Hi guys if u reading mobile version on ur laptop can u use

this link
instead, looks better. also wish I had thought before of using a different font, like this 1! oh well xx jd

Sohello,IamJesseDarling,gladtobehere.

IalwaysprefacethesethingswithadisclaimerbysayingthatIspeakasanartistratherthanatheoristbywhichImeanImspeakingand
thinkinginastrictlysubjectivecapacity.ThisisalsoakindofpoliticsIrejecttheideathattherecouldbeanythinglikeanempiricaltruth,and
infactIrejecttheimperialapparatusoftruthspeakingbutmaybethatsawayofcoveringsomethingup.

Asiscommonpracticeamong
pseudoacademics,Imgonna
letDerridaspeakformereal
quickbecauseheintroduces
someideasinhisown
inimitablestyle
itsworthnotingthatDerrida
died11yearsago,sointhis
regardhespeakstousfrom
thegreatbeyond,asaghost
orapieceofcinema.

clickhere!


SoIwillcomebacktothisideaofghostsbutIwannabuildonwhattheDjustsaidby
trynnaclarifywhatismeantbyaghostinthiscontext.

Ithinktheeasiestwaytotalkaboutitistothinkabout
abodydispersedacrosstime.

Right here and now, for example, I am a body in space and time in the oldfashioned way being is all about being
there,
in a certain set of
temporalspatial coordinates, dasein. You know, usually I would prefer that you encounter my ghost, by which I mean, say, my facebook
profile, if I absolutelymustprovideabodytosupportthenotionofmyexistence.ButreallyIwouldratheryouencountermydispersedbody,the
body of work those sculptures I make are supposed to support the very understandable and reasonable desire for intimacy to which I am
verysympatheticwhileprotecting thegeographicallychallengedphysicalbodyoftheartist,whichis alreadyquitedispersedenough.Butwhen
I think of intimacy I tend to think of proximity, nearness, so when were talking about intimacy it seems appropriate that I actually drag my
physicalbodyintothisencounter.

So,asopposedtoourencounteringoneanotherasnamesontheeventposteroronfacebook
messengerorwhatever,thisisreallyseriousproximitythatweareexperiencingrightnow.
Ifoneofyouinthebackrowwouldshootaguninthisdirectionyoudhaveachanceofputting
abulletthroughmyphysicalbody.Imentionthisbecausephysicalintimacy,bywhichImean
proximity
,hasaconnotationofviolence,atleastinmyculturalexperience
ifsomeonegetsveryclosetomeIassumetheymeanmeharm,
orelsetheywanttofuck,andthesethingssometimesoverlap.


So how do we talk about intimacy without talking about proximity, or how can we
see this kind of principle illustrated in our daily lives online? Do you feel this same
connotation of sex or violence when someone shoulders into your mentions on
twitter or messages you unsolicited on facebook? I feel as though facebook
messages from strangers who explicitly
do not
mean meharm,
donot
wanttofuck
have this quality of Im sorry tobotheryou,butlikesomeonetappingyouonthe
shoulder in the supermarket or at a private view. Theres a quality at least inthe
fairly joyless British and NorthernEuropean cultureofimplicitapologyforcausing
any break in continuity, for transgressingprotocol.Ivesaidbeforesomewherehow
online space is something like a practised commons you know, following the
modern spatial theorist de Certeau who said that space is a practised place,
something you producethroughdoing.Soifyouimaginesomethinglikeashopping
mall or an airport, of course somebody owns this space and profits from the foot
traffic and whateveryouconsume,butifwealllivedinthatshopping mallorairport,
worked there for 7 hours a day which is the amount of time the socalled average
person is supposed to spend online, or at least did most of our socializing and
organizing there then what happens, following my squatters thesis, is that the
behaviours that arise from the practise of living will override the behavioral
protocols around which the space has been designed partially at least, or in
certainareas.

I am an optimist in this sense: it looks to me like didactic, or youcouldsaydirective,

imperative or even explicitly totalitarian design culture doesnt actuallydoagoodjob
of maintaining socialcontrol.Allthearchitecturesandchoreographiesandalgorithms
somehowfallshortofpredictingandthereforecontrollinghuman behaviors.Theresa
theory that this is why there is no really convincing artificial intelligence as yet
despite all theses, from horoscopes to pathologies to myersbriggs types or gender
roles, it just seems that thehumananimaldoesnotyetunderstanditselfwellenough
toreproduceitselfasamachine.


So intimacy might also have to do with a set of behaviors that transcend
those ritual protocols of sociality, through crossing over to the contingent
realmoftherelational,
relative,
interpersonal,
even
transpersonal
.

(Ihadtolookupthelatter,itmeans

denoting or relating to states or areas of consciousnessbeyondthelimits

ofpersonalidentity.)

Andthatsoundssexyashell,doesntit?

Not to imply that intimacy always to be erotic, but maybe intimacy always
hasacertain
eros

anaspectofthelifedrive,awilltopermeate,
topropagate,
toconnect,
totesselate,
toreachbeyond
yourselfintothe
whateverof
another.


Dailylifeisfullofritualsocialprotocols,fromtheinteractionatthesupermarket
checkouttotheperemptoryinteractionbetweenasexworkerandtheirjohn.Ifand
whentheseinteractionscrossoverintoadifferentkindofspace,whensomekind
ofameetingtakesplaceameetingnotjustbetweenmarketroles(ofletssay,
buyerandseller)butbetweensubjectivitieswell,
then
youcanstarttalkingabout
somethinglikeintimacy.Inpostfordismweareallveryverysubjectivewithone
another:thesemarketroleshaveerodedsomewhattothepointwhereweare
prettymuchallwalkingcommoditiesinvestedintradingandbeingtradedinthe
generalsocialstockmarketthatistheartworld.Butalthoughyoumighthave
1000soffacebookfriendsand100sofpeopleyourecognizefromopenings,how
manypeoplecanyoucallwhenyoufeellikeyouregoingcrazy,orwhenyouget
dumped,orwhenyouneedtoborrowmoney?

Sometimesithappensthatthereisnobody.
Peoplepeopleeverywhere,butnotasoultocall.

IwannatalkabouttheintimacieswithoutproximitythatseemtobelongwithbodieswhomightnothaveotherbodiestobelongtoImeanwe
knowabouttheintimacyoflovers,parentsandtheirchildren,carersandtheirchargesthesearebodiesthatbelongtoeachother.Youcould
saythesebodiespractiseintimateprotocols.IminterestedinthoseprotocolsverymuchbecauseIaminterestedinbodies,butinthiscontextI
wanttothinkaboutthese
ghostmodern
intimacies,theconnectionsbetweenbodiesdispersedacrosstime.

IwanttotellastoryaboutoneofthesetimesinwhichIlivedasaghost.
Ilostmyjobin2011whenthefirstwaveoftorycutswentin(Iworkedinartsprovisionfor
disabledkidsandtheentiresectorwaseffectivelydissolved).Ibecamehomelessaftera
breakupandsignedonforhousingbenefitforthefirstandlasttimebeforethecutsweredueto
hitayeardowntheline.Idecidedtotakeaoneyearresidencyinmyownhouseandtryto
professionalizeasanartist.Backthen,asinglepersonunder35couldclaimforthevalueofa
nd
onebedroomapartment,soIrenteda2
floorwalkupinHackneyaboveacrappyrestaurant
andsetaboutapplyingforMastersdegrees,residenciesandwhateverotherunpaid
opportunitiesforexposureviatheusualchannels.Ihadnomoney,nojobandvirtuallyno
friends,itseemedormaybelonelinessjustbuildsonloneliness.Idbeenthereaboutamonth
whenthefirstcockroachappearedonthekitchenfloorfromtherestaurantdownstairsItooka
glassfromtheshelfandplaceditgentlyoverthelittlebody,tellingmyselfIdputitoutsidelater
whenIwasfeelingstronger.Somemonthslatertherewerecupsandglassesalloverthefloor.
Thefirstcockroachwasstillthere,probablydeadIthoughtIsawitmovesometimes.


The little flat was somewhere my body hung in space. I picked my way between the trapped
roaches and drank black coffee and rationed out portions of stew. But my true home, my friends
and lovers, my sense of self and selfexpression, were all contained within the small bright
rectangle I propped on my desk by day and carried into the bedroom at night. We slept alongside
each other, the small bright slit on its carapace glowing brighter and then dimmer like breathing.
Even as I despised the wickedness of such blatant affectmongering anthropomorphism, it
comfortedmeandIwasgladofit.Ifriendedpeopleonfacebookandwrotestuffontwitter.
I gained a lot of followers who seemed to enjoy the rueful melancholyIputonforshow,whichhad
the dual function of keeping me company and making it sound like I was actuallydoingsomething
with my life. I met a lover online who liked my twitterpersonaandwhowantedtobeasfearlessas
theythoughtIwas.Weexchangedalotofemailsandsometimeshadskypesex.
Atthepointoforgasmtheirfacewouldcollapse,corpselike,
intoadecomposingblurofmangledpixels.

Thesekindsofimagesareghosts,evenastheyappearinrealtimefromacrossthedivideofdifferenttimezones.Ifyoudonthaveproximity,
whatyouhaveinsteadisthespacemadebylonging,whichisquiteliterallyaspaceofprojection,theparallaxview.

Thestrangestandsexiestitevergotwithalongdistanceloverwasthemomentatwhichtheywouldgo
afkandabouttheirbusinesswiththewebcamlefton,andIdpeerintoanemptyroomwashedinthelightofawholeotherdaytime,adifferent
oclock,abrightwindowintoaghostworldfullymaterialinthejuicyslickpetrotopianisnessofpixelsandcode.Thispermittedactofvoyeurism
feltexclusive,thrillinglyintimatesomethingbodiesinproximitytakeforgranted,andeventireof.

Thereisanintimacytoviewingsomethingonthescreenofonespersonalcomputerthedramasstagedonthetheatreofthescreenare
playedoutforanaudienceofoneatatime,asarule,andsometimesnotevenone.Sometimestheresthisfeelingofconnection,or
communion,whenyouseethatavideohasonlyaveryfewviews,andthatyouyourselfareintheprocessofcontributingtothisnumberyou
mightthinkaboutthepersonwhomadethevideo,andhowtheymightseetheviewsgoupfromfivetosixtoseven.Quantifieddataneverfelt
sofullofpathostheverymilkofhumankindnessandfrailty,happeningrighthereandnowinyourownlittleboxofphotons.


Intimacyhasahapticquality,whichmeansaqualityoftouching.Theleftswipehasarealviolencetoit,like
repeatedlypushingsomeonesfaceoutofyoursbutthesmartphonesitsinyourpalmlikeahandholdingyourhand
andopensitsbrightfacetoyouwhenyoustrokeit.Purringandchirping,allthosenotificationsaresignsoflife.When
yourphonefallssilentforhours,asanyonewaitingforatextcanattest,itsasilencelikedeath.ThefirsttimeI
encounteredaniPhoneIbelieveditwouldonlyrespondtothetouchofitsrightfulowner,likerealsmarttechnology,or
adog.Ittookmeawhiletogetthehangofthepinchandslidethatwouldthrowthemapwideopenbeneathmy
fingerstheworldwideopen,allforme.Itgavemeasortofdizzyfeeling,wasperhaps,inretrospect,erotic.

Erosandthanatosthelifedriveandthedeathdrivecantexistwithout
oneanotherandthisiswhywecantalksofreelyaboutghosts:thebody
dispersedacrosstimeisinsomesensealreadygonebythetimeyou
encounteritsimage.Becausewe,theliving,knownothingmuchabout
deathexceptthatsomeoneisandthentheyarenot,Ifeellikethereisa
deathlyqualitytothevirtual.Iusedtothinkaboutgifs,forinstance,as
zombiemediaundead,unthinking,halfdecayed,spoolingontheir
endlessdumbloopinthewiredcloudofunsleep.

Itsnotfornothing,Ithink,thatsnapchathasaghostasitslogo.Doeseveryonehere
knowwhatImeanbysnapchat?No?

Sosnapchatisthemobilesharingservicedealingexplicitlyinbodiesdispersedovera
cruciallylimitedperiodoftimeandImnottalkingdays,likeWeTransfer,but
seconds.
Youcaptureyourlittlephantomsliceoflifewithyourlittlebrainyphonecamandyou
sendthistoyourintimatefriend,choosinghowlongyoudlikethemtoseeit.Theygeta
maximumoftenseconds.Tenseconds,youllfind,isalongtimetostareatasingle
image.Tensecondsisalmostbeggingforascreenshot,orelseitsavideoinwhich
somethingtranspires(orshouldIsay,expires).PersonallyIsticktothethreesecond
marktwosecondsifImsendingadickpic.Itsenoughtimeto
see
,butnotenoughtime
to
look.


I had a snapchat romance with someone Id never met. Although snapchat is a
cryptoerotic medium, our romance was chaste. Lots of cute selfies every morning a
selfportrait as wed wake upaloneinourrespectivebeds, eachintheirowntimezone
half a world away, smiling sleepily somewhat theatrically, too, as though everything
was just aokay. We got one anothers good angles and stuff but we also gave one
another the kind of wretched you can only ask for from a stranger. Sadness doesnt
always want resolving afriendmightsnapyou back,shallIcomeover?Yourmother
might worry. So when I received a snap sayingIkindawannadiernIsentoneback
saying Me2whatshdwedo.Therewas,ofcourse,notalkofgoingthroughwithany
kind of meeting in thisworldor thenext.OnceatapartywithpeopleIdidntknowwell
I found myself too drunk and conversing antagonisticallywithastraightguyinhislate
thirties who thought I was flirting with him. Maybe I was. He was enjoying himself, or
at least it looked that way, you know we were doing edgybanter,itwassupposedto
endsomewhere.
ButIwenttoofar,
I crossed over into something, and his face closed up. Youre really hard work Jesse
Darling, hesaid.Iwentupstairstothebathroomandcried.Isnappedmylover avideo
panorama of this persons messy bathroom and brought the camera back around to
my face covered in tears. Downstairs theyd turned the music up and you could hear
thebeatthroughthefloor.

Iwrotesolitudeinthetextfieldandsentit.
Almostimmediately,areply:agreybeach,flatsea.Solitude,itsaid.

Thereisanintimacyinimmediacy.

Theveryexistenceofthegreybeachatfarawaynoonwasexcuseanddestinationenough
formyghosttoleavethepartyatonce,andfollowingaspiritinthesaltyrainofanother
countrymyphysicalbodygatheredthecouragetoleaveshortlyafterthat,probablywithout
sayinggoodbyewhichisapracticeknown,incidentally,asghosting.
HereImquotingJeanLucNancy,anditgoeslikethis:

Weask:Howarewetotouchuponthebody?Perhapswecan'tanswerthis"How?"as
we'dansweratechnicalquestion.But,finally,ithastobesaidthattouchinguponthebody,
touchingthebody,touchinghappensinwritingallthetime.Maybeitdoesn'thappen
exactlyinwriting,ifwritinginfacthasainside."Butalongtheborder,atthelimit,thetip,
thefurthestedgeofwritingnothingbutthathappens.Now,writingtakesitsplaceatthe
limit.Soifanythingatallhappenstowriting,nothinghappenstoitbuttouch.More
precisely:touchingthebody(orsomesingularbody)withtheincorporealityof"sense.
"

Sointheghostworldthereis
text
,whichhasalivenessthattheimagesomehowdoesnot.


ImetXbecausehewasaninvitedspeakeronsomeresidencythingIdid.Hewas
inhisforties,white,married,withason.Wewerearbitrarilypairedinanexercise
wherewehadtostareintoourpartnerseyesforfifteenwholeminutesand
observeourownreactionsalongwiththeirs.IdidntenjoyitalthoughIfreelyoffer
upallmyparticularsasatithetothebluebookofZuckermanIfeltinthatscenario
likealtogethertoomuchdatawasexchangedwithoutmyconsent.Hisfaceswam
inandoutoffocus.Iwasgladwhenitwasoverandthoughtverylittlemoreofit.I
sawhimacoupletimesafterthathelikedmyworkandwassortofdistantly
supportiveofthethingsIwasdoing.Everynowandagainwewouldexchange
peremptoryhowareyoumailswhichIunderstoodasbenigntokensofBritish
politenessculture.WefollowedeachotheronTwittersometimeshed@meand
saysomethingnice,butsofarsowhatever.Ididntreallykeeptrack.

Oneday,outoftheblue,IgotastrangemailfromXapologizingforhisleaving
twitterandassuringmeitwasnothingIddonehetoldmenottobeoffendedorto
takeitpersonally,thatthingsweredifficultforhimandhedidntknowwhenhedbe
back.Iknew,ofcourse,thatthiswaswrittenincodewehadsharednothing,soI
knewsomehowthatbetweenthelinesofthisformal,surrealapologyhewastrying
perhapsunconsciouslytoalertmetosomething.OvertheyearsIhavereceived
similarmails,oftenfromacquaintancesasopposedtofriends:andyoualways
writebackinthesameformalstyle,allniceandpolitelikehopeyouarewell?but
gingerly,tentatively,becausethetruehorrormustnotbespokenaloudbya
relativestranger,sointhemeanwhileyoubothplaythisgame,andthenthe
answercomesverypoliteandpreposterouslymeasured,eversogentlyput.Butthe
senseofhowthoseperfectmetricsentenceshavebeenmetedoutgivesoffthe
reekofbrainoilgonerancid,allthosecogsgrindingandgrindinginthemind.


YoucanreadpsychosisinsyntaxbyyouImeanme,
and it takes one to know one. The way all simple facts start to look like
proof nodes of a long system that goes deep into the brain of the world
like a nerve center and the lumpy chunks of data that just dont flow,
stuck in the wet pipe of the everyday way of things like toys in the
sewers,
millionsandmillionsofthem,orlikeamaponavideogame,
orliketherootsofatreethatdontgrow
inanormaldimensionalitybutineverydirectionincluding
towardthepast,anditsalifeswork,
thisconcept,archivingthestructureofitallinyourhead
andinthespitcracksallovertheasphalt,
itseverywherelikeplastic,
deadbirdscriptureandthesign,
thesign,
thesign.

Thisisinthesyntax
inthestacking
up
ofwords.


SoIsay,myvoicerisinginthetextverypoliteIsayhaveyouspokenwithsomeoneaboutthisand
yousay
Imfine,andthe
text
snaps
shut.

WhenXtriedtokillhimselfIhappenedtobebrowsingtwitter.Iknewtherewassomethingwrongbecausehedidntpunctuate,hedidnt
capitalize.Thisisaguyinhisfortieshisgrammarishardwired,thisslippageislikeslurredspeech,badhandwriting.

lastmeal
hewrote,alllowercase,nofullstop.

Xareyouok?Inadirectmessage.

Itstoolatehesays.Hesusingtypos,notthecutealtlittyposofphoneticabbreviationthatshowthishealthydisdainforimperiallanguage.The
accelerationofthings.Itacceleratedfast.

HowdiditcomethenthatIfoundmyselflaterthatnightontheactualtelephone,talkingthisnearstrangeroutofswallowingthepillshed
massedupwashedbackwiththewhiskeyhedkilledahalfbottleofalready?

Laterhesaid:ithadtobeyou,Iknewyouwouldknow.

Andthisisthekindofthingonesayswhentheyfindthemselvesupamongit
closeandintimate
atthejaggededgeandwetmouth
ofthanatos
staringintothevoidisasortoffreedom,almosterotic.


But
I
did
know.

Andyouknow,ofcourse,whethersomeoneyoumessageonokcupidwilleverbesomeonetounderstandyouyouknowthissomewhere,
evenifyouliketheirpics,evenifyoutalkforhours.Thebodyisallthroughthetext.Theresnothingmorerevealing,moreintimate,than
workingonatextwithsomeoneingoogledocsandwatchingthebodyofyourcollaboratortype.Likesex,

likedancing.Theresarhythm.Thehesitation,thefeint,
thesleight,theflood.


WhenIthoughtofintimacy,IthoughtimmediatelyofXandhowIhappenedtobeonlinethatnight.

Xisstillalivewerenotintouch.
Ill let ghosts be ghosts and I wont tell the whole story here, but if
our ghosts hadnt met that night out inthebusytransithalloftwitter,
I believe that X would be dead. Intimacy without proximity is
immediacy intimacy is erotic, contingent, a transgression of
protocol. Intimacy has a tendency to go beyond the body, eros
meets thanatos in the will to cross over, to meet the other, to
becomepartofsomethingorsomeoneelse.

I wanna end withanotherquotefromJeanLucNancy, forwhichImindebtedtomyfriendwhosinthe audiencethereandwhounlikemeisa

real scholar these days.Heturnedmeon toJeanLuc.Ifeellikethisquoteisprettymucheverything,couldvejustsaidthisandleftitatthat, but
IhadtobulkitoutabitsoIlljustlethimsummarizetheconditionofintimacyinvirtuality,orinwhatIliketocall
ghostmodernity.

Heregoes.

Thisarealbody,
thisvideobody,
thisclearscreenbody,is

thegloriousmaterialityofwhatiscoming.

Whatiscoming
happenstoapresencethathasnttakenplace,
andwonttakeplaceelsewhere,
andisneitherpresent,norrepresentable,outsideofwhatiscoming.

Thus,thecomingitselfneverends,
itgoesasitcomes,

itsacomingandgoing,
arhythmofbodiesbeingborn,
dying,open,
closed,delighting,
suffering,beingtouched,
swerving.

Gloryistherhythm,ortheplasticity,ofthispresencelocal,necessarilylocal.

JD2015