Author Description

<p>Is it just me or does this read like a novelization of Carole Roussopoulos and Delphine Seyrig's video rendering of the S.C.U.M. Manifesto?</p><p>concentration introduced a corridor toward violence; he could travel further and faster than ever before but the walls kept closing in; no more need for prisons; incarceration manifested en masse; he exited reflection into reflex; accelerated assessments annexed the time necessary to conceive, consider and contemplate; he no longer even-needed to project himself forward in order to apprehend phenomena, it was enough to simply collate what already existed; the preceding centuries passed through him like an electric-shock; nevertheless, he botched his translation of the horizon and arrived too late to be taken seriously as a victim, pirouetting around a borrowed void, exhibiting nothing-but wounds he'd never experienced; his gaze played at serene indifference, but it felt more like remorse; as though he'd lost all-sense-of-self, endlessly repeating what was already known with words that might've been, and probably were, said elsewhere.</p><p>Communicating through consumption--i.e. Marx in the guise of a machine condemned to devour books, casually flinging them, in warped form, atop the dungheap of history--James Finnegan's pursuit of knowledge, at least as evidenced in DAS KA-KA-PEE-PEE-TAL, reduces each object of its pursuit to possession. This conceitedness not only heralds Mr. Finnegan's shortcomings as both a man and artist, but also the linked series of deceptions, exploitations and impulses that lend an appearance of order (it comes as some surprise to find the book's pages are numbered sequentially) to the otherwise brazen incoherence of his text.--Randall Cockburn, author of What's What and Why Not</p><p>DAS KA-KA-PEE-PEE-TAL dreams-up, filches, pirates and discards various fictive notions of itself nearly as rapidly as certain humans produce and dispose of flatulence. Not my idea of a good time, but maybe it's yo