Hot
afternoon, plenty of thinking and quite some few beers. I was talking to my
friend Jerome, a nasty Chinese demon that hangs out with me in incognito when
he’s not tormenting losers capitalist back in the Middle Kingdom. We were talking
of “Li’”理, “forms” in Chinese. In a nutshell and
in half a guzzle of vintage cider (750ml, 7.4%, £ 1.5 at Aldi: amazing, love
Germans!), Li is the fabric of nature. Jade patterns are Li, the protocols to
treat a lady like she deserves are Li, the right sneakers to play hang out with
“your manure” downtown are Li, everything but chicken in your past are LI. Got
the hack? Essentially, everything that Kant would say you must do is not Li,
but everything you know should do appropriately to the circumstances and the
context is Li.
Playing
along Li is the biggest reason Artificial Intelligence sucked until now. How do
you know this pasta is acceptable and that not? Why avocado yes (big yes, come
on!), but pine apple hell no (on pasta? Please call the police). Why? Why chick
peas and mussels yes, and say garden peas and scallop no? I don’t know, but
something along the lines of habits, taste, chemicals, innovation, tradition,
style, I want to get laid but also nurture my enarmoument(old enough to cherish
the slow cooking). What are the laws?? Well, my little German friend, first:
your Prussian helmet is cool in a drinking context, not so much talking about
fine cousine and seduction. Second: laws are good to bend metals, but not so
much to shape friendship. My best friends would sell me right now for the a
modicum amount of lentils. And I would still be friend them. Pissed, but
friend: because if you are friend of someone who will never betray you to
respect the guidelines, hey, you’re just hanging out with a Finnish European
Commissioner.
We
are talking subtle, as in Borges-Marquez, Tolstoj-Dostoevsky (I don’t see any
reason for discussion with regards of Messi, Maradona and Pele’. For obvious
reasons...). And so it seems that alt-right, sovranism, sheer racism, are Li.
They describe society as the (blubbered, chocked in vomit) narrative of
individuals who are supposed to form the blob of society: the idiosyncratic collective,
the impersonal character of the crowd we all belong to. We are the people, we
are the crowd, we are that insane madness, fuelled with hedonic, mind-smashing,
drugs that suddenly for an instant, in the filthy toilet of the discotheque
looks himself in his tormented sneer, with his familiar traits stretched till
freak show deformity and for a blink recognises the identity in his socio-chemical
debauchery. Yes, this fascist intolerance is a blink of self-introspection,
questioning disfiguring hatred in the mirror and pulling our yes with fingers,
soiled with excrements and god knows what else we carried on during this long,
long night. Until you accuse those bitches of being fascist, our sobering up is
still far. Get a grip, the ugly crazy man in the mirror it’s you, time to sit
down and have a talk. It will be a long, long night.