Cool Memories 12

 Cool Memories 12

By Jean Baudrillard 布希亞

Translated by Springhero 雄伯


   The curvature of things is their only memorable aspect, but you never see it. There are really no forms of speculation, one of which excludes all forms of memory and objective signification.



   All the objects, places and faces that are so much a part of us that they intensify our loneliness and we are forced to love them because there will be no others after them. They have involuted into us and we into them; they have created around us the optical illusion of everyday life. At most they are capable, like a mirror, of inverting the symmetry of our lives.



  It is quite some time now since all spectacles crashed through the stupefaction barrier. What could be funnier than these armies, which for thirty years have been training on the spot, in the empty space of war? This is the perfect example of simulation, the prototype of a species which has attained perfection in its pointless attributes and which dreams, at great expense, of its virtual destruction ( which is, at its happens, thoroughly unlikely).



   All individual strains of melody are drowned out by the bass continuo, in which a beat grows stronger, a heartbeat nearing the point of collapse. The inner squinting at one’s feelings has now given way to an intent concern with inner sounds, the sounds of the body, like a perpetual tom-tom on tape.



   Revenge? Revenge? Everything comes back by itself, very precisely; and revenge confuses it ‘ ( Elias Canetti)

   報復?報復?每樣事件都自食惡果,屢試不爽,報復跟它混淆不清。(Elias Canetti


   The same goes for passion: the attraction of beings and things, their violent and material inclination, is so inescapable that passion only confuses matters. And truth? Truth itself only complicates the workings of the mind.



   The immateriality of signs is alien to me, as it is to a race of peasants with whom I share an obsessional morality, a sluggishness, a stupid, ancestral belief in the real. In reality, I am one of them.



   The simulation hypothesis is merely a maximalist position. The seduction hypothesis is merely a formal abstraction. It is the phantom of seduction which obsesses me—as for the rest, I have never managed anything other than to let myself be seduced. And this is quite alright: all the rest is merely destructive, moral passion.



   The seducing monk dreams of Manichean tension between the sign and the real as the most sublime form of morality. Only from time to time, the earth-shattering, hypothetical union of the two…Even then, the beauty of the violent resolution eludes him.



   Faith and fury first attack the impossibility of believing; they attack signs. Annihilating the world as sign, in order to make it an object of belief.



   The people vehement, the beasts silent, the sky grey and luminous. Land of bucolic deceit and wretchedness. The sea does not make the same sound here at night as it does in the West, and this land’s festivals are dictated by the moon—that soft roe of a moon—which is like the virile, suffering ideality of Islam.



   Animals maintain the nomadic way of life in the very heart of domesticity, Motionless, in their thousands, on the sandy slopes, the arid pasturelands. Yet, animals know no boundaries. The sterile, patriarchal expanses are their world. It is they who order the world of men.




Cool Memories by Jean Baudrillard 布希亞

Translated by Springhero 雄伯


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