F.lux and 2019 - Crack Key For U

19.08.2021 3 Comments

f.lux and 2019  - Crack Key For U

Four key steps control glycolytic flux in mammalian cells. 04 Feb 2019. No photo pptogenetic stimulation glycolysis via Ras activation; and 3. UL38-induced metabolic flux activation is mTOR independent. The HCMV UL38 protein interacts with and inhibits TSC2, a key mTOR regulator. If you need support with installation or a licence key is not working please contact the ISD Service Desk. ## AA BB CC DD EE FF GG HH II JJ KK LL MM NN OO.

F.lux and 2019 - Crack Key For U -

No Linear F*cking Time

No Linear F*cking Time* is an exhibition with gatherings, an online publication, and a symposium that unsettle dominant temporalities and model alternate forms of livable time.    

Contributors to the exhibition and program include: John Berger with Mike Dibb and Chris Rawlence, Hemali Bhuta, Pauline Boudry and Renate Lorenz, Simone Fattal, Femke Herregraven, Tehching Hsieh, Jumana Manna, Claudia Martínez Garay, Vibeke Mascini, Jean Katambayi Mukendi, Yuri Pattison, Antonio Paucar, Rita Ponce de León, Susan Schuppli, Sissel Tolaas, and Antonio Vega Macotela, among others.   

Convened by BAK’s curator of public practice Rachael Rakes with artist-interlocutors Femke Herregraven, Jumana Manna, and Claudia Martínez Garay, as well as writer Amelia Groom, the project calls upon a wide range of practitioners who examine and embody alternate scales, rhythms, and conceptions of temporal experience in order to explore how looking and working beyond linear, progressive, and globally-synchronized time can contribute to a more plurally-determined and sustainable existence. The project explores concepts such as “deep time,” “seed time,” “ancestral time,” “cyclical time,” “local time,” “crip time,” “queer time,” and “non-human time” in order to imagine escapes from the programmatic movement of capitalist modernity toward ostensibly inevitable catastrophe. 

No Linear F*cking Time aims to isolate the abstract, progressive conception of time in terms of its fundamental role in colonization, exploitation, and cultural flattening, and its foreclosure of equities and agencies for a range of cultures and beings. When time is seen instead as the co-extant unfolding of relations, sensitivities might be honed toward other avenues of the possible. The project posits that just as time has been a homogenizing imperial force, the rethinking of time can be a key function of anti-colonial presents.

The artists in the project each deal with critical conceptions of time in their own work, through drawing, painting, formed and found objects, machines, documentary and moving image practice, and a variety of creative visual and textual speculations. Artist-interlocutors Herregraven, Manna, and Martínez Garay present newly-commissioned work and also act as co-researchers and programmers, participating in convening events and bringing the broader field of theirs and related research together. Alongside them are several practitioners whose works are presented in the exhibition through discursive and performative events. Three projects unfold additionally in off-site Utrecht locations in 2022, in collaboration with artists Mascini, Schuppli, and Tolaas, and partner organizations including Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht and others.

Accompanying the exhibition and public program is the latest focus of BAK’s online research platform, Prospections, co-edited with Amelia Groom, featuring newly commissioned texts, archival resources, interviews, and artistic contributions from and with Black Quantum Futurism, Walidah Imarisha, Elizabeth Freeman, JJJJJerome Ellis, Adriana Knouf, Jason Allen-Paisant, Marianne Shaneen, Timur Si-Qin, and Joel Spring, among others. Finally, a culminating symposium takes place in April 2022.

Opening on Friday, December 3, 2021, 5–9pm, including a roundtable discussion with artists Femke Herregraven, Jumana Manna, Claudia Martínez Garay, Rita Ponce de León, and Antonio Vega Macotela. (Free) registration is required, register here. Please note that it is mandatory to show a “Coronatoegangsbewijs” (Corona entry pass) combined with a valid ID card at the door. Also, please be aware that the program is subject to change, depending on the latest official Covid-19 measures in the Netherlands.

The opening program is also livestreamed via BAK’s website and Facebook page.

*The title No Linear F*cking Time derives from a piece of graffiti which was found in Oakland, California at the time of the Black Lives Matter protests in 2020. First shared by Esmat Elhalaby on Twitter, it read “No Cops No Jails No Linear F*cking Time,” and quickly became viral, and has since been widely shared via other online media.

The realization of this project has been made possible with the financial support of the Dutch Ministry of Education, Culture, and Science; the City of Utrecht; and Stichting Zabawas, The Hague.

BAK’s main partner in the field of education and research is HKU University of the Arts Utrecht, Utrecht.

    Источник: https://www.e-flux.com/announcements/413003/no-linear-f-cking-time/
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  • Источник: https://www.macdermidalpha.com/assembly-solutions/products/flux

    A novel 3-dimensional graphene-based membrane with superior water flux and electrocatalytic properties for organic pollutant degradation

    W. Wang, C. Xie, L. Zhu, B. Shan, C. Liu and F. Cui, J. Mater. Chem. A, 2019, 7, 172 DOI: 10.1039/C8TA07976E

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    Источник: https://pubs.rsc.org/en/content/articlelanding/2019/ta/c8ta07976e

    Judgment tips: 9 essential things you need to know before you play

    So you fancy yourself as Kamurocho’s answer to Sherlock Holmes? Or are you eyeing up Judgment tips to help Takayuki Yagami stay one stefcp ahead of the Yakuza universe’s hive of scum and serial killers? There’s plenty you need to know before you even think about becoming a master detective in this Yakuyza spin off. From new combat tips, to earning a fair chunk of yen in the first few hours and even some help on finding some feline friends, here are nine Judgment tips you can’t do without in the game’s opening chapters.

    1. Heal Mortal Wounds

    Even Yakuza vets might be a little taken aback by the new Mortal Wounds feature. If Yagami gets shot, stabbed, or hit by a boss’ signature attack (which always comes during a boss’ second phase), he’ll have part of his health bar permanently reduced. The only way to get you back fighting fit is to find a doctor. However, it can be hard to track him down – at least at first.

    Midway through Chapter 2, though, you’ll bump into a homeless man who is a little worse for wear. You’ll eventually be directed to the Children’s Park in the north of Kamurocho. Head there, enter the manhole, and you’ll eventually find the city’s doctor who can fully heal you for 20,000 yen. Crucially, you’ll now be able to buy some Medical Kits to help fix Mortal Wounds on the go.

    Always stock up

    Judgment has a nasty habit of throwing you into gauntlets of fights when you least expect it. To help ward off a brutal beatdown, you’re going to need to have several recovery items handy at all times. Early on, your best course of action is to head to any Poppo convenience store on your map.

    Once there, be sure to grab as many Toughness and Stamina items as possible. Filling up on Sushi Sets is also a good idea as you can carry 10 of these as opposed to just three Toughness bottles.

    Also, if a character asks you during a Story Mission if you’re ‘ready’ to go somewhere, that’s a surefire sign that a massive combat section, and possibly a hard-as-nails boss, is on its way. Go in prepared.

    Make money fast

    Unlike other games in the Yakuza series, it’s not always simple to get your hands on some much-needed cash early on. In fact, Yagami mentions how broke he is on several occasions during the game’s story.

    But you don’t have to cheap out if you don’t want to. The easiest way to get money during the first couple of hours is to have a Yakuza save game on your PS4. If you’ve got one, go on over to the Yagami Detective Agency and check your mailbox outside. You’ll find a cool 50,000 yen to get started.

    Elsewhere, a good money-making exercise involves Side Cases, which (eventually) open up to the player during Chapter 2. Keep checking the board in your office for more of these missions, which often involve six-figure rewards for very little effort.

    Get the Wall Jump Finisher

    With dozens of skills and abilities to spend your hard-earned XP on, it can be tricky to figure out which ones are essential and which can be consigned to Yagami’s mobile phone recycle bin forever. One must-have ability, though, is the Wall Jump Finisher. The game points you in its direction early on – and with good reason. 

    If you buy the Finisher through the pause menu’s Skills page, you’ll not only be able to run up walls and come flying at enemies with a forearm – which makes you nigh-on impossible to hit – it also has the useful effect of sapping the morale of enemies. If you see a purple cloud around their faces, you’ll know you’re inside their heads. They’ll be stunned for a few seconds, allowing you to hit a crunching combo.

    Hear a cat meowing? You’re not going crazy 

    If you play Judgment for more than 10 minutes, the chances are you’ll hear a meowing sound during the game’s investigation sequences. Yes, it’s incredibly annoying – but you can make it stop. It even ties into one of the game’s more interesting Friend Events.

    While there’s nothing you can do about it in the game’s first six or so hours, you’ll eventually have the chance to head to Nakamichi Alley. Once there, you will be able to spot a man in an orange tracksuit named Masakuza Nekomiya. He will get you started on a quest to hunt down cats.

    So, back to the meowing sound. From this point onwards, every time you hear a cat cry out, it means there’s a stray cat in the area just waiting to be photographed. You’ll get a small amount of XP for it, the noise will stop, and, most importantly, it’ll stop you tearing your hair out.

    Try out Drone Races

    There are plenty of side activities to take part in away from the murky murder cases of Judgment. Among the most fun are the brand-new Drone Races. The game turns into a mini Wipeout clone of sorts, complete with its own set of tracks and opponents.

    You can find material on the streets to help upgrade your drone. It makes walking round town a lot more fun and also helps turn Drone Races from a pretty interesting distraction into one of the all-time best Yakuza minigames, right up there with the life-consuming Cabaret activities from Yakuza 0. Well worth a try – even if it doesn’t seem that way at first.

    Give a damn about your Reputation

    The game doesn’t really explain its Reputation mechanic all that well, which can be annoying as it technically locks you out of certain side missions until you increase it.

    To improve your Reputation, you need to take on Friend Events (marked by a greyed out smiley face on your map) as well as certain Side Cases. Once you’ve maxed out the Friend Meter by completing a given task, you’ll gain one reputation point, which will help Yagami unlock more and more content. That includes some of the tougher and more intriguing Side Cases that can be found by speaking to the bartender at… Bar Tender. Yes, that’s its real name.

    The best combat moves: Flux Fissure and Rising Tornado 

    Before you do anything else in Judgment, you need to increase Flux Fissure to the max, as well as picking up the Rising Tornado move on the combat tab in the Skills page. They’re among the best abilities in Judgment.

    Flux Fissure, which can be pulled off in the Tiger fighting style after holding down Square during a combo, can deal large amounts of damage when fully upgraded. Even better, it can even break boss guards, knocking them off their feet, allowing you to get an extra combo or two in.

    Rising Tornado, meanwhile, is the best recovery move in the game. Usually when you’re knocked down, you’ll have to mash X to (slowly) return to your feet. Rising Tornado does away with all that: One simple tap of Triangle sends you windmilling towards enemies, attacking them with lightning-fast speed.

    Visit Poppos early in the game for easy XP 

    We mentioned Reputation earlier, and there’s actually a super easy way to not only increase that, but also to get a large chunk of XP to help upgrade Yagami’s skills and abilities. Head to any and every Poppo shop you can find and talk to the employee behind the tills.

    That’ll kick off a Friend Event. Then all you need to do is spend a few thousand yen on random items in-store to max out their Friend Meter. That’ll net you a Record, one Reputation level, and 500 XP – which is the equivalent of beating a late-game boss. A trip to two different Poppo stores, for example, should get you enough XP to increase your health within the first 20 minutes.

    I'm the Entertainment Writer here at GamesRadar+, focusing on news, features, and interviews with some of the biggest names in film and TV. On-site, you'll find me marveling at Marvel and providing analysis and room temperature takes on the newest films, Star Wars and, of course, anime. Outside of GR, I love getting lost in a good 100-hour JRPG, Warzone, and kicking back on the (virtual) field with Football Manager. My work has also been featured in OPM, FourFourTwo, and Game Revolution.

    Источник: https://www.gamesradar.com/judgment-tips-game/

    Trap Metaphysics

    Supposing truth is a woman—what then?

    —Frederika Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

    We’re at lunch in a Manhattan restaurant, seated at sidewalk tables. Everyone around us looks like they work in the information trades in some way or another. There are a couple of bros in suits peering at a spreadsheet on a laptop, but otherwise everyone is casually fashionable. Even the straight-acting cis men sport signature eyewear. Nearly all the patrons are white—or white-acting.

    As are we, you and I. In a lot of ways, we fit right in. We have steady jobs in the information trades. Like the people around us, we’re dressed with a certain level of professional intentionality. No business attire for us—we’re not management. We’re creative types. But not too creative, at least not in the workplace. We’re not like those suits with their spreadsheet, but neither are we the woman alone at the bar in clashing colors who we speculate is a fashion blogger.

    Service is slow, and we’ve both downed our first cocktail already, so we play the Crisp Game. I learned it from a brief encounter with the legendary Quentin Crisp, the former sex worker turned writer and performer. To play, we put our senses to work, read the other patrons, and tell each other stories about which of them has been fucked in the ass, and by whom.

    “The first one’s too easy! That one’s a chaser, already gave me the eye. Chaser who wants a trans girl to pop a dick pill to fuck him. And won’t pay for it.”

    “That one is getting pegged on the regular by a cis woman—not his wife.”

    “That one, well, gay bottom. Obvious. We know, honey, we know!”

    “That one, but he only did it in college.”

    “That one puts out for her boyfriend, but she doesn’t like it.”

    “T-girl bottom wisdom: never let anyone fuck you in the ass who has not themselves been fucked in the ass—and enjoyed it.”

    “You should tweet that.”

    So it goes, until our food arrives. The Crisp Game lets us mark ourselves off from our cis peers. It creates a little trans-for-trans space of communication, just for the two of us. It’s a self-defense for the inevitable moments in which the tolerance we have been so graciously extended reveals its limits, as it does, every fucking day.

    This game is also a reminder. Nobody is what they appear. Well, of the two of us, I’m more of the easily clockable kind. You are so much closer to the model of feminine beauty. Have to be, to keep your dysphoria from ruining your life.

    Like most trans women, we have appraised each other from the point of view of some model of feminine form. Everything I can see about you is beauty, but the one thing I know that you feel doesn’t pass is your hands. You wear no rings, have clear lacquered nails. My nails are purple with sparkles, and I wear the big silver fly ring Kathy Acker gave me. My hands are about the only thing that does pass.

    One corner of our friendship rests on my wanting to be seen in public with you because of your elegance. Also: your willingness to be seen with me even though it means that because of me you’ll get clocked. This generosity affirms your strength of character as a trans woman, which is gratifying in itself, and is a gift to me, the awkward stepsister.

    Not much is going to happen to us, today at least, even if the cis sniff us out. Privilege—particularly as white New Yorkers with excellent manners—lets us do this. We can be out as tranny freaks and be insulted or scorned by the world we move in—but not beaten or killed (probably).

    We talk about this. “I’ve still been called a trap,” you say.

    “Me too. And this is what’s strange: even an obvious trans woman such as me gets called a trap. The cis who call us that think the essence of our being is nothing more than a failure to deceive them.”

    “If trans women are traps, it’s because everyone is,” you declare.

    “Oh really? How do you arrive at that?”

    “Nobody is ever quite what they appear. Take the Crisp Game we just played. Our surmises could be wildly off.”

    “It’s more fun that way,” I interject.

    “… But there’s always something. Maybe suit-guy over there,” you gesture with your clockable hand, “isn’t getting pegged—but instead has a stash of shemale porn.”

    “There’s always a gap between the representation and what it presents. That’s how all communication works,” I declare.

    “What does that mean?” Well, you asked for it. We’re going to play the Theory Game. Since we’re settling in, you order more drinks.

    “There’s always a difference between the sign of the thing and the thing itself. How I appear isn’t all of me. A representation is always different from the thing it represents. Perception always has an element of deception.”

    “There’s something rather irksome, but also delicious, about that,” you say, with a glint in your eye.

    “Particularly in an economy that runs on signs.” I guess at where your saucy bent will take this game, but I’m in a more philosophical mood. “Judging by their appearances, all the patrons in this restaurant looks like they work with signs and do pretty well at it. Everyone looks prosperous, successful, capable. It’s unlikely that they all are.”

    “That girl’s shoes, for example,” you tilt your hand to guide my eye again. Cracked leather, worn heel.

    I can play this game, too. “That one over there, leaning in, a bit too overeager—is asking for money.” Not everyone is here, as we are, at leisure. There’s a lot of hustling going on.

    “Everyone is always concealing something,” you say. Maybe you’re onto my less-than-frank dishing from my own recent adventures. It’s not like I’ll tell this gossipy bitch everything.

    “We’re always differing from the signs we make. It might be a specifically Western-culture kind of hang-up, but there’s a nervousness about this gap between sign and thing.”

    “Which is why they,” you gesture at the cis around us, “want to stick it to trans women—as traps.”

    “In Plato’s philosophy” (I’m getting pretentious and I know it, but you like it when I play the Theory Game, and it will seduce you away from what I’m not telling you about my life), “it’s not just that the sign of the thing falls short of the thing itself. The thing itself also falls short, in turn, of the pure idea or form of the thing. Behind appearances are things. But things, too, are just a kind of mere appearance: behind things are their forms. These cannot be touched, or tasted, or seen. They are knowable only to thought itself.”

    “But who cares about Plato?” You dismiss him with a wave.

    “Well, Nietzsche saw what was up with Platonism and its influence on Western thought. He called Christianity ‘Platonism for the masses.’ In Christianity too, appearances are suspect—are now the work of the devil. Actual things are not to be trusted either, particularly if those things are bodies. These are corrupt flesh, condemned to die. What is real is something, once again, invisible, untouchable—pure spirit. If spirit refuses to be corrupted by appearances or by the pleasures of the flesh, it can join God in eternity.”

    “So, have you been having any pleasure of the flesh lately … with anyone I know?” You are on to me, I suspect. So I better try to hold your attention by throwing a conversational curveball.

    “Secular Western culture inherited a residue of Platonism via Christianity. Even some kinds of Marxists imagine a world of false appearances. For them, it’s capitalism. The overthrow of capitalism restores ‘man’ to the possibility of an authentic life: no more advertising, good riddance to fashion, and bye-bye to alienation. Man is restored to himself as himself.”

    “Men. Hmph. I don’t know what I see in them.” I’ve distracted you from the distraction. I’ll have to get us back on track. I have a preference for trans women, you for trans men. Our gossip crosses party lines between trans universes.

    “I said ‘man’ here intentionally, because what these Marxists find suspect has a certain femininity to it. On the one hand, the feminine gets too close to the world of commodities through the desire to appear pretty. On the other, femininity, as a handful of signs for sex, beauty, and youth, is deployed deceptively to sell products.”

    “It’s hard to be soft, to be femme. People think there’s nothing firm there, that they can just push us around.” This, I know, is a subject upon which you’ve made yourself an authority, one from which I’ve much to learn.

    “In all these versions of Platonism, it’s the femme that’s most suspect, where femme might stand for all the signs and attributes of femininity that point to their bearer being a woman. To have started life with M stamped willy-nilly on our birth certificates, to transition—at some moment or other, to some point outside of masculinity—is then extra suspect. The femme is that which deceives, but ‘woman,’ ironically enough, in all these Western discourses, deceives about everything but itself.

    “You say I deceive about everything but myself?” You pretend to be offended, but I can see from that little smile that you like this idea.

    “Femme signs supposedly deceive about a lot of things, but not about the fact of the womanhood of those who produce such signs.”

    “Nobody accuses a cis femme of not being a woman,” you add, crossly. The gap between them and you is, I know, a sensitive subject. I think before I speak, but I want to press you a little further. “This is what is different about the figure of the transsexual woman in this Platonist universe. It is not a femininity deceiving about something else. It is deceptive about femininity. In cis metaphysics, you and I are a special kind of deceiver.”

    “So … we’re not women who as women are deceivers, we are deceivers about being women at all. Sort of like double deceivers? Super-femmes!” You crack us both up.

    “Precisely. You see, previously there was what’s true, which is Plato’s ‘idea’; and two fallen states, short of what’s true, which are the thing; and then even more fallen—the representation. The idea embodies truth for the Platonist. God and communism do it for Christians and Marxists, respectively. What is true is identical to itself. It allows no gap between itself and any aspect of itself. It is incapable of making a mere sign of itself. It is pure—and unrepresentable.”

    You get your faraway look, and say, to the air more than to me: “Sometimes I feel like the woman I’m trying to be is an impossible idea. That no matter how much I try to be her, already am her really, the farther away it seems. I think it hurts us, your Platonist idea of woman, and not just us. All those cis feminists who hate us struggle with her too.”

    “Yes!” I hadn’t thought of this part. “They have to hate us as bad simulacra of the idea of ‘woman’ so they don’t have to deal with their own failure as representatives of that idea.”

    “It’s a hierarchy, a chain of being, from most to least, where we’re always at the bottom.” I can see that look of yours that signals a low mood. I have to get on to the crux of this argument, the part that for us invokes a T4T world of possibility. That’s the objective of this game: to arrive at ourselves, at our existence, by making the weaker case appear the stronger.

    I launch another move: “Okay, so this is also how a certain brand of feminism thinks about the figure of woman. She just is. There’s hand-waving about biological chromosomes, but those are things that are outside the everyday realm of human perception. Woman is a Platonic ideal that ‘real’ women just embody by default as variations upon perfection. They then inevitably join misogynists in their distrust of femme signs as deception, and the trap as the lowest deceiver of all.”

    “That’s fucked up,” you say.

    “Agreed. In this Platonic world, no sensible thing can do justice to the pure realm of the true. No readable representation can do justice even to things, let alone to the pure and true idea. Instead, appearances are seducing you: away from philosophy in Plato, away from God in Christianity, away from revolution in Marxism, away from the essence of woman in feminism. In all cases, these appearances get coded all too often as femme. It’s men who have reason, faith, the power to exclude from purity, revolutionary fidelity.”

    “Or, oddly enough, feminists who claim such Platonic big-dick energy by holding the line against us traps.”

    “Yes. Femme signs are suspect, but not suspected of pointing to their bearer being anything other than a woman. Then: along come you and me. We’ve fallen even below the most fallen. We are as far as you can get from the pure idea.”

    “We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are falling through the grate.”

    “We are far from even the imperfect embodiment of the idea in a thing. We are not the even more imperfect embodiment of the thing or idea in a representation. In this metaphysics, you are not even that which truly makes deceptive signs with my femininity. You are deceptively making deceptive signs—as a trap.”

    “Fuck you too, hun.”

    “Hear me out, bb. You at least get to be a trap. I’m not even that. I am the figure who fails to make the deceptive signs of womanhood, a comical failure. You are the trap who succeeds, who is a dangerous deceiver. The Platonic order of things makes me the failed version of you, while you are the failed version of the cis body, who is the failed version of the ideal.”

    “Why do we buy into this stupid hierarchy where we’re always on the bottom!” This is irritating you. My play is that it will be irritating in a useful way.

    “It’s such a temptation among trans women to buy into this hierarchy of signs, to rank ourselves against each other. You are my friend and dear to me because you refuse that. We both know what I am. I’m a brick. But you wouldn’t call me that—not to my face, at least.”

    “I would never call you that!” I believe you. You’re touching my hand. I’m going to cry.

    “It doesn’t matter. I really don’t care that I’m a brick. A lump of burnt dirt formed into shape—with feet of clay, women’s size nine.” Runway model size, handy for shopping at sample sales. I’m suddenly aware that you’re as sensitive about your feet as your hands. I didn’t mean to be catty. “Anyway, the only difference between us is the threshold of possible discovery. My picture on a dating app fools nobody. That chaser-guy over there,” I wave a slender finger, “giving me the eye knows I’m a tranny and is hoping there’s girldick under this Gogo Graham skirt.”

    “Well he’s got that right.”

    “Whereas you have found yourself in dangerous situations, particularly with men who are interested in you before they clock you, or before you decide—or not—to disclose.” I’m touching your hand now. I know those stories. I know this is hard. “There are special punishments for the trap. Hence cis men can still avoid conviction for killing us in most American states. If they want to fuck us, and declare their desire, and only then find out we’re a trap—they can kill us. We fall that low in the scheme of things that approximate the true.”

    “We’re disposable. Not even things. Trash to them.” Your carefully coached voice cracks with restrained rage. We touch each other’s hands for a moment. Make eye contact. Then look away.

    A wave of feeling too intense to acknowledge passes over us and abates. When I feel the moment has passed, I take up the conversational play again. “There’s something inherently conservative in all these versions of what we might rather casually label ‘Western metaphysics.’ Who decides on what is closest or furthest from the pure and true?”

    “Not your transsexual ass, or mine!” You say it a little too loudly, a little too drunkenly, and not quite with your girl voice. Fashion blogger looks our way.

    “This is why the Crisp Game is so delicious. We turn the cis gaze back on itself.”

    Your mood brightens a little: “I just like to play it with you for shits and giggles.”

    “Suit-guy thinks he gets to pass judgment on us. And he did, with that classic glance-and-glare. The glance is attracted by something: maybe my long, straight, bare thigh. Maybe your gorgeous tits.”

    “I do have gorgeous tits …” Looking at them, I concede this with a smile. I know where they stop and padding fills in the rest, from that time I took your bra off at that rave—but we never talk about that.

    I pick up the thread again: “But then suit-guy clocks me, and we get the glare. It says: You wasted a second of my life in which I might have eye-banged you, and you turn out to be nothing but a filthy transsexual, whose sight disgusts me. Or worse: attracts and disgusts me. We play our little game as we know that everyone has secrets.”

    You fill in the line of thought for me. “Everyone is a trap; nobody’s gaze is authoritative. Not even that suit-guy.”

    “As it stands, to be a transsexual woman is to be the scapegoat of an order of representation in which someone has to be held accountable for the failure of signs to be adequate to things. In the cis world, we’re comprehensible only as the lowest kind of deceivers. To the cis, we are choosing to be female. But who would choose that? So we must be traps, deceivers. We are even-worse things in the world.”

    “Cheers to that!” You have decided we are to get hammered and order another round.

    “Compared to most of our kind, we hold on to a few privileges, you and I. Since no one dares to use the word ‘class,’ let’s use polite words: ‘socioeconomic advantage.’ Your tech job and my teaching job will pay for our talents, and we can walk into a restaurant where the servers will assume that our credit cards at least are valid—”

    “You’re getting the check, right?”

    “—and yet we are still seen as a lesser kind of being by many of these other diners around us, including some who would likely patronize us with the muggy embrace of their liberal acceptance. They feel like they stand in the position of authority, as representatives of the idea of gender, gifting us our humanity.”

    “Fuck that!”

    “Fuck that!” I raise my glass to your glass. Clink. “There’s something suspect about taking intangible ideal forms of anything as the most real, including ideas of gender. I’d rather delight in the tangible play of appearances than buy into this whole hierarchy of truth and being, that places us at the bottom. Nietzsche was wrong about more than a few things, but—”

    “He was an egg,” you interject. Detecting eggs is one of your other favorite games. “He didn’t just want to write like a woman, he was one. He just hated the kind of woman that men oblige women to be.”

    “Becoming woman, as he only dreamt, but as we attempt, is to escape the hierarchy of the true and the false.”

    “To do otherwise is just boring,” you say. “It’s to just take the order of things for granted.”

    “Seeing appearances as the shortcomings of a prior state of true being is indeed boring, I agree.“ Warmed by the drinks, I’m warming to my theme. “Let’s work the surfaces, change the signs, fashion the possibility of a kind of being to come! We are not fallen imitations of cisters. We are prototypes of the bio-hacked beings to come! We add to the range of things that humans already edit about their bodies. We do it with the latest techniques, the latest information, in all fields. We are among the avant-garde of possible future humans. What if a world existed that could answer to the desires of our bodies?”

    “I want to live in that world.”

    I’m drunk and on a roll: “Maybe that’s utopian. In the meantime, girls like us pursue an irrepressible desire to transition, to bend information and technique to finding forms in which we might abide. Maybe that’s another reason we become scapegoats. Trans people make themselves over, in the here and now, as bodies, not ideas. And we do it together. We make another little world, tenuous and compromised and fractious as it is—inside and yet apart from the cis world. They think they know our little secret, but we have information about being that they will never know.”

    “Speaking of secrets, didn’t I see you with what’s-her-name last night at the Bluestockings reading? What the fuck?”

    I was hoping to distract you from that. “Our secret is that there isn’t one. We don’t know anything about the true, hidden nature of gender and neither do the cis. All trans girls have is the evidence of our dysphoric senses and a will to create a femininity with which to live. And it’s better if we do it together.”

    “Your whole theory is to explain to yourself why you think trans girls are hot.”

    “Maybe,” I concede. “But it could be something else as well. Maybe what I’m talking about is our femmunism.”

    “Our what?”

    “Our femmunism. Not a communism, premised on a truth to come once the false, alienated commodified world is overthrown. Our femmunism: a world of appearances made real, in the here and now, signaling possibilities to each other. A T4T that’s not all fucks and fights and inevitable disappointments. That’s made together knowing only that we have nothing in common. That the nothing is what’s common, or what’s femmon, rather.”

    “You lost me there, but I like it.”

    “The common, the community, communication, communism, all derive from the munus, which to the Romans was both a gift and a burden, a favor and an obligation, both public works and spectacle. Rather than what’s co-munus, the shared as if it was universal, I’m talking about what’s fe-munus, just between us. Not the abstract, timeless public sphere that is supposedly for all but really just for cis white men …”

    “Oh, I see what you did: you’re saying the liberal notion of the ideal public sphere and its model speech acts is a Platonist universal masking the particulars of a commonality that excludes us …”

    “You caught me out. Instead of which a femmunism without governing ideals, that is sensual, actual, particular.”

    “Kiki as utopia,” you say, in an almost dreamy tone.

    “It’s self-centered, because it makes us the best thing in the world. The trans woman as the femme who is the false maker of the false. Truth as a woman. We are those whose unbidden desires make everything. And to the extent that everyone turns their desires into signs of something other than an approximation to a nonexistent ideal, not only is everyone femme, everyone is a trans woman. Everyone is a trap. The only difference is that we know it. We’re ahead of the game!”

    “You’re so pretty when you go off like that,” you tease.

    “‘Pretty’ is an interesting word. The pretty is different to the beautiful.”

    “If you’re fishing for compliments, I can say you look beautiful.”

    “I’m not fishing, but I like to be pretty. Pretty, not beautiful. It’s not that the pretty is different to the beautiful in degree, as if it was further from an ideal, had lesser being. It’s different in kind.”

    “Aha! Platonism again! It’s like your game today is to show that everything has the same metaphysics, where there’s a form or idea, that’s what’s really true and everything falls short of it by degrees.”

    “You twigged to my little game,” I concede. “Trap metaphysics. But let me put in a word for this other way of being in the world, and why trans girls are already doing it, and know it, whether we know we know it, or not.”

    “Do tell.”

    “The word evolved from German and Dutch, from words that suggested the brisk, the clever, the tricky. Over centuries it became connected to femininity, to smallness, weakness, getting by on wits and wiles. To being crafty and to crafting appearances. Where beauty clads the pure form it approximates, the pretty can be a bit of a ruse, a decoy. The pretty is suspect in an era of commodity culture. It hides a defect.”

    “The defect that we’re traps. That while we can be bred, we can’t breed. No wombs.” You gesture to your own delightfully curved belly.

    “We’re traps for male desire. The ideal of womanhood we supposedly fake is a reproductive one. Platonist metaphysics is all about paternity. Copies are judged as more or less proximate progeny of a timeless idea. The illegitimate copy, transposed in from elsewhere, has to be detected and rejected. Fuck that though. What if what was pretty could lead desire astray in more interesting ways. Out of the reproduction of boredom. Toward forms of being that are no longer copies of an impossible, nonexistent original. Which are rather variations upon variations, a femmunism of experimental forms, whose existence attains being only in relation to each other. Let the sensuous tell us what is, and what’s possible. Well, that could be us, babe. That could be trans women. That could be our T4T world.”

    “What about trans men?”

    “I don’t know, hun. I leave it up to them to create their own T4T utopia. I expect you’ll find it if they do.”

    “What about nonbinaries?”

    “A nonbinary utopia is neither here nor there.”

    “Don’t tweet that.”

    “A nonbinary undoing of the Platonic metaphysics of the hierarchy of being would be different again. We can each have our own critique of the universality of Platonist metaphysics and our own particular universal alternative. Made in their here and now, out of whatever practice emerges out of the gap between our own being with each other and the world that denies that being.”

    “So your little game is that for trans women, we take the idea that we are traps and turn it inside out, to make not being a proper cis copy of some impossible ideal woman a positive value. What about cis women?”

    “We are living proof that it’s possible to be women without reference to the reproduction of an ideal of a woman. I think a lot of cis women want that too, even though some resist the possibilities we embody. But I am in a sneaky way making us trans women, not an ideal at all, but more like a possible avant-garde of another kind of femininity when we make our being together with reference only to each other.”

    “Speaking of trans women: I saw you leave the Bluestockings reading with that doll last night. You know the one. What the fuck, honey?”

    I catch the server’s eye and hastily gather the check.



    I really did meet Quentin Crisp, of all places at the Australian Consulate in New York, at a reception for the artist known as Pope Alice. We really did play the game. Later, he accompanied us to a Chinese restaurant and regaled us with stories and scarfed down a huge meal, until he went strangely silent and then threw the whole lot up. Pope Alice simply covered it with a tablecloth and asked for the check. His best-known book is Quentin Crisp, The Naked Civil Servant (Penguin Classics, 1997).


    See Jean-François Lyotard and Jean-Loup Thébaud, Just Gaming (University of Minnesota Press, 1985).


    See Byung-Chul Han, Shanzhai: Deconstruction in Chinese (MIT Press, 2017). But the problem of naming an outside to Western metaphysics is that it too often becomes its other and mirror image.


    The key work of Plato for media theory, and hence for this dialogue, is Phaedrus. See Plato, TheCollected Dialogues (Princeton University Press, 2005). See also Darren Tofts, Memory Trade (Craftsman House, 1998).


    This reading borrows freely, and not faithfully, from Gilles Deleuze, “Plato and the Simulacrum,” October, no. 102 (Winter 1983). All of the readings in this text are unfaithful, of course, to remain true to its method.


    Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, from the Preface.


    This is a potted version with some modifications of the Nietzchean critique of Marxism in Jean Baudrillard, The Mirror of Production (Verso, 2021) and Jean-François Lyotard, Libidinal Economy (Indiana University Press, 1993) and my own A Hacker Manifesto (Harvard University Press, 2004).


    On which see Ann K. Clark, “The Girl, a Rhetoric of Desire,” Cultural Studies 2, no. 2 (1987).


    Here I wonder if we can’t improve on Jay Prosser’s critique of Judith Butler in Second Skins: The Body Narratives of Transsexuality (Columbia University Press, 1998). The norms around which performances of gender oscillate, a copy without an original, nevertheless have as their strange attractor the negative of a Platonic idea or form.


    With apologies to Oscar Wilde. The original line is from Lady Windemere’s Fan, but The Decay of Lying is the more obvious influence on this essay. Both in The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Harper Perennial, 2008).


    Julia Serrano, Whipping Girl (Seal Press, 2007).


    “LGBTQ+ ‘Panic’ Defense,” National LGBT Bar Association, 2019 →.


    See Walter Benjamin, “Critique of Violence,” Selected Writings, vol. 1 (Harvard University Press, 1996). This text makes two points pertinent here. Firstly, that violence installs and affirms the law, so law alone won’t save us. Secondly, that in nonviolent forms of being together—Benjamin’s example is the conference—there is no sanction for lying. Which is extendable into the concept that there’s no idea regulating the nonviolent communal form that would require sanction.


    Susan Stryker, “My Words to Victor Frankenstein,” Gay Liberation Quarterly 1, no. 3 (1994). Stryker builds from the rage of feeling treated as monstrous to an affirmation of the monstrous. We are going to take a slightly different path here, starting from the figure of the trap rather than the monster.


    See Andrea Long Chu, Females (Verso, 2019). I’m rather turning the tables on sister Andrea, making being female the second-best thing in the world and being a trans woman the best thing in the world, as she who in actively shaping a response to the unbidden desire to transition can escape the order of truth and posit a new value.


    Willow Verkerk, Nietzsche and Friendship (Bloomsbury, 2019) has a rather more careful reading, informed by trans studies, of Nietzsche on gender.


    Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (University of Minnesota Press, 1987). Their figure of becoming-woman is an elaboration of Nietzsche by way of Judge Schreber.


    Susan Stryker, “Transgender Studies Today,” boundary2 online, August 20, 2014 →; Eva Hayward, “More Lessons from a Starfish,” Women’s Studies Quarterly 36, no. 4 (Fall–Winter 2008). Stryker’s concept of the cut as an edit to the body, further elaborated by Hayward, points towards an anti-Platonist metaphysics of the corporeal edit.


    Sheri Hoem, “Community and the ‘Absolutely Feminine,’” Diacritics 26, no. 2 (Summer 1996) picks up the thread of a game among the bros of postwar theory—Bataille, Blanchot, Nancy—as to what a community could even be that had nothing in common, and how Duras interrupts them. It’s maybe no accident that Kathy Acker was reading some of these texts at the time she was finishing Pussy, King of the Pirates (Grove Press, 1996)—a book which one could read as a theory of femmunism, of the being-together of femmes who approximate no idea, who do not police each other’s differences, who have nothing in femmon.


    See José Esteban Muñoz, Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity (NYU Press, 2019). The insufficiency of that utopia for trans women comes up via Muñoz’s treatment of Kevin Aviance, and the problem of femme expression in gay male spaces, where it might be better to say it is all too often concentrated into the figure of the drag performer so it can be disavowed. But rather than a critique of Muñoz, a differentiation, a different utopia, neither more nor less.


    See McKenzie Wark, “Femme as in Fuck you,” e-flux journal, no. 102 (September 2019) →.


    McKenzie Wark (she/her) teaches at The New School and is the author, most recently, of Capital is Dead (Verso, 2019), Reverse Cowgirl (Semiotext(e), 2020), and Philosophy for Spiders: On the Low Theory of Kathy Acker (Duke, 2021).

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    Источник: https://www.e-flux.com/journal/122/429125/trap-metaphysics/
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