#apolitical intellectuals

[apoemaday]

Apolitical Intellectuals

by Otto René Castillo tr. Sean Keenan

One day, the apolitical intellectuals of my country will be interrogated by the simplest of our people.

They will be asked about what they did when their fatherland was being slowly extinguished like a sweet fire, small and alone.

They will not be interrogated about their dress, nor about their long siestas after lunch, neither about their sterile struggles with the void, nor about their ontological ways of arriving at money. Nor will they be interrogated about Greek mythology, nor about the self-disgust they felt when someone, deep down, got ready to die like a coward.

Nothing will asked of them about their absurd justifications that find their shadowy origins in the round lie.

On that day the simple men will come those who never had a place in the books and verses of the apolitical intellectuals, but who arrived every day with bread and milk for them, and eggs and tortillas, those who sewed their clothes, drove their cars, tended their gardens and dogs, and worked for them, and they'll ask: "What did you do when the poor were suffering, and tenderness and life were being burned out in them?"

Apolitical intellectuals of my sweet country, you will not be able to answer.

A vulture of silence will devour your insides. Your misery will gnaw at your souls, and you will fall silent, ashamed of yourselves.

[figuringoutstill]

"I often talk about how, in today’s market, we find a whole series of products deprived of their malignant property: coffee without caffeine, cream without fat, beer without alcohol . . . And the list goes on: virtual sex as sex without sex, the art of expert administration as politics without politics, up to today’s tolerant liberal multiculturalism as an experience of the Other deprived of its disturbing Otherness. Los Prisonieros add another key figure from our cultural space to this series: the decaffeinated protester. This is a protester who says (or sings) all the right things, but somehow deprives them of their critical edge. He is horrified by global warming, he fights sexism and racism, he demands radical social change, and everyone is invited to join in the big sentiment of global solidarity—but all of this only adds up to mean that he is not required to change his life (maybe just to give to charity “here and there). He goes on with his career, he is ruthlessly competitive, but he is on the right side.”

From: Slavoj Žižek. “Heaven in Disorder”.

[figuringoutstill]

“Do you think you protest?

Do you think you’re some kind of rebel?

You complain about pollution

You talk about automatization

You defend humanity

You cry because the world is so bad

You critique society

You say everything should change

On the stage, you folklorize your voice

“Down with the city and its contamination”

With your cute melodies and romantic sympathy

You never make a bad impression on anyone

You tell me you protest

But . . . !

Your position doesn’t bother anyone

Is your goal to attack something, or just win applause?

You complain about the bombs

And say they will be the end of the world

But you never give any names

You’re afraid to make a bad impression

You thing you’re revolutionary and controversial

But you never make a bad impression

You’re a bad copy of some hippie gringo

Your position, listen, you stupid beardy

Sold itself to the applause of the cheesy conscious people

You contradict all of your famous protest

With your complicated and beautiful melodies

You pretend to fight . . .

But you’re just a nice piece of shit!”

(“Chilean band Los Prisonieros”)

Excerpt From: Slavoj Žižek. “Heaven in Disorder”.

[proletarianfeminism]

One day the apolitical intellectuals of my country will be interrogated by the simplest of our people. They will be asked what they did when their nation died out slowly, like a sweet fire small and alone. No one will ask them about their dress, their long siestas after lunch, no one will want to know about their sterile combats with “the idea of the nothing” no one will care about their higher financial learning. They won’t be questioned on Greek mythology, or regarding their self-disgust when someone within them begins to die the coward’s death. They’ll be asked nothing about their absurd justifications, born in the shadow of the total lie. On that day the simple men will come. Those who had no place in the books and poems of the apolitical intellectuals, but daily delivered their bread and milk, their tortillas and eggs, those who drove their cars, who cared for their dogs and gardens and worked for them, and they’ll ask: “What did you do when the poor suffered, when tendernes and life burned out of them?” Apolitical intellectuals of my sweet country, you will not be able to answer. A vulture of silence will eat your gut. Your own misery will pick at your soul. And you will be mute in your shame.

Apolitical Intellectuals by Otto Rene Castillo

[antiserious]

Otto Rene Castillo Catches The Apolitical Intellectuals By Their Collars, And Shakes Them

Being a late reader filled with the aroma of flowery writing, watching Govind Nihalani’s movie Party three years back was an uncomfortable exercise. As a bloody-mouthed Naseeruddin Shah with his mutilated tongue walks towards you, the TV screen dissolves. You know his groans carry a question, you know what the question is, and you soon realize the question is … Continue reading Otto Rene Castillo Catches The Apolitical Intellectuals By Their Collars, And Shakes Them

The post Otto Rene Castillo Catches The Apolitical Intellectuals By Their Collars, And Shakes Them appeared first on Antiserious.

from Otto Rene Castillo Catches The Apolitical Intellectuals By Their Collars, And Shakes Them

[navinkoke]

Apolitical Intellectuals

One day  the apolitical intellectuals  of my country  will be interrogated  by the simplest of our people.

They will be asked  what they did  when their nation died out slowly,  like a sweet fire small and alone.

No one will ask them  about their dress,  their long siestas after lunch,  no one will want to know  about their sterile combats  with "the idea of the nothing"  no one will care about their higher financial learning.

They won't be questioned  on Greek mythology, or regarding their self-disgust  when someone within them  begins to die the coward's death.

They'll be asked nothing  about their absurd justifications,  born in the shadow of the total life.

On that day the simple men will come.

Those who had no place in the books and poems  of the apolitical intellectuals,  but daily delivered  their bread and milk,  their tortillas and eggs,  those who drove their cars,  who cared for their dogs and gardens  and worked for them,  and they'll ask:

"What did you do when the poor suffered, when tenderness and life burned out of them?"

Apolitical intellectuals of my sweet country,  you will not be able to answer.

A vulture of silence will eat your gut.

Your own misery will pick at your soul.

And you will be mute in your shame.

Otto Rene Castillo Guatemalan poet and revolutionary.

[fragments-of-life-blog-blog]

Apolitical Intellectuals

One day the apolitical intellectuals of my country will be interrogated by the simplest of our people.

They will be asked what they did when their nation died out slowly, like a sweet fire small and alone.

No one will ask them about their dress, their long siestas after lunch, no one will want to know about their sterile combats with "the idea of the nothing" no one will care about their higher financial learning.

They won't be questioned on Greek mythology, or regarding their self-disgust when someone within them begins to die the coward's death.

They'll be asked nothing about their absurd justifications, born in the shadow of the total lie.

On that day the simple men will come.

Those who had no place in the books and poems of the apolitical intellectuals, but daily delivered their bread and milk, their tortillas and eggs, those who drove their cars, who cared for their dogs and gardens and worked for them, and they'll ask:

"What did you do when the poor suffered, when tenderness and life burned out of them?"

Apolitical intellectuals of my sweet country, you will not be able to answer.

A vulture of silence will eat your gut.

Your own misery will pick at your soul.

And you will be mute in your shame.

--Otto Rene Castill

[waveofwords-blog]

Apolitical Intellectuals

One day the apolitical intellectuals of my country will be interrogated by the simplest of our people. They will be asked what they did when their nation died out slowly, like a sweet fire small and alone. No one will ask them about their dress, their long siestas after lunch, no one will want to know about their sterile combats with "the idea of the nothing" no one will care about their higher financial learning. They won't be questioned on Greek mythology, or regarding their self-disgust when someone within them begins to die the coward's death. They'll be asked nothing about their absurd justifications, born in the shadow of the total life. On that day the simple men will come. Those who had no place in the books and poems of the apolitical intellectuals, but daily delivered their bread and milk, their tortillas and eggs, those who drove their cars, who cared for their dogs and gardens and worked for them, and they'll ask: "What did you do when the poor suffered, when tenderness and life burned out of them?" Apolitical intellectuals of my sweet country, you will not be able to answer. A vulture of silence will eat your gut. Your own misery will pick at your soul. And you will be mute in your shame.

-Otto Rene Castillo