .~':= .-.:0
out to dinner.
1iL,,~ :.' "'.~.
:n lieu of a day's
-: ::..",:-.'~lillow where the
11111

c::' ::.~=
's off the coupon.

' ::.

a long road lined

"What letter
'. ::nures pass. She
t".,,:-. .,,::.: ",m'tknow what a
t_.,
~-'.:
- and they order
~__
.'" coupon and exI..
::=;; stares at the little
;ildIJ
=~ ~o be?" "She said
"~"i
: ~. ~ .lse this here. It's
IIIlE
::. : ::oinal.
~ ,. ::.:asino. He insists
IIIIIIli
. :...-.~=s
a twenty dollar
~tlIT
::.:::. __. ::. 8:nute. She can't
'ili':-.

:-" :.'.= -::ace.

It

:: .. : ::.~nose or going to
. - -:-=::.:ately.He says he

It

~ ;101 _:

~o Houston. He
a__
~dhow he might

...

~ _'

~iillli

:I

~'i,.,

IIfrr

....
_"

~ :~,dbye to anyone.
. ,,:::.::.:'"he's afraid he'll
, . ::.:.=::lanager has only
.=:-:::::ghim stay in his
- :
~ : ~ an old girlfriend
_. ::.
_~her daughter had
' ::.
::..:-a?:egic
now from a
, ::.:.c.::=::.areof her and be
can to get a hun.: ::':mself to the bus
'

.'.'"

station and he slips away. She never hears anything more about
him.
The park manager calls a community meeting. He announces
that all the break-ins are over. She points our that hers just happened. A line of bulky, stern-looking, air force guys leaning against
the back wall of the Quonset hut shift their weight from one foot
to the other. They murmur something about putting a stop to it
once and for all. One of them catches her eye with a hard look she
can't quite read.
Then people start noticing a late-model, brightly colored, party
jeep patrolling up and down the streets at all hours of the night
with its headlights off. One night, when she wakes up to the sound
of it slowly passing, she looks our and sees the dark shapes of four
or five men hanging off the sides of the jeep with semiautomatic
guns and spotlights in their hands. It's as if some floating images
of "community" and "action" have suddenly become visceral. As
if they've been taken too literally, merging with the graphic repeti,
tions of reality TV cop shows. As if "community" itself has drifted
over some line into a state of free-fall, scripting the everyday with
surreal scenes of strange community meetings and jeeps passing
silently in the night.
She and some of the others have to call another emergency
meeting to get these guys to stop before they shoot someone's
teenager.
The soldiers do what they're told .

The nightly news reports an endless series of incidents of people

popping under pressure or getting hit by stray bullets and hurricanes. Then a recovery-movement guru recommends that we just
stop watching the news, listing it as one of the five major sources

of stress today. And, for a second, there's a pause in the flow as if

we stop to wonder if this is the little bit of advice that will finally
reach us like a fortune cookie shot straight from the factory to our
personal plate to spawn a quiet moment of clear thinking.
Too clear, maybe.

We look for a lesson in Columbine and its offshoots; or for a

glaring cause like bad parenting (too much parenting? too little
parenting? What kind of parenting?); or for some suddenly recognizable copycat phenomenon coming from something in our
"society." It's as if some quick knowing of why bad things happen
would be a sign that we care, or notice things, if only in retrospect.
But the kids, or the records they leave behind, tell stories that
have their own complex trajectories: they're caught in an obsessive
focus on the details of a BIG scenario; they're surging to escape
a trapped life; they're dangerously depressed; they're alone with
their cadre and their plan. These stories don't end in a moral but
are left to resonate with all the other ways that intensities rise out
of the ordinary and then linger, unresolved, until memory dims or
some new eruption catches our attention.
The intensity of erupting events draws attention to the more
ordinary disturbances of everyday life. Or it distracts us from
them. Or both. It's as if the news of the weird shows what could
happen if half-known pressure points, in the wrong hands, were
cooked down to some basic craziness and pushed to a violent end.
And we're left with the visible signs of relays we can't name or predict and don't know what to do with.

meets resistance, g:::~'~~.~

_thing it can't get oc ::It gyrates to mo:c _:.::
along. The fast, cd; :something to do: ~~:::
red wine a day (or Li:: :::~~_~
oil; don't eat carbs :..:'-_
from your arteries: ::~~
lesterol; try antio:\::c~:-~
Against this tenc::-:into a fictional sac::='c: -:
pacts onto stages. R:: _. ing both practical t:: c -:::
hitting, lived recog::'..~
~_:compulsions perm:::..~:::::::..
to get free of them (,:-~
c: :...-:..c~

Benny has been Str:..:;:-_~

:
a wild Pentecostal :~~_::.
Christ church of
Benny has a visior:.
that. They'll ride ir:. See Eve Kosofsi: ~:-:..:(Durham, N.C.: Dei:: ._- :
12

~1.

~ _,:-::-:.the flow as if
~:-:'atwill finally
:_-_~:_:-tacrory to our
- _ :-"'-:~_-_::1king.
c -::-

. =,_-_::,Qts;or for a
- ~"'-~:-:_
~:D.g?
~ roo litde
:-:-:-suddenly rec: :1~:-thingin our
.

~"'-=~bngs happen
.~-:':1lv in retro~:-llsrories that
an obsessive
_ -= ..:.~:i:1g
ro escape
_:. -=--_:---.~-: alone with

: c _~:_

~ ::'

- :::_~ ::-:.a moral but

-:_~:-=-_,i[iesrise out

- c

The body hums along, rages up, or deflates. It goes with the flow,
meets resistance, gets attacked, or finds itself caught up in something it can't get out of.
It gyrates to mold itself to every new techno-gadget that comes
along. The fast, edgy corrections of self-help regimens give it
something to do: take an aspirin a day (or not); drink a glass of
red wine a day (or not); eat butter, or low-fat margarine, or canola
oil; don't eat carbs at all; eat oatmeal to strip the bad cholesterol
from your arteries; eat wild Alaskan salmon to add the good cholesterol; try antioxidants or kava kava or melatonin.
Against this tendency, a spate of memoirs works the lone self
into a fictional sacrifice powerful enough to drag the world's impacts onto stages. Recovery groups add density to the mix, offering both practical recipes for self-redeeming action and a hardhitting, lived recognition of the twisted, all-pervasive ways that
compulsions permeate freedoms and are reborn in the very surge
to get free of them once and for all.12

-.~_.=_"':TIorvdims or
to the more
.- =--,~~acrsus from
:::. ,_-_:-:
.., what could
.:::-:.g hands, were
-.:-=-~J a violent end.
:- : .:-=-_
r name or pre-- = .-. ~.:..-:.

Benny has been straight for a year and a half. He starts going to
a wild Pentecostal church. Then he decides to start a Bikers for
Christ church of his own. The members go to prisons, visiting.
Benny has a vision of a big trip to Huntsville or someplace like
that. They'll ride in on, like, 150 Harleys and go up the aisles in
12 See Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, "Epidemics of the Will," in Tendencies
(Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1993).

front of all the cages. He can hear the roar of the engines. He sees
the bikes and muscled bodies following him in. He feels the eyes
of the prisoners on him. He says it'll give them a thrill.

An old friend, Joyce, calls her with horror stories of trying to save
her daughter Lilly from a bad addiction. She says it's like Lilly's
in a dream world and she just doesn't care. Joyce realizes how bad
things are when she goes to bail Lilly out of jail one night but
Lilly refuses to leave her girlfriend and her girlfriend's baby. She
demands that her mother go get diapers for the baby as if that's
the only thing that matters.
Now Lilly's back staying with Joyce and working at Wendy's.
She's saying she wants to get straight so she and her girlfriend
and the baby can get a place of their own. Her license has been
revoked, so Joyce is spending four hours a day driving her over the
mountain to work and picking her up at midnight.
The road is bad, especially at night, and twice this week Joyce
has been followed by the same truck and car. The first time they
were shooting and she didn't know if they were shooting at her,
at each other, or at the road signs. But they finally passed her. The
other time they appeared out of the fog right behind her, but after
a while they just cut out their lights and disappeared.
One day Joyce called one of the hospitals that advertise addiction programs. They told her it would cost four hundred dollars
a day. She said ''Are you crazy?" She said, "Those ads are wrong
that say if you need help you can get it. The rich people can help
their kids but not the poor people. Now if I thought I could get
off cigarettes I'd stand naked in the four-lane to town. But now
wait 'til you have kids; you can just kiss your mind goodbye."

ing" is something cce-'.:-:'

hindsight. But it's 1,C ~ _< ~,
an actual fold or Ie-';~~;c
There are man\' c;;:'-; ,-'
work better than c ~:-,c:-

Some can be prolc:-,;c ~

and have to be co:-,'~-'.:-.~.
The difference ofcer:~c-; c- ~
work with.
But even thosecc,:-:',c
behind them are s:i~~~.

- ~'

and they still make r:~:' not the smartest lhi:-::

that's not always Ihe ':-:-,~;::
the possibilities e\'C::-,:: "C ~_-

ci

Sometimes the scel,C

figure on the horizcl=-_

suspended in the a:r -, out of place can be -'. ;c ~.-'-: ,

Or just funny, quir~-:-.-'.:-:
simultaneously to ,:--,C ':"-", '-=-- =:=
nary affects that anic-'.;c .~ -'--~
Her mother's p2.i:-..;::-;
says it really is, becc...'c ~,-:;: .3

IN'i

- ~- .:::--_::
::ngines. He sees
__::-_,:-Ie feels the eyes
: ~-_::::-::-_
.:.::hrill.

,_::' of trying to save

-:: ,.:.~,-s it's like Lilly's
::: r::alizeshow bad
one night but
- .::-,:,"'=-imd's
baby. She
- , ~-_::babv as if that's
/

,::.:ingat Wendy's.
-:: .:.:-:.d
her girlfriend
-- ::-::::,:icense has been
_ ::~-- -=-:-i':ing
her over the
c, :

this week Joyce

first time they
. ;:
-::,:: shooting at her,
=::-_.:.:_~,-passed her. The
~
- -- - ,:::--.indher, but after

~T

~,

~:::

_,C _

--:::::

::..:

~_::

The closure of "the self" or "community" or some kind of "meaning" is something dreamy that happens in a moment of hope or
hindsight. But it's not just ideology or irrelevant fancy, but rather
an actual fold or texture in the composition of things .
There are many compositions of subjects and meanings. Some
work better than others. Some are smoother, more consistent.
Some can be prolonged. Others operate clumsily, break down,
and have to be constantly rethought. They can lead to trouble.
The difference often depends on what material a person has to
work with.
But even those compositions with all the weight of the world
behind them are still live. They still get hit by forces that shock
and they still make moves to leave themselves behind, even if it's
not the smartest thing in the world to do. Or they get stuck and
that's not always the smartest thing either. We remain alert to all
the possibilities even if we think we know it all.

.iH

ll-.,

i!i)

.IJ1LL:

_::- , c:: -: ::2Ied.

::"'-.:.::
advertise

addichundred dollars
-=-_-_:s:: ads are wrong
- -: ,::-: people can help
- -- ..:.,

- : :",_,:mghtI could get

__- -::::0 town. But now
goodbye."

Sometimes the scene of a finished life appears like a beautiful

figure on the horizon. For a minute, it's like a snapshot hangs
suspended in the air while we watch, wide-eyed. But a little detail
out of place can be a telltale sign of something terribly wrong.
Or just funny, quirky, a boink in the perfect scene. We're drawn
simultaneously to the amazing bubble image and to all the ordinary affects that animate it and pull it apart.
Her mother's painting class has become a support group. She
says it really is, because there are interesting people in it, mean-

ing they have interesting lives, meaning they all have their problems-something to talk about and something to hide, too.
Mary is the quiet one who never says a word and everything is
always fine with her. But one day she lets something slip about a
first husband and they're all over it. To make a long story short,
she married the guy who helped her get away from her first husband and now they're so happy they eat low-fat vegetarian food,
take all kinds of pills, and measure and weigh everything so they
can go on living forever.
Sue's first husband was cheap. He wouldn't spend a dime. He
took to his bed on their wedding day and never got up again. He
finally committed suicide on the day of her second marriage. The
others notice that she talks fast and never seems to sit down.
They suspect Betty comes from money. She's more of the garden club crowd. But her family isn't exactly what you'd call good
to her and she lost her only son in a car wreck. She paints too
fast; she's just happy to get one thing done and get on to the next
one. Her husband makes the little boxes and plaques she needs to
keep her busy. She's nice talking but once in a while she'll swear"That son of a bitch."
Carol's husband quit working because he couldn't take the
stress. He roamed around the house all day. Then he decided that
most of his stress came from her. He started following her around
the house, writing down in a little leather notebook everything
she did that stressed him out.
Donna's husband left her and their four kids for a younger
woman. She finally found another man but the others are suspicious of him because he told Donna that she was 50000 beautiful
and he said that she was going to turn his life around. (The eyes
roll). She has his ring and he's moved in with her and right away
he's quit his job and he wants her to sell her house and buy another one because he doesn't want to have to be reminded of her
former husband. And it looks like he drinks. She's counting. It
looks like it's four cocktails a night, at least.

Her mother, Claire

her problems. So the ::: ~.
life. When she gave ::--.~:-:
. .:....~ :

novel The Notebook, :.'~ c.

husband were like, 0:-.= c:
a woman who did soc=:. __~'- :..
do that, but I bet C::

Like a live wire, ,he '.: =:. c..::

in the process of its
agulation of intensit:e;
pressions, it's a thins .=. ". .
events it traverses or ::-..'.:: .'
Things happen, ~'.~~:
someplace it didn't e,::::.

A cheerful e-mail.=c:-:'.=
When he lived in r~~~
~_~__
he would stop b:, 2:-;:-; ~_
the streets, or dolls 0: -::..- - objects, real or imag::-.~c
sional phone calL
Mike was here ~:: :.' .
around, and then

:-~'c'

a wonderful week cr. C

to Wisconsin, no:::

.:. ~

:~.

rather, it turns ou:. ::

_
~.

c-_:,aye their probhide, too.

' ~:: c-;d everything is
,', ~:.';r1g slip about a
c.c::: :: .::::1gstory short,
,~
::-:1her first hus-

;ml-

I.

- :: ::

z'
m:.

Ir' _

'"~getarian food,
c:. - ::':::::-::::hing
so they

l""

.~:::

~;al _

_:- ':::::::1d a dime. He

_ ::~;:: up again. He

.,
lilt

:narriage. The
:: ';I down.
~: ~~::re of the gar,--ou"dcall good
: :':.
S~e paints too
::::::: on to the next
::::::::, she needs to
., __::c ,he'll swear-

-:-.::'

II[

1'-:::
III

115=

_.-::

f'r

" : -<~g

it:

- _ -

iii
IllEr'

1m

J~

her around
everything

- ror a younger
"::
: :::ers are suspi,.'::.' ,")1)00 beautiful

:.l::1d. (The eyes

---.::: ,:'::1dright away
::~.:
:'::c and buy an::::: :::::minded of her
~ .-.::c', counting. It

A cheerful e-mail comes from her friend Andrew in Chicago.

When he lived in his tiny little house down the street from her,
he would stop by, bringing acorns that had dropped in piles on
the streets, or dolls or paintings he had made, or stories of found
objects, real or imagined. Now it's e-mails coming in and an occasional phone call.

:::

c:::
iI[J

Like a live wire, the subject channels what's going on around it

in the process of its own self-composition. Formed by the coagulation of intensities, surfaces, sensations, perceptions, and expressions, it's a thing composed of encounters and the spaces and
events it traverses or inhabits.
Things happen. The self moves to react, often pulling itself
someplace it didn't exactly intend to go.

:: ::dn't take the

-.:--:::- :-_~decided that

I: "'.

'1lIJ

Her mother, Claire, is the good listener. She doesn't like to air
her problems. So the others think she's the one with the perfect
life. When she gave them all a copy of Nicholas Sparks's romantic
novel The Notebook, they decided that was what Claire and her
husband were like. One day when one of them was talking abour
a woman who did something daring she said, "Well I would never
do that, bur I bet Claire would."

Mike was here for the week, and it's always so fun to have him
around, and then he has to go, and I get a little blue. 0, well, we had
a wonderful week and did all sorts of fun things. Yesterdaywe drove
to Wisconsin, not to get apples, though we intended to do that, but
rather, it turns out, to snoop on Kenosha and Racine. In Kenosha,

,~c-

which was as cute as a bug, and just about as small, we saw a sign that

dumfounded.

said "Estate Sale" ... oh; you can imagine me salivating at that can't

gats! Fuck you fagge,'

There's a sad siJ,::-.-=-:'

you? An estate sale in Sneekcraggle, Wisconsin?! Let's go!

So we do. It's down a regular street of suburban homes. And then
down a road that's narrower and the houses smaller, then down a
gravel path to homes that are

half the size of my house in

EASILY

Austin! Really! It's like miniature people live on this street. All sorts

\'('112,'

"But how did dre"Hellooooo~

enjoying

themsek:,

"Oh."

of trees and bushes separate the homes and the grass is mowed "up
to a certain point" and then it's just weeds. The garage with the sale
is about six inches below ground level and is filled with the most
charming display of things and more things. And it's all half off. I get
a cluster of old rusty knives and forks taped together with the price

Encounters

"$I.48 for

ones, either.

ALL

(8)," and Mike gets two crimson sateen brocade pil-

lows that looked like they are inspired by the Ali Baba-in-the-Harem

can hacC' ::-. ,--" ','1

One day the \yc:-:-. .=....'

look. Inside, I can't pass up the crocheted carnations, which you are

turns and stares

supposed to use as pulls for your window shades! So many other

spreading

wonders that we can't or won't buy but it is a lovely dream. And the

2I

~.:,

,
;:,--=- _".J

over her '2:-.-=-: ,_

She smiles bac~~

sellers! Mike and I are ready to move in just to hang out with them.

ment

of locked

All of them very Wisconsiny, lots of O's and gee-whizzes. There is a

young woman

2, ~-:

ga.=>

'

nod, e'::

.J

room full of Betty Whites! All trying to help us figure out the half

"Well I live in Ihe :-:e~- _ . --

price. She keeps saying "0, gee. This is a hard one! One forty-eight!

so)." The woman

o gee, what

lips as if to say,

would that be, then? Wow, well let's go on to this one,

half of twenty-five, well, let's call it twelve cents, ok?" and on like

::-2':-:.'

"He":'.

:-c.:-.

her eyes are gleam::-:~

that. I am totally cuted our because they are all over seventy and are

She slides her

wearing Bulls parkas. The day is like that. No apples, bur lots of yel-

"Ok, then. Bye-ke,

low and butterscotch

sees her come OUI 2":-.= ~:-

and red trees. Just calming to drive through.

She tells the

Then another
Virginia.

e-mail comes from Andrew

He and Mike are stopped

at a traffic light. A gang of

punks parades across the street wearing

day-glow

hair, and piercings.

their progress with pleasure

ing at them,

screaming

about a trip through

Andrew

black clothes, safety pins,

beams at them,

until one of the women

something.

Andrew

following

starts point-

stares at her mouth,

IT."

-=-.

._

SIC:--

course the woma:-:

e ,-

2,

'

-'2,

thing.
Oh. Yea. I guess,:
But the smiling ::-:-.2~:

\\~esaw a sign that

C::' - -, = '~:',~dtingat that can't
l'' ' _ ~ ~~ :-:-~~:,

=-=t'S

lif

_= _:.-: ~-~ homes. And then

It:

""

go!

.:-:-.2.11er,then down a

. --= <:c", of my house in

= .~, ~:-.:ssrreet. All sorts
_ -- = ~~dSS
is mowed "up
~, ~- = ~2rdgewith the sale
=='--:",d with the most
-.-.:. :~'sall half off. I get

III!I

l1li::,

!i'i."

~=~:-'",r
with the price
1IJi""
.. ~ '2~eenbrocade pili
-."-..32ba-in-the-Harem
_ .~2~.=':1S,which you are
.E_-2~=S:
SO many other
illLr
~=>dream. And the
rn
:. ~-~-'--1.g
out with them.
_.- = ~==-~',~hizzes.
There is a
!! . " ...' :=gureout the half
i
~'':' :...
:< One forty-eight!
=. =~, go on to this one,
_ =:...
~" ok?" and on like
s:: ~c ....~ =~,~er
seventy and are

ill:

m_

2Z?

fit"

les, but lots of yel-

_ ...- ~; ~odrive through.

_ . ~.~ZJut a trip through
_ .. :.....:.:.:.
light. A gang of
- ~=:: .:.:othes, safety

rJ'lV"

lit

pins,

=~~.' 2t them, following

Jmen starts point-

_. - :,'.'

".~ .L,;'~,__

~-':2.res at her mouth,

dumfounded. What's that she's saying? "Look at the fucking faggots! Fuck you faggots! Fuck you!"
There's a sad silence in the car.
"But how did they know, Mike?"
"Hellooooo! Two men driving in a car together ... clearly
enjoying themselves ... wearing sweaters .... "
"Oh."

Encounters can happen anywhere. And not the just sad and scary
ones, either.
One day the woman in front of her at the convenience store
turns and stares at her, grinning, a look of dawning recognition
spreading over her tanned young face. Her eyes are ecstatic.
She smiles back at the young woman. Then, after a long moment of locked gazes, she says, "You think you know me." The
young woman nods ever so slightly and heaves a sigh of pleasure.
"Well I live in the neighborhood. Maybe we met through (so and
so)." The woman barely shrugs and slowly puts a finger up to her
lips as if to say, "Hush (little baby, don't you cry)." She sighs again;
her eyes are gleaming.
She slides her money past the young woman to pay the cashier.
"Ok, then. Bye-bye." As she is pulling out of the parking lot she
sees her come out and get on her bike.
She tells the story at home that night and it's decided that of
course the woman was on something-acid
or ecstasy or something.
Oh. Yea. I guess so.
But the smiling image stays with her for a day or two.

milk or a newspapc '~'~~

things together.
Differences of at ~=-tion, sometimes aIT.-':;~:-:':
_.
c _

The labor of looking has been retooled and upgraded so we can

cut back and forth between the images popping up in the living
room and some kind of real world out there.
America's Most V01nted airs photos of bank robbers with and
without beards so you can scan the faces at the 7-II for a match.
Mimicking the moves of surveillance technologies, the citizenry
now practices self-discipline on the level of a bodily impulse. Of
course there are refusals too, and all kinds of ambivalence, hesitations, and sidesteps. Practices gathered under the sign of discipline
actually have tendrils spreading out to complex and shifting states
of attraction and distraction, pleasure and sadness, belonging and
longing. Little half-lived games like scanning the faces at the 7-II
are not just a matter of festering alienation or a mean-spirited will
to bend others to the rule of law. There is also the simple seduction of the game of recognition itself. Or the fascination with the
moment when something snaps into a frame to become more
real, or at least more particular. Excesses of all kinds draw special
attention-successes and failure, surges of action, wild trajectories
that lead somewhere.
There are socialities of the watching. In the convenience store,
there is an aggressively casual, noncommittal noticing-half furtive, half bored. If there's a checkout line, it's loose; people mill
around waiting. They buy lottery tickets, cigarettes, junk food,
and beer. There are those who buy a single giant can of cheap
beer early in the morning. There are those who have a habit of
two or more trips to the "rip store" a day. There are those who
build a routine of going once a day just to get out of the house;
to have the transaction of buying something; to make brief, light
talk. There are those who only stop in occasionally for a quart of

interest in somethi,.Z ; .
are displays ofkiI~d:-.~
can be noted as a .~

She and the bab:' :~~cport there are ba:1:2'

hotel shuttles. It's :::. .:..-:. ~ _
room, but then a

:-~~-==:__-_

Suites. He says it's ~'-.~-: .

sive. It's right dO\\:-.~=-.=

The place is sc:.:-.~~ ~ .
calm, and next to c.-.~~~'
cases stocked wid:. _~:. =- ..
The suites are hu::::':':-._ . - .
ately brings up a :~i~:. ~
sheets and a bab,.-':-:.:.:-.:~'
They go do\\-n c.: c.' ~
bar has been set L:- c.:-.:' :. .
pizza and talking a:~: :
five-dollar bill. Th::::-.:.~~
= . :.
yourself to some pi.:.:.:

:I

~c.:::

..

c'

people gathered ar:'-'::'.:.

eating together in s:~~~
The hotel is 0\',:-. ~ :.
everyone, except le:. c. :=
color. It's like a set:': ~ .: _' = differently. A nene ~~.-'-::. -

"I.

..:!

.'

_ - ~ _:,zraded so we can
~ -~~:-.; up in the living
: -:: ~:,bbers with and
_- =.-.=--II for a match .
- _.: ;:;:5, the citizenry

II,

~
1..

. ~ ~ -2il.',' impulse.

If

Of

:':':--.::'inlence, hesita-

B:"'.~ _.- :: -

.'

:_-=,ign of discipline

- ~ = .:.:-:cd shifting states

::'-_='S.belonging and
. -~=:-.=~acesatthe7-II
- -::. :i-;:an-spirited will

.1'
I"

lID.

::';: simple seduc'_-: :':'.':::1ation with the

_.:' = - become more
- _ .:.-.:-.ds
draw special

E
luLl,
1:::

_: :- ":ild trajectories

IiJI

.'

I:

p
1lIl!T'

milk or a newspaper because it's efficient and they're busy holding

things together.
Differences of all kinds are noted automatically. There is irritation, sometimes amusement, or a hard-boiled, hard-hearted lack of
interest in something someone else is doing. And sometimes there
are displays of kindness-brief,
Bickering, half-made gestures that
can be noted as a bright moment in the day, or ignored.

:: =-.-:eniencestore,
::cing- half fur-

- __ :-.:

, :: se; people mill

. ::::.~=::es,junk food,
' ~ : ;.:.::: can of cheap
-.: :'w'e a habit of
~- =:0': are those who
;:= : -..::of the house;
=: :i-:.akebrief, light
:-.:..>- for a quart of

She and the baby get stuck overnight in Atlanta. Outside the airport there are banks of phones and a whole parking lot full of
hotel shuttles. It's cold and gray. She starts randomly calling for a
room, but then a nice shuttle driver gets them one at the AmeriSuites. He says it's the best place in town, anyway, and not expensive. It's right down the street.
The place is strangely gracious and homey. The clerks are very
calm, and next to the front desk there are freezer and refrigerated
cases stocked with ordinary frozen dinners, ice cream, and fruit.
The suites are huge and they have full kitchens. A man immediately brings up a crib for the baby and sets it up, complete with
sheets and a baby blanket. (This never happens in hotels.)
They go down to the lobby to roam around. An impromptu
bar has been set up and people are sitting here and there, eating
pizza and talking across tables. She asks for a beer and holds out a
five-dollar bill. The bartender says "What's that for? It's free. Help
yourself to some pizza." In the morning the same room is full of
people gathered around a full complementary breakfast buffet,
eating together in sleepy intimacy.
The hotel is owned and staffed by African Americans, and
everyone, except for a few stragglers like herself, is a person of
color. It's like a scene of unexpected hope. A way of doing things
differently. A nerve relaxed. A sense of learning. Because for once

the white people are not in charge of some kind of sensory alarm
system.

killing neighborhooc :~~ ~ .. :

The grass grows to _I I::
trailer in the from ',"T':' ~ -. .:
and starts ramming ~: ~:,: .. =:
they're evicted. The :~=--=-- =

tc

Power is a thing of the senses. It lives as a capacity, or a yearning,

or a festering resentment. It can be sensualized in night rages.
It can begin as a secret kept or as a gesture glimpsed in a hallway.
It can be leaked or harvested for future reference.
It can spread like wildflower seeds randomly tossed on a suburban lawn.
We do things with power, and to it. There are palpable pleasures
and acid stomachs in questioning it, spying on it, digging it up,
calling it out, evading it, ingratiating oneself to it, sacrificing oneself on its altar, putting something over on it, or somehow coming
to rest outside its whirlpool even for a minute.

pointedly and snee:',

talk to Andrew at

The young woman who lives next door starts to pour a gallon jug
of Round-Up around a tree in her front yard so she can plant a
decorative lawn cover there. Danny runs over to tell the woman
she'll kill the trees and poison everything with that stuff. He says
it's really just Agent Orange in an over-the-counter jug. He says
he doesn't think the woman's all there. A year or two later, she dies
in a car accident. Her husband is screaming and smashing walls
in the house. Hordes of men move in with him. They hang out
on the front porch, drinking beer and heckling women walking
by on the street. They get puppies and then neglect them. So the
puppies howl all day in the backyard or escape and run around

Sometimes \"her. 'T.: :".'

guy out in his fron=~:.:.
raged if someone cr>,,: :
foul language at the =::: =: .
says he's never hea=The guy becoIT,c:'
attic. He starts talL::.:: ~
the niceties of tra J:--'r
n ~: -:'
: - -.
--:- ~,Andrew comes haec: ~-: .::-_
shocked. All he sa',', :'
in his attic again, at-:c:::::
just lost it. He got a ,,:--.
=~:- _,.. _. :
ceiling. Blood and ~:...=':....'
white carpet.
Now he's standins: .=-.=__
.:

Down the street thc:~: ~'

He's in his forties \"+.~=-.
,.:
house next to her t~ic:=-.':'-~=-.-:1ii
lived before that.
At first, he and _~~::'
and talking about :".': _ _ _
goes out to get his e-'---. .
c~

.. ::

~---=--. -.::
=

..

~.

'~:-.::'
.~.
r sensory alarm

killing neighborhood cats. The men start to fight with each other.
The grass grows to four feet tall and they park a large boat on a
trailer in the front yard. One day one of them gets in his truck
and starts ramming all the other trucks parked over there. Finally,
they're evicted. The landlord calls them hippies .

,:':: _ ' ,~:: ::.:~-.:c,'. or a yearning,

~.;j

._::.~::. .:-:night rages.

_

-':

'_=~ ~:~:npsedin a hall-

' =::.::

?alpable pleasures

'':: :~. it. digging it up,

: : ::.:~:.sacrificing one, ' :::.somehow coming

II

c.:-:: ::'.Jpour a gallon jug

so she can plant a

~i
"'::::
to tell the woman
~-:"",::
.::.:-:
that stuff. He says

,::<Junter jug. He says

1Ihe:"'" ' =::c.:.x tWOlater, she dies
.i'.,=,:~=_.:-.'::md smashing walls
~.

::c.: ~

"ii' ""..

iim. They hang out

i.:. " :::c::'::ngwomen walking

lIB:

::. "".:::-. :1eglectthem. So the

kT::' : ::<ape and run around

Down the street there's a Vietnam vet with a temper problem.

He's in his forties when he marries the woman who owns the tiny
house next to her friend Andrew's place. No one knows where he
lived before that.
At first, he and Andrew get along well as men borrowing tools
and talking about lawns and fences. But then one day Andrew
goes out to get his mail wearing a sarong and the guy stares at him
pointedly and sneers, "Nice SKIRT." Mter that he doesn't want to
talk to Andrew at all, or even look at him.
Sometimes when she drives by on her way home she sees the
guy out in his front yard yelling at cars. Andrew says he gets enraged if someone drives by too fast or something, and he spews
foul language at the top of his lungs for a full ten minutes. Andrew
says he's never heard anything like it-not even close.
The guy becomes obsessed with raccoons getting into his
attic. He starts talking to Andrew again in order to discuss all
the niceties of trapping and killing raccoons. Then one day when
Andrew comes home the guy is standing in his yard looking shellshocked. All he says is "Oh! It's bad! It's bad!" He heard the coons
in his attic again, after months of coon-proofing strategies, and he
just lost it. He got a shotgun and shot big holes in the living room
ceiling. Blood and guts dropped out and fell onto his wife's new
white carpet.
Now he's standing in the yard, covered with blood, panicked.

stant clash of people: _:- -; _= ;

consuming dream 0=' =,Z,-,. _ J

Agency can be strange, twisted, caught up in things, passive, or

exhausted. Not the way we like to think about it. Not usually a
simple projection toward a future.
It's what we mean by "having a life" (as in "get a life"). But
it's caught up in things. Circuits, bodies, moves, connections. It
takes unpredictable and counterintuitive forms. It's lived through
a series of dilemmas: that action is always a reaction; that the
potential to act always includes the potential to be acted on, or to
submit; that the move to gather a self to act is also a move to lose
the self; that one choice precludes others; that actions can have
unintended and disastrous consequences; and that all agency is
frustrated and unstable and attracted to the potential in things.
It's not really about willpower but rather something much more
complicated and much more rooted in things.

To say that a thi:':_~:~ . :::':]

say that it's like a b2.~ :::c:..,
,~
can talk people ou= :::=-:. - -:
holds things toged'.:::". :: --::.J
beliefs, networks, :e:~.:-: ~
and events.
It can take mane,'
lute rage, a habit 0=' o~,:-::

will, a body in a s=:=~

thrashing around 2.=-:_ - . -_I
road rage, or parer.=, ","__= ::. __1:
children, or drug a::C:.:=
',:J
spiral out of it. Ther::'.:it plays itself Out, .~ :,==~ ::::
dreams popping up~,
. __. _
c

in workplaces ane ::-.=.r='::': .

her children to sa',:: =~~:- .- Junta-the
"hockc:' ::::: the ice. Or Juma's: r ::=,",
~:: _-:::
and battery with a

Redemption: The recovery of something pawned or mortgaged. A

second chance born of suffering and still resonant with loss.
The dream of redemptive violence has become the ready matter
of commonplace dreams. Dramas of a clarifYing surge of action
saturate ordinary life, macho movies, laws, publics, institutions,
and diffuse, existential dilemmas of personhood and power.
Mythic heroes sacrifice themselves to rebirth the world. Tight
little circles of religion wrap themselves in apocalyptic dreams.
The nation-state gets tough on crime on behalf of family values.
The death penalty comes to stand for the execution of evil itself,
one individual at a time. And everyday life is hot with the con-

'C-d ;::

::

at a Best Buy emplc:'c~

receipt.

Something huge aIl~ .:- ~~.

mysteriously

intimc.-::::- ~~.=.~__

concrete, it's both

i~~

2.

:>=.:-"-

claustrophobicall:~-=~;= ~:: ~~: stuck in a customer ,~:- ,::: -to get to the bottoD ::='::,-. .

-,

~.:-_::,gs, passive, or
-~. -:\ot usually a
~~: a life"). But
~'. ;:onnections. It

=~'5 liyed through

~

_ -:c:-'.;:,ion;that the
a;:ted on, or to
~; :'2. move to lose
~_-_.:.
~ -'.;:,ionscan have
- :. ~_-_2.t
all agency is
~ - T';"

~c:=-_:ial
in things.
- --- - ~-:...
in
a much more
;:,

- - = :: :

---

__ _ _ ::_~::.J:: mortgaged. A

stant clash of people butting up against each other followed by the

consuming dream of righteous revenge.
To say that a thing like redemptive violence is a myth is not to
say that it's like a bad dream you can wake up from or an idea you
can talk people out of. It's more like a strand in the netting that
holds things together. A conduit for bits and pieces of political
beliefs, networks, technologies, affinities, dreamed-of possibilities
and events.
It can take many forms. It can be a mean pettiness, a dissolute rage, a habit of self-destruction, an overcharged and swollen
will, a body in a state of alarm. It can be a derailed sensibility
thrashing around at full throttle. Or something really small. It's
road rage, or parents whipped into violent deeds to protect their
children, or drug addicts slashing at the American dream as they
spiral out of it. There's always something a little "off" in the way
it plays itself out. A little sad. It's the teenagers who kill, the pipe
dreams popping up all over the place, the smoldering resentments
in workplaces and intimate spaces. It's Andrea Yates drowning
her children to save them from eternal damnation. Or Thomas
Junta-the
"hockey dad" -killing his son's coach in a fight on
the ice. Or Junta's brother, arrested shortly thereafter for assault
and battery with a dangerous weapon when he threw a cell phone
at a Best Buy employee who wouldn't let him return it without a
receipt.

: =-_~: \yith loss.

:-_":~e ready matter
.:.:~=-_~surge of action
:: --,-"=, L;:s, institutions,
-::': : =__
_:.ood and power.
-:'-: :~_ The world. Tight
- ':'?~Kal:rpticdreams.
- : ~ ::_2.::- of family values.
-_- = ~:" :-,,:ion of evil itself,
: _' hot with the con-

Something huge and impersonal runs through things, but it's also
mysteriously intimate and close at hand. At once abstract and
concrete, it's both a distant, untouchable order of things and a
claustrophobically close presence, like the experience of getting
stuck in a customer service information loop every time you try
to get to the bottom of things.

It's as if a net has grown around a mutating gelatinous substance.

It's also as if the net is full of holes, so that little pieces or whole
blobs of things are always falling out of it and starting up some
new thing on their own.
It harbors fantasies and fears.
It spawns trajectories.
It sets up a quick relay between things.
It induces both rage and the softly positive sense of being
connected and so somehow safe (or not, but at least "in it
together") .
There's a promise of losing oneself in the flow of things. But
the promise jumps in a quick relay to the sobering threats of big
business, global warming, the big-box corporate landscape, the
master-planned community, the daily structural violence of inequalities of all kinds, the lost potentials, the lives not lived, the
hopes still quietly harbored or suddenly whipped into a frenzy.
Either that, or the promise of losing yourself in the flow becomes a dull, empty drifting that you can't get yourself out of

an act of vengeance

2~-'--:- .. ,

emerge on the parai.::. ~:..;~

into place: the h:Te::- .; ..~"
bottomless rage agai,,-,: :" .
signs of what "the::' "-:~ _: .
action as a spectacle: ~ : - :,. ...0
But there's more :: .: :.'~: theory. An intima:e ~::-.:'
activities, and little:: ..c., ..
"they" are doing.
__ ,
tices, the indeterm::-.c.:~::. ::-

panics, the dream :: : : ? : .:;

kind of final truth (': ': .
what this is all abo..::
Conspiracy the::::-.J
routes, articulating 2 --.:'::: ':.:.;I
by an all-pervasi\';::,'::-:.::::.' -~. 1
that be are funcrio:-.-,--,.:::.
is structural, and t:-.2:: :
intentional, and o:=:--:--=-_ -~ - -

always already m::,:;:::..: a reversal or a retL::-. 2' .': . :e.

around or some::,-::-.:::
Investigative reports, talk shows, TV series, movies, novels, and
textbooks present a diffuse, sometimes panicked, sense of struggle
against unknown forces-a deep worry that normality isn't normal anymore, that somebody has done something to the way
things used to be, that we have lost something, that we have been
changed.
Conspiracy theory follows power's secret moves through the
telltale signs inscribed on banal surfaces. It takes the vaguely lived
sense that something isn't quite right and then snaps it into a
puzzle form, a search for underlying causes. It dreams of a return
to a pristine past and the redemption of a human agency born in

She's flying back :'-,::-::.': 'c::-~a

Near the end of tr.:c=-=-.z." -..- = :1

heavy rain in the H: _:
_ =,,,has flooded (there' "-~..~
._
the airport. Her -;:2:-.:::
By the time the:'
But then by the ti:-::~:'.

-C-.J

~c-c~
~c_-:-dcpieces or whole
c c ':""-c:'
srarting up some

~:cc sense of being

='-J.rat least "in it
- ~c:-:='ow of things. But
- :::-;:ring threats of big
c: -::-: ::-dlelandscape, the
~~.
_:~-_rJ violence of in~-c:-~i';esnot lived, the
. ::-?cdinto a frenzy.
: _..-,elfin the flow be- ~ :::-~-,'ourselfout of.

rrlovies, novels, and

- ~ .. ::~;:d,sense of struggle
,- ~..-'-~rlormality isn't nor:...-:'.ethingto the way
- ::~c-c.
.,=. that we have been

moves through the

.r:,__ :: ~i.--;.cs
the vaguely lived
~_.:.~ien snaps it into a

_i::'.-

:-:::-~

liB'

-< I~dreams of a return

p'

. ~.:..:.managency born in

an act of vengeance against the actual state of things. Extremists

emerge on the paranoid edge. A profile of the loner/loser snaps
into place: the hypervigilant over-the-edge look in his eye; the
bottomless rage against the system; the obsessive compilation of
signs of what "they" are up to; the guy free-falling into violent
action as a spectacle of some kind of crisis of agency.
But there's more to it than this. There's pleasure in conspiracy
theory. An intimate knowledge of secret collusions, clandestine
activities, and little collaborative worlds of an "us" tracking what
"they" are doing. There are the small, inventive interpretive practices, the indeterminate trajectories of where things might go, the
panics, the dream of popping up into the limelight with some
kind of final truth or something, the moment of the "Ah ha! That's
what this is all about!"
Conspiracy theory travels through divergent and conflicting
routes, articulating a widely shared sensibility of being controlled
by an all-pervasive something. It takes for granted that the powers
that be are functionaries of the opposing camp; that the problem
is structural, and that social structures are mysterious, motivated,
intentional, and often malevolent. It nods to an ordinary that is
always already mixed up in all of this, and yet it also beckons to
a reversal or a return as if a sudden magical jolt could turn things
around or something.

She's flying back from Guatemala en route to Austin via Houston.

Near the end of the flight the pilot announces that there has been
heavy rain in the Houston area. The new air traffic control tower
has flooded (there's a flaw in the design), and they have shut down
the airport. Her plane is short on fuel, so it's diverted to Austin.
By the time they land thirty minutes later, Houston has reopened.
But then by the time they refuel Houston has shut down again.

The pilot announces that there is no plan. No one can get off the
plane since there is no immigration office in Austin. They wait on
the runway for nine hours. They run out of water and toilet paper.
One man in a wheelchair has to be taken off the plane.
They fly back to Houston, but they have just missed the last
plane back to Austin. They're given vouchers for a discount on a
hotel and are assigned to flights in the morning. It's 2 AM when
they get checked in at the hotel and set off on foot across an urban
expanse of highways to find an all-night diner.
The next morning at 6, the lines stretch hundreds of yards outside the terminal. Inside, three lines snake around the lobby filling every inch of it with bodies pressed together. Sometimes the
lines cross or merge but no one knows which one is best, or which
one they are supposed to be in, or where the lines are going. She
endures along with the rest of the passengers. Occasionally an airline employee dressed in red moves through the crowd, drawing
frantic questions. But the employees don't know anything. The
monitors are dead. At IO she makes it to a ticket counter and is
told that her 9 o'clock flight has long been canceled. The agent
says she can book her on a flight the next afternoon. She says no
way. Somehow she gets on standby on a flight that might leave in
four hours.
Inside the terminal, the working monitors show all flights as
"delayed." Hers doesn't show up at all. She wanders around until
she finds a gate with a mob of people trying to get to Austin.
Later, she gets on a flight. The next morning the news reports
that Houston airport is back to normal, and we try to forget, as if
nothing happened. Just move on.

There are uncertainties (to say the least) in the links between
human action and complex systems. Notions of truth and exper-

tise gain purchase ie c.'.~ ::~, ,.

erate in the very dFo::-,,:
She's in Las Vega'. ~:
partment of Energ:.- ::.._
pository in the desc': ::-:.,.

ings. The format is 21''-':-' '.' c

say that science cae :-,':'::-.::"'::
:.,::
only incites reactio:1. =-:::::: ,:: C..L...
scenarios of what cce.:..::. ' ':::1
country from a hLL'::':::::' '
gency cleanup cre\,'s "
spill. Or they come '_? "
could do with the sc.:.:=::
'
ocean floor.
Sometimes the D::::' ,. ',--

the opposite of whc.: ':.::' :: "-='

geology is not a prec:c':.'~ . =:
happen to plutonic:...-c.:_--c_

years.
One day at a he.:..c::::.;-- ."
waste transportation c.:..: .': .
themselves. Thev
very systematic-Iook:::-.=
irrational public fec.c-. =.- c
feet high with barrels: " .-._ ~ ::__
,'
entrance to a Ke\y ",:: = - -.
hanging over their :e.:.:::,:
.:..':::
a bridge clearance s;;:::, :.c.~'
has fallen off the cc:.c:: ::""::'
tunnel. It's the mor:-.~:::.:
"Go for id" The DOE -.:-'
technology to circu.-:::::.'.-

control systems. Ar c':::.~::

his hand on the nud::.:..':' ::...-:::.;

' ~ :Jne

can get off the

- _~_.~_;.:.s,in.
They wait on
_ - : :"'.o:er and toilet paper.
- - : -::: : e plane.

j;]n

mr

mur
Ill::

Ii[

.oe.1S' missed the last

_--e:' Tora discount on a
: :- __ng. It's 2 AM when
. ~ : :_:-ootacross an urban

I:

_:- _-_
.1.-:.dreds
of

1I[-

eI
!i1I'1

yards out-

~:e .o:'Jund the lobby fill.:

.::e:l-cer.
Sometimes the
- ::_ ,Jne is best, or which
_ -" : e ~inesare going. She
:-_;e:,. Occasionally an air-- - . _;.- Thecrowd, drawing

D:::

-=-

liT','"
IF

1Ir:

~-:-,owanything. The
::cket counter and is
: ee._ canceled. The agent
_::=:ernoon. She says no

lilII'i:"

-=- :._:

i1ic - -.
I:::

-=-

_ =-_;:c: rhat might leave in

.'::: - . :.:s show all flights as

1Il1:_
:-_ e --anders around until
:: ::--::1g to get to Austin.
.e:- -: .:__
ng the news reports
IIJ,-

I1II

III

0.

-=-=-_-=-

_=:

'.\-etry to forget, as if

:n the links between

of truth and exper-

-: ._.,_5

tise gain purchase in the gap, but sketchy connections also proliferate in the very effort to solidifYsome kind of order.
She's in Las Vegas, following the conflict over whether the Department of Energy (DOE) will build a national nuclear waste repository in the desert north of the city. There are regular hearings. The format is always the same. Experts deployed by the DOE
say that science can handle the nuclear waste. But this statement
only incites reaction. People call them liars and then offer detailed
scenarios of what could happen to nuclear waste trucked crosscountry from a hundred sites on back roads where local emergency cleanup crews won't have a clue what to do with a nuclear
spill. Or they come up with bright ideas about what else the DOE
could do with the stuff, like shoot it to the moon or bury it in the
ocean floor.
Sometimes the DOE scientists, put on the spot, end up saying
the opposite of what they've been brought there to say. They say
geology is not a predictive science; there's no saying what might
happen to plutonium buried underground for ten thousand
years.
One day at a hearing in a casino, the DOE displays a nuclear
waste transportation cask so that people can see it and touch it for
themselves. They show charts of the DOE chain of command (it's
very systematic-looking). Then they show cartoons that parody
irrational public fears. One is of a pickup truck piled fourteenfeet high with barrels of nuclear waste. The truck is stopped at the
entrance to a New York City tunnel. Workers with beer bellies
hanging over their jeans are standing around in traffic looking at
a bridge clearance sign that says "eleven feet." One of the barrels
has fallen off the truck and is rolling down the ramp into the
tunnel. It's the moment of decision. One of the men is saying,
"Go for it!" The DOE says their system is not like this. They have
technology to circumvent the human factor. They have quality
control systems. At one point the DOE general manager places
his hand on the nuclear waste cask for a full minute to show that

a body doesn't blow up on contact with nuclear waste (of course

the cask he has his hand on is empty). Then he invites the public
to the parking lot outside to see the cask that has just made the
first dry run across the country in an eighteen-wheeler. They go
inside the trailer to touch the cask and listen to the loud hum of
its "containment systems." It has a lot of flashing lights.
Then she goes up and talks to the truck driver sitting in the cab.
He's wearing a cut-off Harley Davidson T-shirt and he has several
earrings in one ear. He wants to talk about his high-level security
clearance-a G clearance, which is better even than a C clearance.
She asks him about the computer keyboard sitting on the passenger seat. He tells her a story. As he was driving away from the origin point in New Jersey, they told him to log in every fifteen minutes so they'd know where he was at all times. He had never used
a computer before, so he responded as if it were a joke: "Yeahsure,
I'll call you when I get there." But the keyboard turned out to be
easy to use-nothing
to it. Except that the first time he logged
on, the people reading the satellite that was tracking him sent an
urgent message asking if he had been rerouted. When he punched
in that this was the route he'd been given, he received an alert that
he was on the wrong route, which was accompanied by a second
urgent request that he specifYif he had been rerouted. So he shut
off the computer because ifhe'd had real nuclear material onboard
he certainly wasn't going to listen to these people. Anybody could
have gotten control of the satellite-terrorists or nuts. There were
terrorists out there who'd love to get their hands on this stuff.
He ended up driving cross-country with no system tracking
his location, following the route he'd been given by his dispatcher.
For three days he was off the grid and they had no idea where he
was. Or at least that was his story. And she was happier ending her
own day's story there rather than inside with the DOE'S claim to
the banality of business as usual.

The 0rdinary is a IT.:'. __~ :~-~

sense of, but a set or 'e: __.: ~- -

The possibility tb: ': :-:-::'~:

untapped.
We struggle to rr::':e: :
boards on the side 0:' : ...:: : .
We track it thro'J~:-. :::. versa!, or flight.
We signal its force ::-.'. _
drifting, running in :<':'~e:
It can be traced iL C:. -=-.' built environments.
Or in the direct ccc::-' .
Or in the way th2.: :__
.e: ::.
_
Or you can find :: .__
. .:.--.:"_
the stress registered ir. __
.::::: - _,
spring up like blades::' ;:-'-:
dreamy surges.
The ordinary mOYe' .__
.
faire attitudes with tl'.e .:.:::"-.':,
race and class. Or in :~.::__:.." ,
is given in the game
choices now.

0:' ::::~:

The American dream c: :-:-.

:
There are only "WiLc.e:: ~ _

~r:-

~~~=-_-...:.clear
waste (of course
-=-:-~::l he invites the public

~. :'--:~::har has just made the

[ ~~ ::_~.-:.:een-wheeler.They go
: ~- :- ~;:eE IO the loud hum of
- _:.==_,--,iing
lights.

:-::,,-ersitting in the cab.

-=-:~-:.:nand he has several
: _: ~-:.:s
high-level security
,:-:~::: ::-~E rhan a C clearance.
-.: ~:- ,:ning on the passen~_:-.:=-.~ away from the ori:: .:;:n every fifteen min.[ _. :~:'--_::',
He had never used
III
~-_: -"~:e a joke: "Yeah sure,
E -":
:: -: : ~d turned out to be
pr -.~:=.:..-.::irsI time he logged
:
c.' :.-acking him sent an
m:;::r
_ ::::" \\nen he punched
II
- __
.:: .-eceived an alert that

It:~- _ :::

!!l.:- _ -

I:

11::-

::::.--.?aniedby a second
::::.--_
.-erouted.

So he shut
-:_ - _:.::.::I material onboard

::~::? le. Anybody could

.Jr nuts. There were
- .. _.--_,--=-_::
on this stuff.
'.::'

::10 system tracking

;.'::=-.by his dispatcher.
no idea where he

IIWJI...-:---.

iI:"~ .::'

The ordinary is a moving target. Not first something to make

sense of, but a set of sensations that incite.
The possibility that something will snap into sense or drift by
untapped.
We struggle to trace it with big stories thrown up like billboards on the side of the road.
We track it through projects and lines of progress, failure, reversal, or flight.
We signal its force through dull routine and trouble, through
drifting, running in place, and downtime.
It can be traced in conditions like speedup and the banality of
built environments.
Or in the direct commodification of the senses.
Or in the way that the consumer is now the citizen.
Or you can find it in all the drugs, or the prison buildup, or
the stress registered in neck muscles, or in the little lifeworlds that
spring up like blades of grass around the body's compulsions and
dreamy surges.
The ordinary moves in the articulations of who cares / laissezfaire attitudes with the apartheidesque hardenings of the lines of
race and class. Or in the harsh responsibilities that the individual
is given in the game of becoming a winner or a loser. The only two
choices now.

. c.:

'--'iappier ending her

-:=-_ :he DOE'S claim to
The American dream comes into a sharp-edged focus.
There are only winners and losers now.

Dream

meets nightmare

Haunted

sensibilities

threats

in idioms

dreams

of transcendence

winning

in the flick of an eye.

track

of addiction,

unwanted

vacation

influences

and veiled

dead ends, and conspiracy,

while

and recluse set afloat reckless hopes of

or escape.

We lurch between

ups and downs as overwrought

There's the dre",---:~~

:: :~~:_,:.J

revitalized,

The ordinary
something

Lines of flight are fascinating

fortunes

of the

the dream of a perfect getaway cottage,

or the

success stories of people getting their lives together

again.

Free-floating
stress, loneliness,

~:':-:-::.-=

::!

like the

in a horror movie or the fool who keeps coming back for

rich and famous,

0:'

dreams flop

more.

modest

point.

object. But so does the sense of poten-

only to rise up again, inexplicably

monster

a starting

Or the dream

Anxiety ranges without

tial.
to earth,

to liven L::- ~

the busy work of c: =-~:-'---_ -"~

too: the rocketing

affects lodge in the surface tensions

dread, yearning,

a sense of innocence,

of low-level
backed up

anger, the ins and outs of love.

is a 2.::=:.=-;-:-::.""

to pop ' ::=-

S: =-=:':::.:
__=,=

An experimem.
sight.

Carrie is a selfs:-~.:,:.:
black hair belo\\~ b::: ~,~ .
not quite making

"'=. .:: =-=:':-='-

a free in-house

per-'.=-=-=-;

from house-sit

to ~.: _:':-

friends.
She's both

reeL",,,

ness with the precis:: =-.

Some sink; others

claim they can rise above the flow, walk on

water.

she risked evernh:.:-.~

and stranded

: =-.:

her tl-."'::':

Some wear their irony like a badge.

learned

There's pleasure in a clever or funny image, or in being able to

playing cards to bL~~=-.:'::dollars left over to ::-'C'~.

~-, - -- -,.-,-~ - _...

see right through

Or in holing

things.
up to watch your favorite bad

ning classes at the gym, or singing

TV

show, or spin-

along to loud music in the

car.
Or the drugs of all kinds.
There's the grim pleasure of a meal at a shelter, or a free bus ride
because it's an ozone action day, or a whole box of donuts
dumpster,
tonight.

in the

or a place to sleep on a church floor because it's freezing

But these, of course, are not the same as a little sensory

she had a :~",=-.: :.:

=LJ

Now she takes OL::c:

:.:-:~ ~
casino on the borde:. -=-.-::: '-the casino and imc", -=--::::

..~

the time isn't righr.

i..J

':

part of a James BO:1~ =-=- -]

back to check the c.=.: __

._=-= .:J
with the woman

aT ,~.:':

=-

.~

bar, drifts by the mc.:- - - _'-__

-~_~':'~Qces and veiled

'--~.
~:onspiracy, while
:-::= : '--: reckless hopes of

vacation to liven up your day. More like forced treading waterthe busy work of constantly repeating the unsupported search for
a starting point.
There's the dream of checking out for good.
Or the dream of getting something for nothing.

=:-:C-::Jught
dreams flop
iIII=::' __~:. . -::',italized, like the

III:

. ,:==="coming back for

Ill",

.: = ..::::ing fortunes of the

--,

... ~=:-'.."Q:'cottage, or the

F:L':: :.::=.::i-,estogether again.
II:

__
:-".:.:=:::Dsions of

low-level
up

: :.. -.:lOcence,backed

Ijll

-:= :,;.d

TV

show, or spin-

~ :_':::J loud music in the

1IIIl:::~

.=::er,or a free bus ride

____
:.= box of donuts in the
.:.

'

__

:Jr because it's freezing

~] .. - = '-'-''TIeas a little sensory
L-::I~:
:-. =-

The ordinary is a drifting immersion that watches and waits for

something to pop up.
An experiment. Something worth trying that's hiding in plain
sight.
Carrie is a self-styled witch and gypsy. Four feet ten with jetblack hair below her waist, she does clerical work at a university,
not quite making ends meet. To get out of paying rent, she runs
a free in-house pet-sitting service for traveling faculty. She moves
from house-sit to house-sit. In the down times she stays with
friends.
She's both reckless and hyperorganized. She runs her business with the precision of a corporate middle manager, but once
she risked everything on a love affair that took her to Australia
and stranded her there when things went badly. In Australia, she
learned she had a talent for gambling. She made enough money
playing cards to buy her ticket home and have a few thousand
dollars left over to get situated back in the states.
Now she takes quick trips to Nevada, stopping at the first cheap
casino on the border. There are always stories ... She walks into
the casino and immediately spots a machine with an aura. But
the time isn't right, so she waits it out. She checks in, watches
part of a James Bond movie on TV in her room, and then goes
back to check the machine. The time is almost right. She chats
with the woman at the next machine, listens to the band in the
bar, drifts by the machine again, watches another TV show, and

finally returns to the machine. It's after midnight. She sits down
at the machine and concentrates. The woman at the next machine
(who is still there) stands behind her to cheer her on. She plays a
couple of dollar slots and hits the jackpot. She gives the neighbor
a cut because she figures her cheering helped and it's good karma
anyway. Later that night, she returns to the same machine and it
pays off again.
Carrie says it's hard to explain how she knows when a machine
is right; it's just a feeling. Some machines are just for fun, some
are serious, but they all hold some promise of a payoff. Her talent for spotting the promise in a machine lends substance to the
dream of beating the odds, and it turns the vague but compelling
hope of "coming out a winner" into the sensory practice of keeping her eyes on the prize through the din and the Bashing lights.
Her gambling is not just the residue or symptom of distantly determining forces but an actual instance of affective and material
emergence-a singularity that literally catches her attention and
holds it long enough for her to do something with it.

There's the ston', fc~.=-.

who thwacked off r":' :
every time he was si.:~::: .
finger left and could=-.~.. :
snake" outside Aus,:=-.
ing he slipped on a bc....-'--..c

-::1

tally shot himself i~ ~.-.~ :: ..

was drinking hard. T.-.",:~:
cowboy who injures :-'--".:' loses a toe or cu,s a,. -'-~~~
- ..
just puts on his boo~ c....-.::. .::.:""
By the time he geLS~: -""::1
blood is pouring oc:~'.'~'::'
These stories ,ak", ~.-.~ _.

at work to an end ::: .=-.:.

away with things. ==-- :..- ~ - ..
of agency and trieL .--.::.
parts become aClL~ .:: .:'_-=
modest cash pa:"me,.~' .=They say La\yre:-:.:~
capital of the s,a~e.-_'- .
grandmother who '.'. .:.' :
in a deliberate hec.:'-: =-. -".
c

One day, when she's living in a trailer park in Las Vegas, she meets
a young man in the community hot tub. He's just moved from
the Midwest. He can stay here with family for a little while, but
he's already found a job humping tires for minimum wage. He
shows her a missing finger lost at work the first week on the job.
He talks about it as if it were like losing a fingernail or something.
Something to be expected from a young man's work.
This reminds her of stories about people who injure themselves
for cash. Stories that turn a routine desperation into an odd moment fueled by a character, Stories that add a weird form of agency
or life (or something) to the hard core of desperation, adding up
to something like desperation plus.

::'...i:

drivers were char:;e:' .

and then steer ,her:::~: :..-:
the personal injuf': ~"'?. ~
The effort to ge~.:' .:.:.'
dent, especially \,-r.C'" ? ~: ~

There are bodies O'..:~ .- .:

There are plen r: . :~.
~~:..

::.JI
"

",:::1

.:..:-.:;ht.She sits down

the next machine

_-C'

::-::..

......-'.:-.3.,

e:rr ..
H."'""'.

r- ==~ier on. She plays a

. ~ :-.C giYesthe neighbor
r == ,,--,-'1d it's good karma
-.-. = '-'.rne machine and it
,_.... ',':' when a machine

~= JUSt for fun, some

= .::,'a payoff. Her tal. IL., __ .==" .=:-.2,substance to the
"""" .:..;uebut compelling
lB"
. ,::.-.:. rc: practice of keep~'II: .:..:-~.2 ::,heflashing lights.
1tI;: '~.:-::'Jm of distantly de.::,.c.: ::,.
,,--,-"::-'cctiye
and material
m~".

lit ~

1:::.--'.
III

.c-r.-.=' her attention and

:-.: ,,'.ithit.

.:-. ::"25 Vegas, she meets

- :-:.c:,just moved from
.. ~'::,
r a little while, but

iii"

_.::'.~

1II':r _ ..

-. ~ ::-::-.inimum
wage. He
-- " '=~,tweek on the job.
'=:-;c:rnailor something.
.-".-'.:-.',
work.
- .:-:0 injure themselves

::'''::'-'.::':In
into an odd mo. ::'::'-'.":eird form of agency
::'==,?eration, adding up

There's the story, for instance, of the old miner in West Virginia
who thwacked off his own fingers for workman's compensation
every time he was sick or needed money until he only had one
finger left and couldn't work at all anymore. Or there's the "lake
snake" outside Austin who collected insurance money by claiming he slipped on a banana in the supermarket. Later, he accidentally shot himself in the leg, becoming completely disabled. He
was drinking hard. There's a story genre in cowboy poetry about a
cowboy who injures himself in an accident out on the range. He
loses a toe or cuts an artery in his leg. There's lots of blood, but he
just puts on his boot and drives himself a long distance into town .
By the time he gets to the hospital he's barely conscious and the
blood is pouring out of the top of his boot.
These stories take the trajectory of expected or accepted injury
at work to an end point outside ordinary rationales. They run
away with things. In them, anything's possible and weird forms
of agency and tricky moves become real in twisted bodies. Body
parts become actual commodities that can be converted into
modest cash payments in a pinch.
They say Lawrence, Massachusetts, is the insurance fraud
capital of the state. An insurance fraud was uncovered when a
grandmother who was sitting in the back seat of a car was killed
in a deliberate head-on high-speed crash with another car. Both
drivers were charged with fraud. Runners would find the drivers
and then steer them to the lawyers and doctors who would fill out
the personal injury reports for a cut.
The effort to get by can quickly become a self-defeating accident, especially when people are pushing it (but not only then).

There are bodies out of place.

There are plenty of people in free fall.

There are people whose American dreaming is literally a dreaming cut off from any actual potential. But that doesn't stop it-far
from it.
This situation isn't exactly functional but it's not necessarily
"bad" either. Though it can be.

She remembers a night in West Virginia. A group of striking

miners sits waiting to see the doctor in the poor people's health
clinic. Their bodies are huddled together, their eyes are focused
on the dark looming hills outside, they talk in a slow, intimate
rhythm of story and ruminative pause. It's the end of a long con
tract strike and it's suddenly clear that the strike will fail spectacularly. Everyone is saying that the union is dead, that the mines
are closing down for good this time, that the miners have been
reduced to "company sucks." You can feel the mantra of stunned
defeat settle on the room. Heavy talk gives way to even weightier
pauses filled only with the shallow, suffocating breathing of men
with black lung disease.
Then Johnny Cadle starts in on an elaborate fantasy. Someday
they will scale the big brick walls of Governor Rockefeller's mansion and loot it for all it's worth. The others draw their focus to the
story. Power grows palpable in the image of high brick walls that
can be breached by a potent, collective, working-class masculinity,
and then broken up, as if tactile, and dispersed like loot.
The story lurches up and passes in an odd moment. It works
not as a representation of a real possibility or a model for action,
but instead as a live event-a fleeting conduit between the lived
and the potential hidden in it (or hidden from it). Potentiality
resonates in its scene. It's an experiment compelled by the drag
of affect in the room, and when it's over the men just sit calmly
together, as if something has happened.

She hears a ston- o~'~ ~

barely twenty, haH' :C":.- - '~~
try to get work be ~:-:'
driver's license or ~~=.:-=down, their tweke:': ..~
all day at the food ~-=:-~-_~ -- _'_
.

that one day the,d! ~:

thing and shoot tt.e ~.=:- ~. >::
always talking aboL~ :-:'.c..::".-=- '~~
cially if they eyer r~:-.I'-=world was coming C~ ' : :-:',. ~:_ r~
would, and it's as it'::. :='::.'
streets and into the :.:-:I,: :":' '
kind of real ending~:.:
':
Bur these tvm ',":.I'.:: ~.
d
easydesperate plar: ~: ..:': .
and tried to rob a cC.::I'.: - .: '::1
caught them before ~'.: ::' . - :
no money, no paro.e, .:-.:' :-,'-'
their heads. That's .:::,:-,.

WHEATON,

ILL. -.~_

.-:-

prison for killing ~.:' :::: ': ."

"It: :..-' ::~--:._.~.~ is literally a dream-

r.:;:L ~ _~ ~-.-'.~

doesn't stop it-far

.-\ group of striking

?oor people's health
;:l[.:':::~_~::~
~~.cireyes are focused
Ie. .':0 ~-=-~~in a slow, intimate

i::'

. ~-.::

'. ~.-_::
end of a long con. ~'.:::~~:kewill fail spectacu- . ::'::ad,that the mines
i!n:
.. .:.~.:.ie miners have been
[ _.~~ :-:::: . .:..,,-e mantra of stunned
;-::; .~.a:'to even weightier
':'':'~:I1g breathing of men

-=.

lllii

~.:.atefantasy. Someday
.
::':'=-.0[ Rockefeller's man~..::~;iraw their focus to the
~ ..::;:: ~~.high brick walls that
iIl::::::
.:.',;ing-class
masculinity,
41-':: ::.... -::.:.sed
like loot.

II!

E::

_:

:0.':':.'

~.

She hears a story of a botched robbery. Two young street guys,

barely twenty, have been on their own now for some time. They
try to get work but they have no car, no ID. They try to get a
driver's license or food stamps, but their borrowed car breaks
down, their twelve dollars gets stolen, and they can't stand to sit
all day at the food stamp office getting jerked around. They brag
that one day they'll go out in a blaze. They'll rob a bank or something and shoot the rich people. The older guys on the street are
always talking about making their big exit in a violent flash, especially if they ever found out they had cancer or the end of the
world was coming or something. They say they'd do it, they really
would, and it's as if a flash of agency would catapult them off the
streets and into the limelight. Or at least it would provide some
kind of real ending to a life. Or something.
But these two young guys actually tried to bring their little
easy-desperate plan to life. One day they just walked up the road
and tried to rob a convenience store with a baseball bat. The police
caught them before they got five blocks away.They went to jailno money, no parole. They got twenty-five years. The others shake
their heads. That's stupid. This is Texas.

~.jd moment. It works

- ....-- or a model for action,

r:-,.:: .:..=-.::. ui t between the lived
, .::.::::=-. Irom it). Potentiality

- .=-.~ ::Jmpelled

by the drag
::~~ie men just sit calmly

Life Sentence Is Imposed in 3 Kidnapping Killings

WHEATON,

ILL.-A

jury on Monday sentenced a man to life in

prison for killing his pregnant exgirlfriend and two of her children,

and kidnapping his nearly full-term son from her womb. The man,
Lavern Ward, 26, denied taking part in the killings. Mr. Ward had
been found guilty of the 1995 slayings of Debra Evans, 26, and her
daughter, Samantha, 10, and her son, Joshua, 7. He was also convicted of kidnapping the baby, who survived and is being cared for
by Ms. Evans'sfather.
The story takes her back to a visit with friends in the country.
Five women in a kitchen are trying to piece together the details
of the murders. A man and his new girlfriend cut the baby right
out of his ex-girlfriend's belly! What in the world! Then the new
girlfriend took the baby home like it was her own, like no one
would notice! The women are puzzling this over. Maybe she just
wanted a baby, or not a baby, exactly, but the little fame of instant
motherhood.
She thinks it must have been like a weirdly literal surge to have
a picture-perfect life. It's as if, in the act of turning image into
matter, things got out of hand.
The women imagine it must have been like being in a dream
you can't wake up from, but it's not real.
Then the weird murder story prompts the memory of another
story about the guy down the road who stole from his father so
his father sent him to the pen. When he got out, he killed his
father and chopped him up in twenty-some pieces. He raped his
stepmother and took her and the car. She got away from him and
called the police.
The women talk about drugs and demons. They say nothing in
this world would make any of them do a thing like that.
Later, there's another story in the paper about a toddler kidnapped from a greyhound bus station in Chicago on Christmas
Eve. The kidnapper had told her boyfriend in prison that she had
had his baby. So when he was getting out she had to make good
on her claim. She hung out at the bus station. She struck up a conversation with a young woman traveling with two small children.

She offered to gin'

to wait with the
_;':
in their bus tickets. -=-:-. ~:They soon found he-: :.: - -"
As it turned out. th:o
-, ::l
for child abduetioL
These are not t~,-=
dream. Stories like

:w.."':-,;~~
:....
c.

t:-. - ,

Stories are leakin~

night to prevent e:c,?::'~= .- " _
shelves on the o\'e:-,: Z.': .:_~
when an electron:c ::-.:: .::.
.. '
ankle. There vvas lee ~'. .:..' ~Z=workers had been t,.:::: : .. ~
for any reason mhe-: :__
.~-. _ ",.
get there while), 1r. :? ~ .::.: : __ ,

.J

dog in the street:'

In other lock-ir.o :.
stocker in Savanr:.i-,.=-~:
,

icscouldn'tgetin:
:-':-._:~.:'::''::
.. II
and women ha\'~'- ::-.=-,-- -- - ~~ -,
.J.:!
Some workers reci.: ~. :'.' ~:::=could not physical> .::~ :.::= ,_
if the fire alarm ve:~ .::~.z::::
chained shut.
Wal- Mart officii.o ;:. -- ,
~~-

thirty-five hundrec '::~: ~

not something \,\'al- '. :.:-: that much.
Wal-Mart proh:~::c .::_:

- - ~.~ killings.Mr. Ward had

='~braEvans, 26, and her
' . -. ..".3.. 7. He was also con-

~F:~c

'

-~:i and is being cared for

~:-:endsin the country.

':lIT'':
~ ~':::.: together the details
Ie"
;- -.~~.o:nd
cut the baby right
... -. ::':-.0: world! Then the new
. --c.s :"1erown, like no one
""0

~_-.

"'--.~.~-:"-.:'over. Maybe she just

~_~~.-.elittle fame of instant
k

~.:-:,>,-literalsurge to have
.::~==,f turning image into

.::r:.e
memory of another
;;.,L-.: '~ole from his father so
1;",-'. :- .. -.0: got out, he killed his
IT

- ~~'

~:::~
-.: ~==epieces. He raped his
':'_' ~ '-.0: ~ot away from him and
':::='.~::-,S.
They say nothing in
?" _. .:: ~::-jnglike that.
--: .::'::::-o:r
about a toddler kid;;;:c: - .::-. Chicago on Christmas
;'" -':~o:::-.:'
in prison that she had
she had to make good
;' _ :~c.~:Dn.She struck up a con.,..': ..::-;:"'i rh two small children.
!il'.'::

=-~ :..:.~

She offered to give them a ride home to Milwaukee. She offered

to wait with the younger daughter while the woman went to cash
in their bus tickets. Then she took off running with the little girl.
They soon found her at home with the little girl in another state.
As it turned out, this was not the first time she had been arrested
for child abduction.
These are not the only stories of people lurching toward a
dream. Stories like this pop up all over the place.

Stories are leaking out about Wal-Mart locking in workers at

night to prevent employee theft. Michael Rodriquez was stocking
shelves on the overnight shift at the Sam's Club in Corpus Christi
when an electronic cart driven by another employee smashed his
ankle. There was no manager with a key to let him out, and the
workers had been told they would be fired if they used the fire exit
for any reason other than a fire. It took an hour for a manager to
get there while Mr. Rodriquez hopped around yelling, "like a hurt
dog in the street."
In other lock-ins, a worker in Indiana suffered a heart attack; a
stocker in Savannah, Georgia, collapsed and died when paramedics couldn't get in; a hurricane in Florida nearly destroyed a store;
and women have gone into labor in stores all over the country.
Some workers recall management telling them that the fire doors
could not physically be opened, but they would open, like magic,
if the fire alarm were triggered. Some recall fire doors that were
chained shut.
Wal-Mart officials say they are a very large company with over
thirty-five hundred stores. They say locking people in is certainly
not something Wal-Mart condones. It's not policy, they can tell us
that much.
Wal-Mart prohibits paid overtime work. So night-shift em-

ployees clock out at the fortieth hour on the fifth night of the
week, usually around I AM.Then they sit around napping, playing
cards, or watching television until a manager arrives at 6 AMto let
them out.
Seven prisoners C'CC:::" ~",
find the escape l:C.lC:~ ,:the surveillance cae e:-.:., '
c

Whirl-Marters are the culture jammers of shopping. Like hoaxing,

hacking, and billboard banditry, whirl-marting is an immanent
critique that immerses itself in media machines and built environments to leave some kind of mark that gives pause, or to stick to a
slippery surface where critiques launched from a full-blown order
of right and wrong, true and false, might just slide off.
Whirl-Marters go on nonshopping sprees. They push empty
carts around the store in a procession, wearing identical WhirlMart T-shirts. Surveillance cameras in the ceiling watch their
strange progress through the store. But Whirl-Marters make their
own videos of getting thrown out or of store managers screaming
at them: "If you're gonna spend so much time in here, pick up an
application!!" "The customers like our store!" "Number one, man,
on the fortune five hundred. WE'RE NUMBERONE!"
Once some Whirl- Marters alerted the media that they were
going to bring a live chicken into a store to barter for an item
of clothing made in a third world sweatshop. Police and managers formed a human wall to block the chicken's entrance. So
the Whirlers got in their cars and drove around the parking lot
playing an antiWal-Mart polka cranked up high on their stereos.
Then they put the whole scene up on the Web.

,
'::,3

prisoners then ro b 0:::0:':': . '.a

Lodge under aSSUIT.C':'
:-C:.-' ,
man's sporting goo~, ::::'c
local police officer. -=-:.. " . -~,c
offered. Stories circ'..:.:c:c"~'. -,
run from the la\\',
who evaded the Tey:,
:: -_ ~.-~-- ~
over the state. AI C:-oC
::: ' ....
C

c: . ~,
,"C'

..

::j

Oklahoma, bur pec,::.~ :~' c ,"

Texas state policec~~'" ,.: '.:::
Some say the Te:,:""- .__: ,'.
prison guards duriClz C,',::. c:
They love their \\i-,~, ~':'
and cop killers. PL':::.C
th ey're even caugm, :: ::~':'
the effects of the pc:'
in the prisons.
The owner of an
Wanted and thinks ::'c :-::':~.'_

.c":

'..I

l'

:C,"

one of his trailers. B..:.::.',"

in. He's not sure if" ~..
with his wife.
Meanwhile, one
leaving the trailer LO Z: :::
church. He's the one ~...:: :.:..' .::
park decides to turn C..":-: '

; ~_~~~_e
fifth night of the
m ~ - .:.-:
=-.:-ndnapping, playing
iI._ -~e:
arrives at 6 AM to let

or

_; '_-=?ping. Like hoaxing,

j,
- - ..-:__a:-~ingis an immanent
E:~-. - =_-__ ,_esand built environII - -::_-e' ~
Dause,or to stick to a
Iw..~_::. ~:-=,ma full-blown order
slide off.
~~ -;= :-ees.They push empty
_~:
-iner identical WhirlIIlI: -

- - ~ ~S(

---

---

II!IE'-.

lIE- :: _ --~
Ill[
!!II,;

ceiling watch their

:rl-:\1arters make their

~_-_"

:-emanagers screamlllg
~.=:1ein here, pick up an
,_--;:-e:"" "Number one, man,
-;

- ~=

_:-:_

l'L,

-__ :=:::R ONE!"

1Ii!t::::-":. ~_-e

=nedia that they were

iI!JIJJnJ

~;:-"
~o barter for an item
IIir :.
e,:,-~'hop.Police and man:::r
~-_echicken's entrance. SO
IB,. =;;e
.i.:-oundthe parking lot
!~_---,;::' -~"J high on their stereos.
&[.-

-.-_e \~\eb.

Seven prisoners escape from a south Texas prison. The police

find the escape truck in a nearby Wal-Mart parking lot, where
the surveillance cameras have captured the escapees on film. The
prisoners then rob a Radio Shack, and they check into an Econo
Lodge under assumed names. On Christmas Eve they rob an Oshman's sporting goods store, steal a cache of weapons, and kill a
local police officer. They remain at large for a month. A reward is
offered. Stories circulate. They're like outlaws in the movies on the
run from the law. Or like the banditos ofTex-Mex conido fame
who evaded the Texas Rangers on horseback and were spotted all
over the state. At one point there are snowstorms in Arkansas and
Oklahoma, but people can't buy chains for their tires because the
Texas state police came through and bought them all.
Some say the Texas 7 are nice guys. They didn't kill any of the
prison guards during their escape. They're friends, human beings.
They love their wives. The police say they're hardened criminals
and cop killers. Prosecutors ask for the death penalty before
they're even caught. So then there's talk of the death penalty and
the effects of the prison buildup, the unbelievable overcrowding
in the prisons.
The owner of an RV park in Colorado watches America's Most
"Wanted and thinks he recognizes the Texas 7 as the men living in
one of his trailers. But he isn't sure. At first, he doesn't turn them
in. He's not sure it's his place to do so anyway. He talks it over
with his wife.
Meanwhile, one of the men joins a local church and starts
leaving the trailer to go to services. People see him several times at
church. He's the one they can definitely identify. The owner of the
park decides to turn them in.

They stayed together (a mistake) because they were friends and

because they had to get IDS and jobs before they could split up.
When the police arrive, they find three of the men in a Jeep
Cherokee parked outside the trailer. Two more men are inside;
one surrenders peacefully but the other commits suicide with a
pistol. They discover the last two a couple of days later, hiding out
in a nearby Holiday Inn. Before they're arrested, they make some
live radio broadcasts denouncing the state's justice system, adding
at the end that "the system is as corrupt as we are."
Details continue to circulate about the lives of these men, especially the "ringleader," George Rivas. He's very intelligent. Born in
EI Paso, raised by his grandparents after the divorce of his parents,
he dreamed of being a police officer. But he didn't participate in
high school activities. He named his dogs Ruger and Baretta, after
guns. A year after graduating from high school he committed his
first robbery and burglary, for which he was sentenced to ten years
of probation. He enrolled as a general studies major at the University of Texas at EI Paso, but two years later he started a string
of robberies: a Radio Shack, an Oshman's sporting goods store,
a Toys 'R Us. In prison he made trustee status and worked in
the prison's maintenance department, one of the best duty assignments. He became disillusioned (he had been sentenced to life in
prison). He spent his nights confined to an austere eight-by-eight
foot cell equipped with only a bunk, a wash basin, and a toilet ...
he was sick of the lousy food ... he was tired of hearing the metal
doors slide shut when he returned to his cell at lockdown.
When he's captured, his own words are about justice and rage.
He's very articulate.

world. Publicly cir.::..:_.:.

- - ;-_
neously snap into F:':''::~_~ Public specters
- ,-.
lined up on the talk ,~_
_-=J
monstrous act. Or :~~ ~~:....
- -,
on intimate dramas :~right out of the can. -~~~.=
gallon-sized lids of :-=--::-_: .::~carpet. Then the cC.n~= ~.:. .= :...ents, and even the >=_= ~:..._
cheeks and chins L.::::- ': = , __ '.

Trauma TV mo== =
Vicious spectacles c,=-~ -=--=
thirty-second theE~ =_:_.:
_-~
tense encounter \';~:i_.
we reach the satura::~:-. =
2J
One day there ~, -=--=_ :.::'
talk show. The tea=s =..:=::.
in 1976. His old b::.~--=-old daughter alone. -~:'__~_.
-,

_=.

daughter, who is pla~-:::-.;. - =-::

a can of kerosene ::-:.:.:.:.:-=c-c:.
His story launches ::-_c: __ .
car in the drive\\-c.',-.-.O_::.~_ - =1
has been revoked =c,.=e:..just puts the bab,- i=:.= ~ .:.:..= _~I;
town, the traffic's b-=--.::~::::. _,= :.=;

red light. He's screc.=_~;

~ :

kerosene! I've got to ;::-: .-.:~- -=

and someone hits h:=:.=
__-.:..=::. _c,e:
get there, they take :i_::- .= .:..=
aging to scream ab 0;':': : ~
Public and private spheres are drawn into a tight circuit, giving
the ordinary the fantasy quality of a private life writ large on the

0= ::

her. They take him

they get the little gi=: ::

IIDI:'

,_ ::~-_:::',were friends and

~.-.:Tcould split up.
: ~-,he men in a Jeep
~~:'Ie men are inside;
: - :: ~-~its suicide with a
_- :: :: .::..::.~-s
later, hiding out
" .:.:~::;~::::..
[hey make some
C

. ~::

,:,'~icesystem, adding

.T--- -h!1
1Ii.r

11::::l1li)

iiL:r
JUc:-'111"1:

II:

---:::.::.re.

:::' :):- [hese men, espe:::- imelligent. Born in

--:: .::.:--mce
of his parents,
:= .. '-::
:'idn't participate in
_ :::.:.::::,and Baretta, after
he committed his
_:::=-_ Lencedto ten years
- .. =--:::' major at the Uni~:::=- ie started a string
:-::::ring goods store,
--~.::.~-.:.sand worked in
:.

: : ~=-_::: best

De1 '

1Jlm::

_ : :

duty assign-

::.: :'::::=-- '::ntenced to life in

rim:_..

- .:.:.'~::reeight-by-eight

-,-,in.and a toilet ...

lht '.",_ -':::. ::- hearing the metal
II
~::
__
.::.~
lockdown.
111'11 '
,:
: -.:.rjustice and rage.
.,.

III!iF

~.

=-

- .: .: ~ight circuit, giving

-,~::
.::~
writ large on the

world. Publicly circulating styles, sensibilities, and affects simultaneously snap into place in hearts all over the country.
Public specters have grown intimate. There are all the bodies
lined up on the talk shows, outing their loved ones for this or that
monstrous act. Or the reality TV shows where the camera busts in
on intimate dramas of whole families addicted to sniffing paint
right out of the can. We zoom in to linger, almost lovingly, on the
gallon-sized lids of paint cans scattered around on the living room
carpet. Then the camera pans out to focus on the faces of the parents, and even the little kids, with rings of white paint encircling
cheeks and chins like some kind of self-inflicted stigmata.
Trauma TV morphs into split, schizophrenic trajectories.
Vicious spectacles of pain and dysfunction are followed by the
thirty-second therapeutic sound-bite. We dive back into an intense encounter with something, no matter how fabricated. Then
we reach the saturation point and stop watching.
One day there is an old man in a wheelchair on an afternoon
talk show. The tears run down his face as he tells the story of a day
in 1976. His old lady has left him and he's raising his two-yearold daughter alone. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, his
daughter, who is playing on the porch, goes over and drinks from
a can of kerosene that a neighbor had left for him that morning.
His story launches into graphic details: he has a broken-down
car in the driveway, with no plates on it, and his driver's license
has been revoked for drunk driving. But it's an emergency so he
just puts the baby in the car and takes off flying. When he gets to
town, the traffic's backed up and people won't let him through the
red light. He's screaming: "I've got a baby in here and she's drunk
kerosene! I've got to get her to the hospital!" He runs the red light
and someone hits him hard and breaks his neck. When the police
get there, they take the baby to the hospital because he's still managing to scream about the kerosene, but they don't let him go with
her. They take him off to jail for driving without a license. When
they get the little girl to the hospital, they see that she has scrapes

on her knees from playing on the cement porch, and they decide
to take her away from him. The last time he sees her is on July 6th
in the welfare office by the elevators. She's crying frantically. He
tells her, "Don't cry, poodle doggie, daddy's gonna come back and
get you some day." And that's the last day he sees her. He's been
looking for her ever since.
On the talk show, father and daughter are reunited. They hug
and kiss. Then he looks at his daughter, his mouth trembling and
the tears pouring down his face, and says, "I wanted you, poodle
dog, I wanted to keep you, I always wanted you, honey!"
The nightmarish realities on display in the scene of public
viewing are unthinkable, ridiculous, and ritually replayed with
only slight variations. It's not like the scenes are supposed to be
ideals or warning signs. They capture a haunted potential. Things
go off on trajectories. They're pushing something. "Pushing the
envelope" is a light, popular phrase but it might not capture the
state of things.

One day Sissy's hcF:' "-:-_

~ ~ __
smart guy who tolc ~__~- -- _ -=

thing about hO\\ l+e ~:::

have to print up a "-~_:.:
Bud thinks that meC.~_'
Sissy thinks the gu:.-' ~c...":'-". ,~,
"But who cares?~ h- ~__.-:
~-c

They say the value =~~ _~

People say they're ,i:: .-::~ - _
of 60 Minutes on
tel and jewelers c;:.r.'~~:'_ - -: .
diamonds, anywa,-,_- _ ~-- -I could bank on m'.-

The ordinary can turn on you.

Lodged in habits, conceits, and the loving and deadly contacts
of everyday sociality, it can catch you up in something bad. Or
good.
Or it can start out as one thing and then flip into something
else altogether.
One thing leads to another. An expectation is dashed or fulfilled. An ordinary floating state of things goes sour or takes off
into something amazing and good. Either way, things turn out to
be not what you thought they were.

- - -:

Racism can be a liy:: ~:_-_:c can dreams of racia.: _:~: .People of color of:::~_::--market. They strike..:? .-:- _
A tension seems to :.-e:::"-::, _ -

provides an openin:: .-~ _~

Other times, the- ~:~ - _ _
tau rants or at swim,,-:._.-_~
.who it will be. SorH:_~-.:
it. It's a demandin.:.? e>
you're doing?" or "\':-~_: .:.public like this." It c.,,-_
c.:::

- _: ~~_,and they decide

=::' :eer is on July 6th
::--_=-_frantically.

He

::: ~_=-_a
come back and
':: '::=s her. He's been
One day Sissy's husband,
...::: ~::--..:.nited.They hug
-- : ~:h trembling

and

._.':ired you, poodle

~
"
, noney.

:c.:e supposed

.: ::::. potential.

thing about
have to print

up a whole different

kind of money-red

anyway," she says .

to be

They say the value of gold is all imaginary-and

Things

People say they're the best investment,

, -:-__~:--_rnot capture

tel and jewelers

the

mines are controlled

can't tell the difference

between

anyway. "Just my luck," she thinks.

I could bank on my wedding

rings,"

:c.Eddeadly contacts

Racism

in the composition

something

can dreams of racial utopia.

bad. Or

can be a live texture

diamonds

'-.' :::- :=jp into something

market. They strike up conversations.

too.

but she just saw an episode

by a car-

zirconium

and

"I always thought

of a subject.

People of color often smile at her and her daughter

II:

money .

"But who cares? My money isn't worth anything

of 60 Minutes on how the diamond

_ _::_

is going bust. Somego way up and they'd

with

.
"Pus h'mg t h e
-:--_:::,-::ng,

I:;

a real

Bud thinks that means that the color of the money will be red, but

diamonds,

how the price of gold would

about

money somehow.

. ~ : :-~~h- replayed
-::.

smart guy who told him that the economy

talking

Sissy thinks the guy's talking about communist

, :,-_= scene of public

Bud, came home

So

in the super-

They say the baby is so cute.

A tension seems to release, as if a white woman with a brown baby

lIB

Ii
ID~:

: ::':':_In is dashed or ful.

-

;:: =s sour or takes off

:c.'.-, rhings turn out to

provides an opening
Other
taurants

for public encounter.

times, they get vicious stares from white people in resor at swimming

who it will be. Sometimes

it. It's a demanding,

pools. You can't tell by looking at people

it's young, hip-looking

persistent

women

who do

stare that says, "What do you think

you're doing?" or "Who do you think you are, parading

around

in

public like this." It amazes her. She get tense, enraged.

She stares

them down. "Who are these people?" "Who do they think they

ture because the-

are?"

final boarding caL :) ~__- :

She wonders what they've been reading and what church they
go to or what it is, exactly, that animates them and this trouble.

__

their cell phones :O.~_::. ~ - -- . .

ing video games.
Thursday

nigh~

which is attendee.. :~ ;::are evident

in fee.:~~_ ~.

.1

talism, sex eduG~:_::-_

The Calvary Chapel church emerged during the Jesus movement

sexuality throug!:1 ~:-_:

of the I970s. It drew converts through

rock festivals,

duced ludicrous

surfer clubs, baptisms in the

sense. Christians

go-go clubs, love-ins, coffeehouses,

Christian

ocean, and hotlines for kids on bad trips, including a thirty-second

cure for heroine addiction.
of suburban

Now it's morphed

evangelical megachurches

tive apocalypticism

with a hip style-or,

into a huge network

computer

might ,:..,;:~:-

the story of Peter :0.::-_::' ~.:

that mix hyperconserva-

species. A person -'-_~__

. ::---:~

rather, a multicultural

son with AIDS car.::-_::: :. -:

mall style.

want to ban ton

The church hosts weekly meetings

Joyful Life Bible Study, Proverbs

of the Working

Women's

Class for Men, High

School

Mothers' Prayer Meeting, New Spirit Alcohol and Drug Recovery,

~:-_-'-:
: :.

to control us. The :?'

_-=- -=- :~L'

and the Physically Disabled

accounts. Thev're
:.:.... -=-.::- ::..
new fiber and the ~::~- -:---

Fellowship. Its bookstores offer books on the end-times symptoms

pay your taxes bee-,-.': ~.::..-

Singles' Group,

Prison Fellowship,

of liberal humanism

and Christian

-=,

shouting match '."-:~~--

self-help books. The world is

in a steady moral decline. Kids who spend all their time on computer games no longer play kick-the-can
storytellers

and hide-and-seek.

The

are no longer the parents and teachers; instead, the

huge media conglomerates

have taken on the role. But the pastor

offers practical tips on how to be a Christian

talking to non-Christians
worker or invite neighbors

in the end times: try

at holiday parties, do lunch with a cofor dinner, invite non-Christian

men

Anyone
,

can fine. ~-_:~;::

later, everyone de:,

She takes up B- c:. ..
them, it's a joke.

out or at kids' events, contact people you used to know ("Though

something

some, it's better not to look 'em up, know what I'm sayin'?").

effort.

is movie night

at the church.

Christian

horror

movies show scenes of teenagers who miss the plane to the rap-

;:.- :-:.:.

yourself participa~:::-_~ __-.:: c::J

to watch the game with you, make contacts when you're working

Wednesday

:c_!:'J

to a he::

::~ __
:-:

Body for Life i, -'-__

: -.
before-and-after

Fi:~_~:

~; ~.:. ,.hat church they

Iiim._.= . - ~=-=-. :endthis trouble.

F:: - .. --; ~--.;:'

Jesus movement

Iar". L'::'-

= .-

~:,~ian rock festivals,

.._.-=~ ~_~,_baptisms in the

fif:'

~._-=-:'~ga thirty-second

II' ;-:-- :::.. _=--~:oa

huge network

. - ~- ~'.:.\:hyperconserva- ~~~_o_;:,r.a multicultural

- -_-.~\\~orkingWomen's
~

>i;:,n, High School

IIIi

;KI! -..

- . :..-.dDrug Recovery,

ip

.::.-: ~~:YsicallyDisabled
w~,c
-0-: ::_i-times symptoms

-. - = .:: :- :-,oks.The world is

:t_eirtime on com- __- c-:' :-:'ide-and-seek.The

1liIIlI!<:::-'

.::

ture because they are too distracted by a Walkman to hear the

final boarding call. Businessmen miss the flight because they're on
their cell phones and portable computers doing business or playing video games.
Thursday night is the Christian Prophecy Update Meeting,
which is attended, it seems, by the church's extremists. Evil forces
are evident in federal gun control, unisex bibles, environmentalism, sex education in the schools, and the spread of homosexuality through the media. False knowledge systems have produced ludicrous claims posing as mainstream values and common
sense. Christians have to learn to read between the lines. A man's
computer might suggest that he call his wife his "spouse," and
the story of Peter and the Wolf is suddenly about an endangered
species. A person with measles can be quarantined, while a person with AIDS cannot even be legally identified. Gun-control nuts
want to ban toys that even resemble guns. It's a crime to have a
shouting match with your wife. The war on drugs is just an excuse
to control us. The IRS suddenly has the right to access our bank
accounts. They're building up the backbone of the Internet with
new fiber and the government can't control it. But don't bother to
pay your taxes because the Lord is coming soon .

'--.

- .::~:::e:hers;instead, the
- -. __ :: :ole. But the pastor
_.~__....
the end times: try
lunch with a co- ~: ~on-Christian men
':'0

=. :~'-t.en
__::
i :0

you're working
know ("Though

___
:e~I'm sayin'?").
~- .: '::.0.. Christian horror
~:o.;:' plane to the rap-

Anyone can find herself caught up in a little world. Sooner or

later, everyone does. Something comes into view and you find
yourself participating in the apparatus that made it.
She takes up Body for Life on the advice of a friend. Between
them, it's a joke. They call it their cult. But they also know there's
something to a little extreme self-transformation, or at least the
effort.
Body for Life is a best-selling bodybuilder's book with glossy
before-and-after pictures on the covers. "Twelve weeks to mental

and physical strength." It's a challenge to put down the beer and
chips and start loving life, not just living it; thriving, not just
surviving.
She isn't at all taken with the oiled, muscle-man and musclewoman pictures, but the little game of moving back and forth between the before-and-after shots literally catches her eye. The eye
jumps from the fat and pale to the tanned and muscled. Peek-aboo. All the bodies are white. They remind her of the body displays
she was always running into in Las Vegas at the post office, or at
the drive-in movie theater, or while waiting in line to get a new
driver's license. The half-naked bodybuilders with wet-skinned
snakes draped around their necks, or a monkey on a leash, or a
stars-and-stripes halter top and permed blonde hair.
Her friend calls the people in the pictures "beef cakes." Class
seems to be somehow involved in all this (but if you ask anyone
they swear up and down that the people into Body for Life come
from all walks of life). A "mainstream" emerges out of it as the
will to change and the game of imagining the fruits of success.
In this mainstream-a space of promise-it's as if people can be
catapulted out of the back seat of life and flighty, self-defeating
dreams can be made vital, generative flesh. There are testimonies
of the breakthroughs that happened when people were looking
at the pictures, or watching the inspirational video you get for
a fifteen-dollar donation to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Suddenly released from sluggish banality and the feeling of being all
alone, people begin to crave the twelve-week program even more
than they crave ice cream, chocolate, chips, and beer.
There's nothing weird about how this happens. It's laid out like
a twelve-step program in which spiritual transformation flows
directly through the flesh. First you ask yourself hard questions
and write down the answers. You create twelve weekly goals and
voice them with mimicked confidence every morning and night
until the confidence is real. You create five daily habits. You commit. You focus. You surrender the negative emotions that hold

everyone back; Hlc:. ; ~c:the twelve-week c:-_~,:- :gazing approving,~ c-~,

you. You realize :,':''':''
She isn't intere'~e::.
actually reads rhe:: '
after photos and =:-_e::~,
at the end of rhe '::-:.
of the charts so s:-.e = c-::-memorizes the acce~~c:
meal and gleefull~'"c-~
the week, as insL:'L:~"':'
bars. She experic,,-~:
shake taste like a ~.:.:-c--c

':'-J

lime pie. She geLS:::-.": :- _ _

come a piece of r.e: --::--::-..' the sliding in an c=_: :: .:
she reduces the
exercise and \\"h", :: "c-~
Later, she SLUe ~ :" :
work of dozens c:' ::, c-~
that make Bo~).;r( _,> ": ' c:e:l
... those who
._ ,
abundant life ,,'e :-.c-'e:, _' : freedom." Others.:.:" -_
sonal ads with pic,..:.::

In the char rooc' :- - ~ :fesses that she cael.':C'.: ":

in the bowl ofHaL:::e- '"
support in capilal :,,::::
A man happily
_ ,_,
favorite is chocolale ~ . .:." - -"of ice from the RL::-:::.__'c,:
the jar and then pc,..:.: :-:

m.e- ': :: _~ down the beer and

ill

-~

>

thriving, not just

- _' :,=-man and muscle11:=---':::

back and forth belIE-_
: ~~::-,c:sher eye. The eye
I:
muscled. Peek-aof the body displays
post office, or at
~ =-=--_ ~ ::1 line to get a new
- _ ::::s with wet-skinned
-' -- ~~-~\...
- ,-~\-on a leash ' or a

IE:T: ::'::

Ii

::::__~~ :ic:

III::

1111':

,r.-

.I:

_ : _:=-_=-=
hair.
- =-_::' --beefcakes." Class
: ...:.~
if you ask anyone
- . _=-: Body for Life come

:=.:::c:sout of it as the
.....
::.-~_:: ::,= fruits of success.
IllmTI:: - _: s as if people can be
I
-::
"':',:ghty,self-defeating
Ill!
-. ~ --:1J.c:re
are testimonies

IIE:::J.=

lIIlt:~
- c -

:=-.?cople were looking

=-.2i video you get for
.

ta .... -

Foundation. Sud-

.11- _-:: :.' = teeling of being all

Pi:

lilt

IIlii

~-

program even more

.,-ndbeer.
-~:,=,cns.It's laid out like
...'_~ ::ansformation flows
-:...:.rselfhard questions
::::

- ~(

': :--'=h"c:
weekly goals and
.: ::=-:. morning and night
~.' -: =-c.ilyhabits. You cornIa:
' ~ __. : c:motions that hold

everyone back; you start looking forward. Everyone who takes up

the twelve-week challenge is a winner. You imagine other people
gazing approvingly at your new body until that image becomes
you. You realize you will never again get sidetracked.
She isn't interested in the inspirational business and she never
actually reads the book. She plays the game of the before-andafter photos and then goes directly to the food and exercise charts
at the end of the book. She gets organized. She makes copies
of the charts so she can fill them out every day like a diary. She
memorizes the acceptable foods and stocks up. She ritualizes each
meal and gleefully eats whatever she wants on the seventh day of
the week, as instructed. She orders boxes of the shakes and power
bars. She experiments with the recipes that make the chocolate
shake taste like a banana split and the vanilla shake taste like key
lime pie. She gets the picture. She feels the surge. She lets it become a piece of her. Then there are the inevitable ups and downs,
the sliding in and out of Body for Life's partial cocoon. Over time,
she reduces the program to a few new prejudices about how to
exercise and what to eat.
Later, she stumbles on Body for Life Community.com-a
network of dozens of chat rooms. Some are Christian fellowships
that make Body for Life their gospel: "Carry the message or wither
... those who haven't been given the truth may not know the
abundant life we have found-a way out, into life, a real life with
freedom." Others are organized by area and look exactly like personal ads with pictures.
In the chat rooms, things get really concrete. One woman confesses that she can smell the chocolate right through the wrappers
in the bowl of Halloween candy by the door, and someone shouts
support in capital letters: HANG IN THERE! YOU CAN DO IT!!!
A man happily obsesses about how to prepare his shakes. "My
favorite is chocolate and to prepare the shake I always use 3 cubes
of ice from the Rubbermaid mold, put them (without water) in
the jar and then pour the water in. Use twelve and a half ounces

and I centimeter, then blend for about fifty-five seconds. You got
to use a stopwatch! I think this is why I love Myoplex, because I
blend it for more seconds and I drink it cool without milk or bananas. "
Connections between people are important: "Good morning
to everyone. Been off for a few days. Lizzy- sorry to hear about
your migraine-scary! Jim-it's true-your
pictures don't do
you justice! Abs-I love your philosophy! It's true-we become
what we think about. Deb-Congratulations!
Good luck with
your photos-can't wait to see your progress! If you find something that covers bruises, let me know- I bruise just thinking
about bumping into something. Can't wait to see you all at the
upcoming events!"
There are support groups for the dieting and for ongoing
troubles and tragedies.
The public face of Body for Lift is made of excessive selfexpressions that proclaim, confess, obsess, and gush. Not because the body really does just get on track and stay there, but
because it slumps and gets sidetracked and rejoins its Body for
Lift self. It wants and it doesn't want; it might do one thing or
another. It noses its way along the track its on until it comes
across a something. The half-formed trajectories are always the
most compelling. It's when the body is in a partly un actualized
state and unanchored that it feels most intimate, familiar, and
alive. When the body is beside itself, it pulses in the mutual
impact of dream and matter, hesitation and forward thrust. It
wants to be part of the flow. It wants to be in touch. It wants to
be touched. It flexes its muscles in a state of readiness, hums like
a secret battery kept charged, registers stress in a back spasm or
a weak limb.
Body for Lift says turning fleeting fantasies into a vital force is
about making a decision, but making a decision is itself about
playing games, looking at pictures, following recipes, mimicking
desired states, inventing social imaginaries, and talking to yourself

in the mirror. 1t.e ::-~: '

the palpable proT:':: ~' ~. -:2--:
world can be mac:: ::-~:_.
ting on track is no~ ~:-.::
a tightrope from -.--.'.,
or an "epidemic O~ ~:-,::'
decision, the bod\ ~::~_~' - "

The body surges.

Lifestyles and ::-,.=. __ ~--,
make of the ,Ya,' :~ ~.-,~,

,_j

'..1

The way it bu::c' ,~,

The way the
carried away. It s~.-"-:- __
drifts downstrear. __,,::

Agency lodgec i:- ~:-::~ . tal. It no sooner S~-'-~~:

,J]
and then holes
,
_~ li
together or pull c. . "., ~
':
redolent with sme:~' , ,',
fires burrowed i:D~"
and heavy things :. ~,~:.'
to jolt it to atten::.:The body kno-.',' i~:-~
exhaustion, and rc.""-"It can be alert 'Cc ::-.::
air or to a movem,,:-.::: '
It can be ponde: ...
' "
emptiness. As a ne',"

:: 5C'conds.You got
:-oplex, because I
_~~-:.out
milk or ba.. Good morning

1:':1: --:~.::
L

_.==-

. : ::-'.'

to hear about
don't do
~:J.C'-we become
i-::;'oodluck with

::-:c~ures

Rt: 1liIiI:-:--

in the mirror. The proliferating cultures of the body spin around

the palpable promise that fears and pleasures and forays into the
world can be made productive, all-consuming passions. But getting on track is not the simple, sober choice of a lifetime but rather
a tightrope from which you can topple into ordinary sloppiness
or an "epidemic of the will" like obsessive dieting.13 And after any
decision, the body returns to its ordinary buzz.

=~-':ou

find some. : ":'.'C'just thinking

''::: YOU all at the

- =:~-excessive

self-

:c_::' gush. Not be:c_::'stay there, but

::: :,ins its Body for
- ;"_: ::'0 one thing or
: c. until it comes
. :::: ::::5 are always the
::.=-~>.- unactualized
. ""_::'~C'.
familiar, and
: __ ':5 in the mutual
" ::.:-:::\Yard thrust. It
-: "~:..:.ch. It wants to
. :::::.::'i:1ess,hums like
_c_::.back spasm or
-

_c_
~o a vital force is
:. ':1 is itself about
:::cipes, mimicking
~_::.~':":'kingto yourself

.:=

The body surges. Out of necessity, or for the love of movement.

Lifestyles and industries pulse around it, groping for what to
make of the way it throws itself at objects of round perfection.
The way it builds its substance out of layers of sensory impact.
The way the body is submerged in a flow and both buoyed and
carried away. It strains against recalcitrant or alien forces, or it
drifts downstream, eyes trained on the watery clouds overhead.
Agency lodged in the body is literal, immanent, and experimental. It no sooner starts out than it gets sidetracked or hits a wall
and then holes up, bulks up, wraps itself up. It might pull itself
together or pull a veil around itself, build a nest of worn clothing
redolent with smells of sweat, or cheap perfume, or smoky wood
fires burrowed into wool. If it gets sluggish, it might call for sweet
and heavy things to match its inner weight, or for salt and caffeine
to jolt it to attention.
The body knows itself as states of vitality, immersion, isolation,
exhaustion, and renewal.
It can be alert to the smell of something sweet or rancid in the
air or to a movement too quick, a gesture that's a little off.
It can be ponderous, too, gazing on its own form with a zen like
emptiness. As a new lover, it dotes on revealed scars and zones in

on freckles and moles and earlobes. As one of the anxious aging,

it's drawn to the sight of new jowls and mutant hairs and mottled
skin in the bathroom mirror.
The body is both the persistent site of self-recognition and the
thing that always betrays us. It dreams of redemption bur it knows
better than that too.
It loves and dreads the encounters that make it. It latches onto
a borrowed intimacy or a plan of some sort.
Layers of invented life form around the body's dreamy surges
like tendons or fat.

She scans her dr;:"-L-,

what might be c.:.::: - :.
smells ofkumqu,,-: ::". ~- - -,
mourning dows '"~,: ::::- :
and now breed iL :_-".. ::
She knows \\+ - :_-: -.
out on the tracL::.:
had been dmvn c.: ::: ::
event for the Stf;:;:: ::::. :::

c,

gesture, a wide-cl?":
startled amplirucc:
the housed on a c_.:.
party host, maLL; "-:: ~-.:]
There are crashe' :.:.:

She's at a Laurie Anderson show at the Soho Guggenheim. The

show is called "Your Fortune, $1." A white plastic owl is perched
on a stool in a darkened corner spewing our a stream of two-bit
advice, trenchant commentary, and stray advertising lingo. Its mechanical yet sensuously grainy voice drones on and on, transfixing
her in a flood of Hallmark greeting card schlock. But somehow
the owl's simple repetitions intensifY the ordinary background
noise of slogans and cries of alarm, giving it a sensory texture that
is at once deadening and weirdly ponderous.
Then the owl says something she swears she was just unconsciously chanting to herself: "Sometimes when you hear someone
scream it goes in one ear and out the other. Sometimes it passes
right into the middle of your brain and gets stuck there."

the stage, the voc.:.:.;

tonight. There arc:==-;-ThatnightBo::-::
:":J
alone. He folh"c: c :-" -. _ - -=
story, Bobby sat '".: :-.: ::::-_'
moment of rep:i;:" ~. .:.c

high, lonesome ': _:::. the penny laid OL :-" . _

power. He la:- de,--':. c:':'
the long train p."::'; -.
he hadn't, the tL::.
can sleep with a :: ,,-_:Sometimes LC.for the train to :::,.:..':

-__

grants drifted
their own welcor:';: :: .- ..
A train wails in the still of the night. It often wakes her. Or it
lodges in her sleep, reemerging as a tactile anxiety in the dawn.

into a memon 0: :.-.: .'

the coal trains \\.,.'_. .:. .:.
of town. People -.-,:_,.:. ~_-

~'"

lID

~~ ~he

anxious aging,

-- _-:...:-_
~:l.airsand mottled
- :,<~:ognition and the
-:.::.~,,~:,~ionbutitknows

Guggenheim. The
-~ ~-,-,~i;:owl is perched
_: -'-sueam of two-bit
_ : .::.~,:i,ing lingo. Its meIt ~- : -, -'-:1d
on, transfixing
II'!
~. ~-,-~':k. But somehow
.}~
: ,-=.i:1arybackground
.: :..,,,mory texture that
',-," was just uncon',~:-_-.-ouhear someone
~Jmetimes it passes
,~'.:.;:kthere."

: -=-:~" 'wakes her. Or

it
: -,---jety in the dawn.

She scans her dreamy brain for what might have happened or
what might be coming. The morning air is saturated with the
smells of kumquat trees and mimosa blossoms and the sounds of
mourning doves and pet parrots that long ago escaped their cages
and now breed in the trees.
She knows why the train cries. Danny's friend Bobby passed
out on the tracks one night and was killed. He and his old lady
had been down at the free concert on the river. This is a charged
event for the street people. There are graceful moments: a dance
gesture, a wide-open smile, a sudden upsurge of generosity, the
startled amplitude of pariahs suddenly rubbing shoulders with
the housed on a public stage, perhaps even playing the role of
party host, making announcements or giving directions or advice.
There are crashes too: the people falling down drunk in front of
the stage, the vomiting, a man huddled and pale, too sick to party
tonight. There are fights.
That night Bobby had a fight with his old lady and stomped off
alone. He followed the train tracks to the camp. Then, in Danny's
story, Bobby sat alone on the tracks, taking stock in a booze-soaked
moment of reprieve. Bobby loved the romance of the train: the
high, lonesome sound in the distance, the childhood memory of
the penny laid on the tracks, the promise of movement, the sheer
power. He lay down and closed his eyes. Then, in the middle of
the long train passing, he raised his head, awakening. They say if
he hadn't, the train would have passed right over him. But who
can sleep with a train passing by overhead?
Sometimes now she gets stuck at the railroad crossing waiting
for the train to pass. One day, a boxcar full of Mexican immigrants drifted slowly by, waving and smiling as if they were staging
their own welcome to the United States. Another time she drifted
into a memory of the coal mining camps in West Virginia where
the coal trains would block for hours the only road in and out
of town. People would get out and lean on their trucks to talk.

Once a quiet claim began to circulate that someday somebody

was going get a pile of dynamite, blow the train in half, and clear
the road for good.
The train shapes a story of abjection mixed with vital hopes.
Something in the exuberant waving of the new immigrants, the
explosive claims in the coal camps, or Bobby's lying down to sleep
on the tracks, suggests an intoxicated confidence that surges between life and dream. It's as if the train sparks weighted promises
and threats and incites a reckless daydream of being included in a
world.
This is the daydream of a subject whose only antidote to structural disenfranchisement is a literal surge of vitality and mobility.
A subject whose extreme vulnerability is rooted in the sad affect
of being out of place, out ofluck, or caught between a rock and a
hard place, and who makes a passionate move to connect to a life
when mainstream strategies like self-discipline or the gathering of
resources like a fortress around the frail body are not an option. A
subject who is literally touched by a force and tries to take it on,
to let it puncture and possess one, to make oneself its object, if
only in passing. A subject for whom an unattainable hope can become the tunnel vision one needs to believe in a world that could
include one.14
This kind of thing happens all the time. It's an experiment that
starts with sheer intensity and then tries to find routes into a "we"
that is not yet there but maybe could be. It's a facility with imagining the potential in things that comes to people not despite the
fact that it's unlikely anything good will come of it but rather because of that fact.
It's as if the subject of extreme vulnerability turns a dream of
possible lives into ordinary affects so real they become paths one
can actually travel on.
14 See Rajchman, lhe Deleuze Connections, 140-44, for a discussion
of how all "beliefin the world" is lodged in sensation.

Abject and un::' ~~ .

thinkable. They ::
the necessary or -.

Some who live 0 C

~.'. ~

.::.=, _ ,cUll

very much nose ~i:~.',

= -:
wolves at bay.
The wild ones ,~
suffering the cons:::.. =' : .
use themselves as ~:' '"
world.

lJI"l

They build th::~

push things to see '. ,.
Danny grew '-"? .
young men earnec ~':-.:'
names- "Dannl' -':i:'~~:

and skill and a cac:: .~'= "'':JJ1

Like the time Da::.::. :
._
pole in a lightnic; ,~~.- : __"Ln
thrown open, ane :.'.:'::.,"
to the beer store
drove straight thrc.:;'

c:~'~
::,::.

through the crops.

even after the o\\T;:

-=-.'~"

~ :.' ., ,

":::i

_ 12

Dannyhasstori:;.:;'"
::llt:
andviolentimpac'
'_-=-:",- -~1
somehow radicaliz: :,',~ , _ :1
One Christmas. ".'. =' ': .. '.~.
heavily all day, the' -=~: -=.::
2
Claus propped up::, :' :'
grabbed a meat c:~~~. _' :'..lJ

: ....
cday somebody
- _=-" half, and clear

1
lid.

.:.:'.ilh vital hopes.

- ~-- i:nmigrants, the
_-:=-.gdown to sleep
_.-=.:.::=-.~~ Ihat surges be- _.::c -'cighted promises
- -.--~:n(Jincludedina
- -~~
;:,
-

--_- midote to struc:~iIY and mobility.

Irr
::~in the sad affect
II!".::L_':':- : ~..-.'.-c:en
a rock and a
~;D::
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connect to a life
f..D. : _.:_
~::-the gathering of
'.:.: :~ not an option. A
,-.: ~:_.:.:
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: : :-..eselfits object, if
__::::"::-..able hope can be~ _:. world that could

lilt

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routes

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Abject and unlivable bodies don't just become "other" and unthinkable. They go on living, animated by possibilities at work in
the necessary or the serendipitous.

::_<.:ion.

for a discussion

Some who live on the edge claim a certain craziness; for others it's
very much nose to the grindstone, running in place to keep the
wolves at bay.
The wild ones say they're wide open and they spend their lives
suffering the consequences. It's like they never learn; it's like they
use themselves as testing grounds for the forces at play in the
world.
They build their identities out of impacts and escapes. They
push things to see where they'll go.
Danny grew up in a place in rural North Carolina where
young men earned the honorific title of being called by their full
names - "Danny Webb" - by doing crazy things that took nerve
and skill and a complete disregard for what could happen to them.
Like the time Danny climbed, drunk, to the top of a telephone
pole in a lightning storm, balanced precariously on the top, arms
thrown open, and then fell. Or the time he was in a hurry to get
to the beer store before it closed, so instead of taking the road, he
drove straight through a mile of tobacco fields, tearing up a path
through the crops. Then he used the path whenever he needed to,
even after the owner of the fields tried to shoot him.
Danny has stories. Stories filled with mad, momentary victories
and violent impacts suffered. And stories filled with wild surges to
somehow radicalize the world through sacrifice.
One Christmas, when he and some friends had been drinking
heavily all day, they decided to attack the life-sized wooden Santa
Claus propped up in the living room. After a few rounds, Danny
grabbed a meat cleaver and ran across the room, plunging the

knife deep into the wood. His hand slid down the blade, leaving
two fingers cut to the bone and one hanging off. But the high
point of his story is the scene of getting pulled over by a cop while
he and his friends were speeding down the highway to the hospital in an old pickup in the middle of the night. Still drunk, they
told the cop it was an emergency and he told them to get out of
the truck. Danny said, "No, really," and opened the towel pressed
around his wound. The blood gushed out, spurting all over the
windows to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Some of the blood hit
the cop's face. His face went white and he waved them on, shoutmg, "Go.IG o.I"
Danny and his friends have big parties out in the country or at
"the compound," where he has finally settled down in a hard and
sweet utopia/hell down by the tracks. They play music all night
and the music resonates in their bodies: Matt becomes fiddle,
Danny becomes guitar, Rebecca becomes mandolin. They build a
bonfire, smoke some ribs, tell stories.
Sometimes they perform an attack on the American dream,
like smashing a television set and throwing the pieces on the bonfire while they dance around it.
They cherish derelict spaces. They occupy a zone of indeterminacy. They're slippery.
They live the life of a sheer collaboration produced through
circuits of debts, gifts, affects, and hard necessities. If one of them
finds work, he will cut the others in. When they work, they work
hard and fast. They build fences and furniture and sheds, cut down
massive trees, xeriscape Bowerbeds, haul brush, run electricity or
plumbing. They gear up for a big job and then knock it out. Then
they party while they're still sweaty, exhausted, satisfied, together.
In the down times, there are long days of hanging out in living
rooms set up in the fields beside their shacks. Days of peace or
helpless despair. There are art projects built out of rusted metal
and aged wood. There are love affairs. There are rages, fights, ado

dictions, hunger
who come unhi::.z::~ ."
desire to realin', -=-"-.::', _ :.21!1
sad, exhausted, e:-:'.~- ,
servative preside:
:':n
with you on yoe '
They are livir.; :..-. ,. -,'II
out of an even'co.'
ties of all kinds. ~ ,
act but more like o...subject into the ::...::~=
One thanksg::,:-:- .:: '
c,'

people on a bus" :::=='

zone of contact :::.',' =
Another time .'. ::
at the VA hospiIe:..:....
have their own F: : :.: : , '
he found a Mr. '::;~:. ,
donated a huge .....'::~

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three burners.
maker, drove iI :':.:: '
There was a lot c ...'~ ~
see if it was wor:,::::;:
use it because iI
couldn't use it t,:: .
making calls age.::-.:
wanted to dona:e .. ,
was going on. 11:, ,
"Trust is a break. : '.
probabilities. The ,'. ' =
and deliberation, .'
its own momen' ....
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u

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a cop while
- ;:-_'e---:O the hospi-_;:-: S::~~drunk, they
~ ~-_:::-:
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- ::: :':- :::-_::
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in a hard and
- -:: :-:e-'-music all night
: -:_ :::- ~ :'.'.Tc

: ~=:~becomes fiddle,
build a

=- __=-_::olin,They

::-_::_-\merican dream,
;: ::-_::vieces on the bon-

_____produced through
--~ -:: :::<sities. If one of them
-:::-_:he:; work, they work
_::0: and sheds, cut down
It- _ : :-~sh, run electricity or
- _ :~,e:nknock it out. Then
-=>:ed, satisfied, together.
:,:- hanging out in living
_ - '_-_dcks.Days of peace or
: ..:.ih out of rusted metal
--:-_-_::re
are rages, fights, ad-

1rC- __
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f

1":

dictions, hunger, sickness, withdrawal, suicide. There are those

who come unhinged at times. Those who Boat, unable to connect
desire to reality. There are days, or weeks, or months, or years, of
sad, exhausted, emptiness. There is crazy talk about shooting conservative presidents and robbing banks, taking a few rich people
with you on your way out.
They are living the rhythm of a struggle to wrest a "something"
out of an everyday life saturated with dragging, isolating intensities of all kinds. More often than not, this is not really a willful
act but more like an undoing or a willing mutation that draws the
subject into the prepersonal zone of affect.
One thanksgiving, Danny spent hours handing out Bowers to
people on a busy street. It was like he was trying to jump start a
zone of contact in the world.
Another time, he tried to get a commercial coffee pot installed
at the VA hospital for the guys in long-term rehab, so they could
have their own pot and a place to gather. He called businesses until
he found a Mr. Garcia who was very happy to help. Mr. Garcia
donated a huge, used, stainless steel, commercial coffeemaker with
three burners. Danny borrowed a truck, picked up the coffeemaker, drove it the ninety miles to the hospital and installed it.
There was a lot of paperwork. He called a couple of weeks later to
see if it was working out. A clerk said they weren't letting patients
use it because it was a used machine. He said well, if the patients
couldn't use it he was going to come pick it up. Then he started
making calls again to see if he could find a new machine someone
wanted to donate. He was careful to let Mr. Garcia know what
was going on. This is the kind of thing Alphonso Lingis calls trust.
"Trust is a break, a cut in the extending map of certainties and
probabilities. The force that breaks with the cohesions of doubts
and deliberations is an upsurge, a birth, a commencement. It has
its own momentum, and builds on itself ... like a river released
from a lock, swelling one's mind and launching one on the way.

... To have put trust in ... (someone) is to have to put still further trust in him. Once trust takes hold, it compounds itself."15
Living in the state of being "wide open," these guys can take on
all the good and bad in the world at one time or another. But this
is not a state of chaos or sheer negation. It's more like a work of
initiating, calling out, instigating, inciting. Just to see what happens. Even if it's not much.

tures in motherl2-:-~
trips thrown togC"~:-~
~~ dom gathered UD~~~ ~_- :
without irony. C;:- ~:
Graham on viti:-:quickening that :, ~~ there is only ODe ::~ ~
. .. It is not you: = _ valuable it is, nor :-~:~
do not even hF:: ~: to keep open an~ __

The surge that starts things. A cracking open, like a kernel that
splits and becomes fecund. A crackling. A flashing up.
Durability. The property of being able to survive and grow.
AustinMama.com is an award-winning Internet zine for hardworking, sacrilegious mothers. Its art, poetry, and stories perform
parenting as an affective charge that pulls people into places and
forms that are far from predictable in the ideological standards of
"good" and "bad" parenting.
AustinMama.com is funny and intimate. It sponsors gatherings
like a Mother's Day spent sitting on lawn chairs in the parking lot
of a hip store drinking cocktails and watching Mommie Dearest.
It drifts into identity practices - the naming and demonstrating of what it is to be "a mother." But then it breaks up "motherhood" into splintering affinities and differences (a common taste
in books, a shared distance from mother-culture norms, a propensity for patience or rage). Then it drifts back into a looser, more
affective, form of "mother" closure-an instance of hope, a feeling of connection to something big running through things. Or
frantic depression or burnout.
The journal is eclectic. Its sensibilities range from wild adven15Alphonso Lingis, Trust (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2004), 65.

... Thereisno':~~::c_
queer, divine di,, __
~~:c~

I]

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JJI
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ing and makes u, :-:-~:-

After 9/n the fi~_::

firefighters' bod:C",~-:
and letters. The,~-':: women flocked te :-:

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c
to marry other i:~:=;- -: -,"Ii
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plained about thC":~::

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from the twenn--:=:- --u

the lobby for ano:_-~:~-':Ill

they heard the bL:_~_:~ _ ::L:ll
onds before it feL. ::-~: _
16

335

Agnes De l\L:~ -

-:: :'=,

still fur:-:~. -=-= ''':':C cisitself." 15

-=-~,-::'-:: ~'..:.~.~s
can take on
Jut

-=-.-. -:: :: -=--=-.cIher.

But this
: :;

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~_':

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:ike a work of
see what hap-

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.,= = :: "..:.,:,.-i\'e
and grow.
:r::::.~:c.:ernet zine for hardIe" = :':-.
-,-ndstories perform
' _: c -::cpIe into places and
.~ :' .'::'-::Jlogicalstandards of

.,:.::':':-:: :, sponsors gatherings

II[
- cc.-,-irs
in the parking lot
II[ ----~~~
. ~. -:::la }dommie Dearest.
_ ,~".. -;,-~"-' in t>a and demonstrat-

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it breaks up "mother-=---::=:'-:::-::Eces
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hope, a feel_:-:-jng through things. Or

tures in motherland (kids vomiting all over you all night, road
trips thrown together on a whim) to inspirational words of wisdom gathered under the sign of "the mother," though not exactly
without irony. Once, for instance, someone quoted Martha
Graham on vitality: "There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a
quickening that is translated through you into action and because
there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique
... It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how
valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions .... You
do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have
to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you .
. . . There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a
queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive.16

After 9/II the figure of the firefighter became a vital one. The
firefighters' bodies held a charge. They were inundated with gifts
and letters. They went on "Thank You, America" bike tours, and
women flocked to malls and parking lots just to get a look at them.
They went through divorces, drugs, suicides. Some left their wives
to marry other firefighters' widows. They suffered post-traumatic
stress syndrome and World Trade Center syndrome. They complained about the stress of their mythic status. They said they were
just doing their jobs. One man said he got the call to evacuate
from the twenty-first floor, but he and other firefighters stayed in
the lobby for another thirty minutes, helping people get out, until
they heard the building coming down and jumped out thirty seconds before it fell. He said it was horrible, all the bodies falling.
16

335

Agnes De Mille, Dance to the Piper (Boston: Little, Brown, 1952),

He had no idea whether any of the others who had been in the
lobby survived. He said that the only person he saved that day was
himself and he did it by running like hell.

Sometimes you can see death coming. There's a sad slackening of

flesh and bone. The body shimmers as if shrouded. As if an energy
that's moving through it is still vibrant but passing.
One day her father says he wants to talk to her. He's seventythree and still working. It's the boom years of the stock market
and he's been investing all of his income for retirement for the
past few years. Suddenly there's money! It's as if he has some kind
of secret genius to smell our what's happening. He's been watching
the stock market channel. He's taken wild chances. (Her mother,
on the other hand, remembers a spectacular failure or two. She
worries that he'll go crazy and lose everything.)
Now there's money! She doesn't react much to this news. She's
not sure what to say and she doesn't know that this is the moment
for congratulations and good-byes.
Her father says he finally has all his papers in order. Something
about a trust. He says he's been tired the last couple of days. Then
the sad slackening comes. Suddenly his body is smaller, looser. It
seems blurred, as if she's seeing him through water. She wants to
shake her head and turn on more lights in the room as if there's
something wrong with her eyes.
The next day he stays up late at the Christmas Eve party and
then dies in his sleep on the living room pullout couch.
A blanket falls over everything. A massive ice storm kills half
the trees on her father's beloved mountain. The men in the neighborhood murmur about how the trees snapping off in rapid fire
all over the hills reminded them of enemy fire in Vietnam.

Later, she visit, ~ ~... _

perched on the e~~~ . - ders down to his .=-:- ~:
time. Then the
slumps way into ~:.~:
sucked our of hi, ~: ::.
They sit, suspc.::. ~::.
she turns to star;::. _~- - _
The next day ~ ing has come an~ ~: -

She remembers ~: ~

she was walking c'-'~: - -: - ::..-=~

the barbed wire :'::::.:- _. _':~
ment at the borc~: :.
j
their children ,HS ....:z .-- young man dove ::. :- ~
out across the ,\'i~~ ~ -.-_
before he turned -:c.:.
breeze was bIO\\'i..-:c:
~.-~
the bank.

Then she sa,\, c..c::: . ~

and draw togethc .:
:1
thecenterstarted~:
-.-'~:_- _..',:
others joined in. T:.~'~
what they were siL~.~ :
Walking over Ii;::: ~- ::.c:
below were like a..-:--.. ~ .
c

: _.

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~"ld been in the

- ~ ~,::;l--;:i ,hat day was

-'

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til'C

;~lckening of
-"csif an energy

~c:. He's seventy:h;: stock market

.,.::

:c,i:ement for the

~,e~,assome kind
I:iiCC ~ : '_~;:
-:-ie',lx:en watching
....., _::.=~.l-.ces. Her mother,
. __1= ~l:lure or two. She

Hi-

iI[;c

-::

Later, she visits a friend who has just quit drinking again. He's
perched on the edge of an old couch, hanging his head and shoulders down to his knees. He says he just can't start over again this
time. Then the slackening comes. The edges of his body blur. He
slumps way into the couch, as if half the water has suddenly been
sucked out of his body.
They sit, suspended, for a long time. Then he closes his eyes and
she turns to stare out the window.
The next day he's back. Miserable and scared. But the slackening has come and gone.

~': ~

:-5 ::

::-._;'--.,0

:.',1:

,his news. She's

:his is the moment

~~:::~, :~ order. Something

,~.. . ":,,,':':Juple of days. Then
= : ::." is smaller, looser. It
__;:~_-.yater.She wants to
. -' :he room as if there's
'::~.::stmasEve party and
-_ :::.":our couch.
-:...~':--eice storm kills half
t: . :=-~__-=nemen in the neigh~,l::>pingoff in rapid fire
. =::' - i.Ie in Vietnam.

She remembers the oddly vital scene at the border one day when
she was walking over the bridge into Nuevo Laredo. She expected
the barbed wire fencing all along the bridge and the gruff treatment at the border crossing. But a scene of a young couple and
their children washing their clothes in the river surprised her. The
young man dove in. He swam down to the river bottom and then
out across the wide expanse of water, halfway to the U.S. bank
before he turned back. The water was sparkling in the sun. The
breeze was blowing the clothes dry on the one scraggly bush on
the bank.
Then she saw a group of about thirty men gather on the bank
and draw together in a semi-circle around a speaker. The man in
the center started to preach, cheering and clapping his hands. The
others joined in. They all started to sing. She couldn't quite hear
what they were singing but it was clearly inspirational.
Walking over the bridge to make the border crossing, the scenes
below were like a mirage. But real too.

something had SL?: : 'long time. It's nc,-:,:~

new. Here was f:--,:: ~ __'

Marfa is a small west Texas town filled with (mostly white)

ranchers, poor Mexican American farm workers, artists, and border patrol. She is sitting in a Mexican restaurant, listening to two
older rancher couples talking about ranching troubles when three
border patrolmen come in and sit down at the table next to her.
There are border stories in national circulation about immigrants
dying of thirst trying to cross the long, desolate stretch of desert
that these guys patrol everyday. But these guys spend their lunch
hour today swapping sweet, redemptive stories of rescuing wild
animals on their patrol. Detailed, innocent stories. At first, she
thinks this is some kind of crazy camouflage appliqued onto the
surface of the things these guys must do and see in the course of
their day on border patrol. But then she realizes that the stories
they're telling are about the animals they rescued that very day or
earlier in the week, as if this is what they actually spend a lot of
their day doing. She knows there are eccentric characters in Marfa
whose lives revolve around sheltering rescued animals-there's the
turtle man and the hawk woman and she is sure there are othersall with their trailers and yards and heads stuffed to overflowing
with injured animals of that one kind. And listening to the border
patrolmen tell their animal rescue stories adds an odd and simple
excess to the heavily scripted image of the militarized border full
of atrocities.

On 9/II she was living in Santa Fe. The talking heads were saying that everything had changed. But to her it seemed more like

sleep. Then the

taryand brash f::::'::
to innocent slue,:::: ~
an undercurren -: :: '-~:_, beached.
She walked cC'.": '
paper and rub
national "we." T',:: C_'
eyes and the nei~:--,:_.'
her inner ear. 1:1:: ::: , :
::1'11
fleshy.Their eye, ":::" _':::::ll
She chained :',:::" ' out to be an obs::':'
friend were figh-:::,z
~
.
cut off her frieD"'-' ,'.
emphasis. Pay e.-:::::' .
field and her hee.",-up out of the gL _:-=moving back aI'-e : :. She took a de.' -:::
bration. Fields c':, -

..-''']

horses were fran:::"'- - : _

pueblo was full::' :-'
cloths and bod, -:=,' '
from the native ',':::C
kidnapped babies. -=-: -=water of the river. ,who then lurchec ~-=-:
tically giggling a:,c::- to have to know eL::' _
business.

,,=--, ~~ i mostly white)

:.r-- ~:~=~s.anists,

and bora: -:"~'-":'::-'-::1L. listening to two

"':~- . -.. "':-z ~~oubleswhen three
n. .,.._'-~ ~-:.=,able next to her.
__ ~_.'-~__,..."jO;E immigrants
=-=".",e streIch of desert
;-":'~'sspend their lunch
L
c .~.~:es of rescuing wild
- . =,...~"ories. At first, she
ilC ~c..:;e ,,??lic,ued onto the
~'C =-. -'-.-._=_ see in the course of
:== - c ~e~~=es,hat the stories
i: -- =- '-='::-..:.ed
thaI yery day or

CIC'::

! -- :cc

c- .--' . spend a lot of

'="'.:~.'-.-:-:'aractersin Marfa
__ ,,= s-.iT"als-there's
the
_.''':'::-=
,he,..eare others-

;r ..

I:: __
l!!

i:

It - . ~=-

':..:.~ed :0 m'erflowing
rl': -".._,:.. ,:er-,ing to the border
!iii,. - _ '-=_=_, ,,::1 odd and simple
::: - -....
_= .:..:::arized border full

=- -- C ~~~:i::1gheads were say:. _-_=~

:, seemed more like

something had snapped into place that had been building for a
long time. It's not like the shock in the ordinary was anything
new. Here was the same rude awakening from an already fitful
sleep. Then the double-barreled reactions of ponderous commentary and brash reaction. Then the dream of some kind of return
to innocent slumber. Everyone was on alert. But there was also
an undercurrent of deflation, like something buoyant had been
beached.
She walked down to the neighborhood coffee shop to get the
paper and rub shoulders with strangers in the intimate public of a
national "we." The brilliant yellow daisies and blue asters hurt her
eyes and the neighborhood stilllifes blurred against the buzzing of
her inner ear. The people at the coffee shop looked more tenderly
fleshy. Their eyes were stunned, their cheeks puBY and pink.
She chained herself to the grid. But staying tuned in turned
out to be an obsession shadowing her. She dreamed. She and her
friend were fighting soldiers in a big field. Suddenly one of them
cut off her friend's head. The dream action froze into a scene for
emphasis. Pay attention! Her friend's body was standing in the
field and her head was on the ground next to her as if it had grown
up out of the ground like a pumpkin. The eyes in the head were
moving back and forth, surprised and confused.
She took a day trip to Taos Pueblo's annual Saint's Day celebration. Fields of high grasses blew softly in the breeze. Dogs and
horses were framed in quiet poses against blue mountains. The
pueblo was full of grinning visitors. Native men wearing loincloths and body paint were running around snatching things
from the native vendors' tables. They ran into the pueblo houses,
kidnapped babies, and swung them, squealing, through the cold
water of the river. With buckets of water they splashed spectators,
who then lurched back into the crowd when they came near, frantically giggling and trying to avoid eye contact. It felt good not
to have to know exactly what was happening. It was secret. Their
business.

Inside the ceremonial circle, the religious leaders were waiting.

It was beginning to storm. There was thunder and lightning, a
cold rain and a fierce wind. Two strong men made the climb up a
sixty-foot pole in the middle of the circle. At the top was a slaughtered sheep and two big, brilliantly colored sacks full of offerings.
One of the men stood precariously on the top of the pole, untied
an American flag from the back of his loincloth and held it in the
wind over his head for a long moment, lightning flashing in the
sky around him. It was amazing. Then he dropped the flag. One
of the religious specialists snatched it out of the wind before it hit
the ground. Who knew what it all "meant," but it was certainly an
event in itself
A fantasy crossed her mind of staying here; of being whatever
this place was about. A mystery charged with potential.

A few weeks later, she went to the big annual dance at Jemez
pueblo. At the entrance to the plaza, three weathered-looking
white men were running an Osama bin Laden dart game. They
were selling to teenage native girls the chance to shoot darts into
bin Laden's face. Three darts for two dollars. They were shouting,
"Everyone's a winner!" They were handing out American flags.
She watched. They watched her watching. Then she started to
sidle up to ask them what this was all about. Their faces twisted
like they were used to trouble. She slid back away from them
without finishing her question and moved on, ttoubled in many
directions at once.

The ordinary is a ,:-,;: ~.

It's also a senso:-c':: , - :.
And a world 0:- :.':::"c'

-J;

moves of intensie:: :.:::

She walks th.: '.:'.;:.-.: -'-:1

morning, laying c:', ~.;-.,~
The yards are '.-":'.'.::~: : The mist ris.:s .,. ~ .

ues of giant bu:l:'," : ~:: doing with all d-:.esc:~:._,

around them as i:' :: :::.~. -::I
Up the street. :.:.:;::
The bird cries ~c;;:.:Ariana snatc:'1c-=-:.
The vagueness:: ::: .- - so much a deficic::.:-c
still moving e\'er. :.-,: _;seems to be pleLe:: ::,~:'
This is no mo:::::..'.':. '- :'A
be realized, bm a :-:-.:::.: : something not q'-.:i:::..::~_ .,~
c.' I.

c -

17 The notion 0:' ::.= .'

is from Rajchmarc. ::-, ~

--

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~;:s.'='ers
were waiting.
-=-- _::-~.=.::::and lightning, a
:c_ - ;:::-~
:-:~adeIhe climb up a
~~_~~ie LOp was a slaugh. ~_ .
full of offerings.
. ' ~~~
~ ~: ?:yc~ ,he pole, untied
and held it in the

'"

!It:- ~

tiashing in the
- ~ ~c: ?pec ,he flag. One
- -~~~-:.c:
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;r:: - - ~

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an

;"eing whatever
::.:. ... ~:-,::'c~e2~ial.

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dance at Jemez
LC-:.
~~c::::'.<.-ealhered-Iooking
r;.c . - _a'::'::::1dan game. They
_.: :.-..:.::-.:e~o shoot darts into
!I'":
.. ~,
-::I:.e~:
\wre shouting,
ti-~=-::-.; :.:~ _-unerican flags.
_ , ..::-~,::.
-=t,en she started to
. - : .:~.-::heir taces twisted
.:. .-.:.:i 2.\':a\ from them
it ~.:. :::-.. uoubled in many

iJC

''::

s.::-.::- . .:cl

The ordinary is a thing that has to be imagined and inhabited .

It's also a sensory connection. A jump.
And a world of affinities and impacts that take place in the
moves of intensity across things that seem solid and dead.
She walks the neighborhood with Ariana in the very early
morning, laying down imaginaries.
The yards are vulnerable in the predawn.
The mist rises in a yard full of playful and scary cement statues of giant bunny rabbits and gargoyles. What are these people
doing with all these statues? They've built an ugly aluminum fence
around them as if to protect them from theft. Or something.
Up the street, a large plastic ball is lodged in a tree.
The bird cries begin.
Ariana snatches flowers off bushes and drops them in her lap.
The vagueness or the unfinished quality of the ordinary is not
so much a deficiency as a resource, like a fog of immanent forces
still moving even though so much has already happened and there
seems to be plenty that's set in stoneY
This is no utopia. Not a challenge to be achieved or an ideal to
be realized, but a mode of attunement, a continuous responding to
something not quite already given and yet somehow happening .

17 The notion of the unfinished quality of the ordinary as a resource

is from Rajchman, The Deleuze Connections.

This book is abom how moving forces are immanent in scenes,

subjects, and encounters, or in blocked opportunities or the banality of built environments.
It's also about the need for a speculative and concrete attunement. It suggests that thought is not the kind of thing that flows
inevitably from a given "way of life," but rather something that
takes off with the potential trajectories in which it finds itself in
the middle.
It doesn't mean to come to a finish. It wants to spread out into
too many possible scenes with too many real links between them.
It leaves me-my experiment-with
a sense of force and texture
and the sure knowledge that every scene I can spy has tendrils
stretching into things I can barely, or not quite, imagine. But I already knew that. The world is still tentative, charged, overwhelming, and alive. This is not a good thing or a bad thing. It is not my
view that things are going well but that they are going. I've tried
to let go of pat answers I never exactly believed anyway in an effort
to stay in the middle of things.
Ordinary affect is a surging, a rubbing, a connection of some
kind that has an impact.18 It's transpersonal or prepersonal- not
about one person's feelings becoming another's but about bodies
literally affecting one another and generating intensities: human
bodies, discursive bodies, bodies of thought, bodies of water. 19
Anna Tsing'sFriction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, N.].: Princeton University Press, 2005) argues that the awkward,
messy, unequal, unstable, surprising, and creative qualities of encounters and interconnection across difference should inform our models of
cultural production.
19 See Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus.
18

People are
they mean is tha ~~::-~::
know where to ,~.:.~~:
a beginning dc~o:: "
tangles of assoc:.:.~~:~,
passing, gestura.. :~-,--~
inchoate bm .:::~ :=-'-ways of attend:-.; :: :- gestures not tc",~':':~ :"-. _.L.-r
of knowinao' \\- .~..,
.. :-. .. , question; an c t:::~:
Ariana is to...:: ~,:
"My turn! J{: ~...:::won't give her ::-.=
the eat's litter:::
She has no id::.:.

::.L.~:o

that she's tr<:-.Z :

series of smi: ::::'.
self withom ~=--:" ":"

intensity, and :-.z= ~ .. -':1J

solutions ha::: :: ::
but there's
.. _.
: ..UJ
An impulse ~':'.~.,:,:
~ ~ . - :.lliE
These imy..:.:o=: - -_" impulses to\~.'.:.:
~ :,-.:- ,=:- _~1G
beginning, iu': ':=~.:- an ordinary S2.~"':=~:=;:

:'C:.
lC'

~mmanent in scenes,
::,::,onunities or the ba-

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. .:. .

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of thing that flows

l: = _~ =-lther something that

:,-

.~_,~'hichit finds itself in

spread out into

t:C.,'
:::~ links between them.
C::~':: of force and texture
'lr
::~,::
I can spy has tendrils
:: .:.:,.:ile,
imagine. But I al"':'~IS

La

charged, overwhelmll=~ ,: .:.::,adthing. It is not my

r __...'.:.:
:l-:.e-.are going. I've tried

11::: :~:."::.

:::. :.:.. e'-ed anyway in an effort

t_: . ,~.:',a connection of some

or prepersonal-not
,ilL':: '---.:. :ner's but about bodies
:-,' :::.:.:ingintensities: human
..
_:.l-:.cbodies ofwater.19

E;':' ::',

!;t,-'

~.-7 bal

Connection (Prince

. : : ' 2.:guesthat the awkward,

:~:lIi\-equalities of encounE' .: : ,~:.lidinform our models of

People are always saying to me, "I could write a book." What
they mean is that they couldn't and they wouldn't want to. Wouldn't
know where to start or how to stop. The phrase is a gesture toward
a beginning dense with potential. They have stories, substories,
tangles of association, accrued layers of impact and reaction. The
passing, gestural claim of "I could write a book" points to the
inchoate but very real sense of the sensibilities, socialities, and
ways of attending to things that give events their significance. It
gestures not toward the clarity of answers but toward the texture
of knowing. What a life adds up to is still a problem and an open
question; an object of curiosity.
Ariana is four now. She wants to do things for herself She yells
"My turn! My turn! Not-you-only-ME" when she's afraid that I
won't give her the chance to try to read a book herself or to clean
the eat's litterbox.Then she shifts into focus with a dry little cough.
She has no idea whether she can do it, or even what it is, exactly,
that she's trying to do. My mother, Claire, is recovering from a
series of small strokes. She, too, sets off to do something for herself without knowing whether she can. Simple things take time,
intensity, and ingenuity. Some things have to be sidestepped. Or
solutions have to be invented. There are deadening frustrations
but there's also a central, palpable pleasure in the state of trying.
An impulse toward potentiality.
These impulses-Ariana's and Claire's-to "do it myself" are
impulses toward the speculative. Like this book, they're only a
beginning, just scratching the surface. But that's what matters in
an ordinary saturated with affect's lines of promise and threat.

Barthes, Rolanc .. c. ~
--.
s/Z: "-i: ~ ..

---.

"The -::-:
..: ~

Stills." TJ,e ~~,:

Representa,,:. ;:
[ornia Press. =:
Benjamin, \,',,;::::
lin. Camb::.::.::::
Berlant, Lau::::.
---.

"Inrr: '::'_::..

versity of C:-,. =.::.::, ,

and La

---.

p;.;;.

71.'2 (~:.
Citizens;"';

---,

= _--

co,

"Slc~.~._ ~ _

Deleuze, Gill::;. a: ~ :::,

phrenia. \0 = -:-: :.0
MinneapoL'.

--.AT.
Trans. Bria.:-;;
1987.

De Mille, Agne; ..
Hacking, Ian. P,
Memory. Pr::,::::::.
Harding, Susan. a.-,~'
spiracy Theo,' .::.-~ -:-'
Tramparenc:1 .:;
World Orde;. ::~
Duke Univer':-:- ~:::
Hosseini, Khalec. ~

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"Ordinary Afficts is an extraordinary work of finely observed aspecrs of everyday life in contemporary America. It is a beauriful book about waking life, being awakened to life, and the fear
and desire rippling on the surface of people's ordinary movements through space. Radical yet
familiar, it is a profoundly pedagogical book." - LAU R E N B E R LAN T, author of me Queen of
America Goes to Washington City: Essays on Sex and Citizenship
"Full of resonating stories, encounters quirky in their unapologetic ordinariness, and murmuring objects, this book takes me into the thick world of the everyday in the U.S.A. Intent on
critique or explanation, too many scholars hardly know how to experience, much less think,
such worlds, and so regularly give them Big Names like Capitalism and Modernity and Neoliberalism. Ordinary Afficts sounds the depths and shallows of intimate, particular worlds crucial to finding our way in the tidal basin of contemporary culture. Here are accounts of lives in
plain sight, but only if we cultivate the deceptively hard pracrices of slow looking and off-stage
hearing. Kathleen Stewart touches the marrow of things by nurturing an oblique and un rushed
sort of attention, one alert to the bio-luminescence generated in ordinary living taken seriously,
without which we are in the dark in politics, philosophy, and cultural theory."
-D 0 N N A HA RAW A Y, University of California, Santa Cruz
''Anything but ordinary, this book rewrites the social sciences from top to bottom through its
bleak and beautiful honesty as to the human condition and the conditional nature of our language and concepts. How the author has been able to step outside of the bubble we call reality
so as to render reality is a miracle, yet one we might all aspire to on reading this."
-M I C H A E L TAU S S I G, Columbia University
Ordinary Afficts is a singular argument for attention to the affective dimensions of everyday life
and the potential that animates the ordinary. Known for her focus on the poetics and politics
oflanguage and landscape, the anthropologist Kathleen Stewart ponders how ordinary impacts
create the subject as a capacity to affect and be affected. In a series of brief vignettes combining
storytelling, close ethnographic detail, and critical analysis, Stewart relates the intensities and
banalities of common experiences and strange encounters, half-spied scenes and the lingering
resonance of passing events. While most of the instances rendered are from Stewart's own life,
she writes in the third person in order to reflect on how intimate experiences of emotion, the
body, other people, and rime inextricably link us to the outside world. Stewart refrains from
positing an overarching system-whether
it's called globalization or neoliberalism or capitalism-to
describe the ways that economic, political, and social forces shape individual lives.
Instead, she begins with the disparate, fragmented, and seemingly inconsequential experiences
of everyday life to bring attention to the ordinary as an integral site of cultural politics.
KAT H LEE N S T E WAR T is Associate Professor of Anthropology and Director of the Americo
Paredes Center for Cultural Studies at the University of Texas, Austin.

cover photo: Nic Nicosia, Real Pictures #II, 1988.

Courtesy the artist and Dunn and Brown Contemporary,

Dallas, TX.