By the North Sea

In more appropriate post-election news…

Robin has shared a trailer for his upcoming project By the North Sea — something he began working on with Mark Fisher back in 2001 which was never finished but which he’s been revisiting since Mark’s death back in 2017.

Robin sent me the audio from this last week as a fitting sign-off for the k-punk fundraiser. I first heard it at work and it bowled me over. I’m really glad he’s chosen to release it today. As Robin wrote on Twitter earlier, it’s “the Lemurian pluriversary of Mark Fisher’s death.” Every Friday the 13th, since January 13th 2017, has carried a strange power with it. More often than not, they end up being days when a k-punk post is desired more than anything.

Today is no exception, but Robin’s meditative trailer for channeling uttunal signal on the Suffolk coastline is the next best thing.

Election Goth

What is it to be a goth at election time? A winter general election certainly makes it easier. So does being a young adult who knows little other than austerity.

I’ve also never experienced an election result that went in my favour. That helps too.

I voted for the Liberal Democrats in 2010 — the first year I was eligible to vote — and that felt sort of good for about a month or so. But otherwise, post-election depression is a standard affair.

It’s not really the disappointment that’s the problem though — not on its own, anyway. Maybe being an election goth means there’s a way to own that disappointment and ride the wave of despair into some macabre masochistic pleasure. That’s what left melancholy is, isn’t it? Owning your defeat like it was tailor made for you to wear?

That’s the main reason I’m not an election goth though. Not by any measure. Let’s not forget what this blog is called and why. My problem is that, despite my aesthetic allegiances, I’m a perennial optimist. And that’s got nowt to do with echo chambers and confirmation bias. I’m just naturally hopeful about everything and, frankly, even after waking up at 4am this morning to see the result, I remain so.

Not for any reason. I’m of a naturally sunny disposition. I’m just infrequently mentally ill. Or bipolar maybe. Who knows. (I was laughing about this the other week. I met up with someone who met me offline first but is well-versed in these corners of the internet and, after a jovial meeting, they said they were always surprised by how cheery I was despite the more prominent online persona. “I respect the camouflage”, they said. I was glad to hear that someone gets it.)

This is why it was so odd to find myself lumped in with Nick Land’s glutinous “sipping on leftist tears” display, nuking my mentions from orbit, making Twitter an even less pleasant place to be first thing this morning. His response to shrugging it off was somewhat predictable (in that I didn’t know how to read it):

This post was already half written at that point and I post it anyway knowing that all I’m doing is risking more smug comments. But I’m not bothered. The fact is that, regardless of the result, Boris did have a shocker of a campaign. Even his media cronies struggled to get behind him as he tucked his Moggs and Cummingses out of sight and then tried to hide from the world himself. It speaks volumes that that observation would be so eagerly transformed into an excuse to gloat.

There were various tweets that followed about working class detachment, commie confirmation biasa few of those actually — and some truly bizarre feats of logic regarding political engagement but facts don’t care about your self-satisfied feelings, dumb reply guys… Because Boris did struggle. When you’ve got even Piers Morgan laughing at your miserable minders, surely that’s not a controversial opinion? Boris’s gaffs have defined this campaign as much as Miliband’s “tuss enuss” comment. That’s quantifiable cringe, irrespective of whether people voted for it or not.

I certainly don’t feel “owned” in my perpetually surprise that people will vote for their own repression. (Figuring out why they do is Deleuze & Guattari 101.)

It makes Nick’s invocation of Gnon in response a bit odd. An insinuation of the presence of some born-again affectations on my part? A perverse expression of fondness on his? A bit of both? (The latter feels most likely.)

Either way, no matter the scenario or the ridicule, I’m happy to be in the camp that thinks hoping for a certain outcome is fine. Doing what you can to bring about that result, at the level of parliamentary politics, is fine too. It’s what you do with the result. Isn’t that the way of Gnon? The way of U/Acc? Making yourself worthy of the things that happen to you?

(Side note: I found myself revisiting this old post on Nietzschean anti-praxis and post-capitalist Will this morning which feels like it should be read as a relevant pep talk on this point above… And while we’re here: let’s just nip in the bud this weird assumption that supporting U/Acc as a framework or whatever is apolitical. Stop equating yourselves with the systems you’re trying to describe. Thinking U/Acc will somehow make you omnipotently indifferent and immanent to capital is as much a God complex as L/R varieties fall into.)

But whatever, what does it all matter right now. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an incredibly shitty result and it’s going to be a wild ride from us all from here on out, but I’m not of the mind that that weirdness just started now as of this morning. It’s familiar. The silver lining — if there is one — is that it might be UK fragmentation time. Time to revisit old patchwork drafts, maybe, and that mammoth post I never finished on Tom Nairn’s Break-Up of Britain.

Before all that though, I want to affirm the real reason I’m struggling today. It’s less because of the election, more because I’m tired and hungover.

I spent the evening at a Christmas party last night with a wonderful bunch of people who invited me down for drinks. Laura Grace Ford, Col Self, Michelle Speidel, Majed Aslam, Simon Terrill. People I first met at the Acid Communism reading group over a year ago. People who spoke about communal support constantly and did all that they could to live it and become better at it. Not performatively for the sake of appearances but because they care about their friends and their well-being and appreciate the trouble a result like this can cause.

“No one gets to isolate themselves!” was Laura’s defiant response when I merely joked about the prospect of misery-to-come on arrival last night. I was glad for it on the bus home though. Pep talks from Laura in particular are like a political tetanus shot and have been since I met her. The left undoubtedly suffered a big defeat tonight — a defeat I personally didn’t want to see — but that doesn’t change my feelings about much of anything. I feel resilient in the face of change.

The lives we want to live have been denied at the level of the state and that’s nothing new but I’ll be doing what I can do live that life all the same. It’s real Thelema hours. “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.” That’s what I feel like the true post-election xenogoth vibe is.

Mall Goth III: The Special Relationship

Really excellent follow-up to the previous ‘Mall Goth’ post here over at Totalitarian Collectivist. I’m really grateful that the previous post was taken in good spirits — it was intended as such but I was slightly anxious it would be seen as too much of an attack on Amerifriends — so I’m thankful that the yank-splaining has been embraced and further yank-splained.

I am also happy to be corrected — and rightly so — on my not so generous reading of the post-industrial American landscape and the further detail supplied here regarding the position of retro-futurism is great. It’s not something I have any personal experience of — something which evidently showed — and, in response, TC has done well to emphasize our similarities in this regard, which is great to see.

There is nothing in TC’s post I disagree with and so this is more of a blogged excuse to implore you to read it for yourself if you enjoyed my last post. Most of the references made are wholly new to me as well so I greatly appreciate the response and the reading list I’m now working through.

However, I suppose there are a few things I’d like to say that are related to the comment below which are not so much in response to what TC has said and more just me thinking aloud about them and extending them a bit because they have made me reflect a lot more on where exactly the impetus for the last post was coming from. (For what it’s worth, it was already half written before I saw TC’s post which helped me focus in on what I was trying to say better.) I liked this bit in particular:

A Duginist part of me sees Xenogothic’s claims that Britain can resist America as a call for an inward turn. The island that gave the world capitalism rediscovers its love of the land and resists the sea. To resist the corrosion of American capitalism the valorization of British truth is needed, a cultural turn to coincide with the Corbynist call to renationalize.

This picks up on the peculiar cyclone that is British politics at the moment. I was certainly aware of the irony, in the back of my mind, whilst writing the previous post, that this was a bare-faced example of the pot calling the kettle black. The last thing I wanted to do was be all high and mighty about how gross the infectiousness of American capitalism is when the UK was Patient Zero, and I do have a genuine interest regarding America’s break with European sensibilities that I’ve written a chapter on in Egress.

Nevertheless, I think this hypocrisy will always be an issue for any post-capitalist politics that grows out of this weird little island, and one that has a tendency to come across as a largely patronizing position in terms of our broader relationship to the world. This wasn’t the drive behind my last post although, in hindsight, I see there’s a danger that it might read that way. Nevertheless, TC’s extension of their own post has helped crystallize where I think the anxious undercurrent of that post came from, and that is the current backdrop of our imminent general election and our relationships with Trump’s office in particular.

Take this excellent point:

The working class may be wary of what they are being sold, but the real export of the American elite is to their brother-elites. American ideology and its valorization of power, money, and the notion of an elite at all is shared by the British elite without question (though in the question of original capitalist sin, the blame is squarely on the Brits). The grey goo of America is not just a cultural reality but economic and even if Americans are aware of it (and many are) that awareness does little to stop it.

The cultural specificity of America is made a universal through the buying and selling of what constitutes culture in every country that America touches. We may not understand but in a tragic way we don’t need to. I traveled through Europe for the first time recently and found a continent eager to speak English and sell me what it could.

The brutalizing universalism of America’s flavor of capitalism brings up the question between the possibility of communism as emerging from the global homogeny that arises through the standardizing effects of capitalism (all those juicy quotes from the manifesto about the obsolescence of family and religion) or from the specificity of culture and tradition.

I suppose this is what I was pointing to in the last point regarding the reterritorialisation of poshness on both a cultural and political level and this should have been emphasised more. It is precisely this exchange — the persistent reterritorialisation of Reaganomics on the one hand and the persistent reterritorialisation of British poshness on the other — that many rightly lament. The love-in between Donald Glover and Phoebe Waller-Bridge is, unfortunately, just another example of this weird connection happening across what would otherwise be a cultural gulf. And I think this is a symptom of the same universalisation that TC is writing about.

Beyond the Phoebe Waller-Bridges of this world, it is the suggestion that the NHS may be up for sale — even indirectly, through the hiking of pharmaceutical costs — that is the central charge being laid against Boris Johnson by Jeremy Corbyn throughout this year’s winter general election campaign. It is also a charge that speaks to his apparent complicity with Trump, foreshadowing a renewal of the “Special Relationship” to the levels of sycophancy that the Bush / Blair years have since been defined by in public memory — that is, a relationship in which our prime minister is little more than a neoliberal lapdog, moronically licking the toes of the world’s biggest idiot in exchange for biscuits. It is this — more than our Brexit debacle — that signifies Britain’s current attitude of protectionism, I think. Many of us don’t want the NHS opened up to a free(r) market. Many of us don’t want our politics opened up to the new brand of Trumpian electioneering. (Although it’s arguably far too late for the latter.)

This is to say that Brexit is only framed as an inward turn because those are the fears that the Tories and Brexiteers have excessively exploited among some voters. The reality is that a Boris Brexit is an emphatic return to a Thatcherist love of the free market. And “free” is, of course, the operative and implicitly Americanized word. “Free” here means “deregulated”, “reckless”, “selfish”. In this sense, as far as many Conservatives see it, the EU is not a free market at all. It’s defined by the many restrictions and rules of neoliberal bureaucracy and what they really want to do is loosen things up a bit so they can access a wider market with less restrictions and basically hitch a ride on the flows of a far more virulent American imperial-capitalism. The moral panics that have come with this are the creeping privatization of the NHS and an influx of chlorinated chicken. (An odd pairing, admittedly, but that’s what they’ve gone with.)

It is in this push-pull that the cyclonic nature of our politics finds itself encapsulated at present. The scars of former industries are not just a dystopian wasteland of past failures but also a haunting reminder of what can happen to communities and institutions when belligerent capitalists don’t get their way. They gut them. Up to now, the NHS has been a concrete ceiling — or what Land might call a ‘decelerator’ — for the capitalist class that cannot be overcome but, nevertheless, cuts have been made and contracts given over to private companies and the slow creep of a dormant Thatcherism into that crowning socialist achievement genuinely puts the fear in the people who know that any sickness could later exacerbate their enslavement to the landlord class through the imposition of an avalanche of debt.

The centrality of American capitalism, specifically, within this fear at the moment makes me think that TC is absolutely right that “the real export of the American elite is to their brother-elites.”

However, TC’s post also reminded me of that gross self-aggrandisement that the Tories were trotting out when their election campaign first started. They kept talking about how the Conservatives are the oldest political party not just in the country but in the world and that is why they can be trusted with all these things. It was this weird flip of landed gentry entitlement into “we’ve got the most experience running things” (which basically sums up the Tory conception of meritocracy).

But the Tories also want to get in with the new money. They want to get in with Trump as the new kid on the block who might be a wild card but still represents their interests. And despite the illusion of the royal family’s apparent snubs to Trump recently, the Boris/Trump (or Farage/Trump) alliance carries a foul taste that is all too reminiscent of the Epstein/Prince Andrew “special relationship”. Far more is shared between brother-elites than we could probably even imagine.

Again, TC has already said it all, but it bears repeating ad nauseum. Especially today.

If you’re in the UK, get outside and vote Labour.

Xenogothic Radio #6: 'Jamaican Flavour' Mix

I didn’t really feel so great about my set for the ‘For K-Punk’ Fundraiser at the Tasty Bakery in Peckham last week — especially because, for some reason, Yannis Philippakis was there? I heard that apparently some people fought their way to get inside and didn’t like that we were still charging money on the door at 3am — it was a fundraiser!? — and then they got in to find out most people had gone home already and it was just me flailing about trying to read a half-asleep dance floor.

I’d brought a lot of jungle with me that night but as soon as I stepped up to the decks I got the distinct impression everyone was jungled out — and I’m not complaining: everyone who played that night went in hard and it was fucking incredible — but I was too jungled out myself to do that well at thinking on my feet.

Anyway, I was a bit sad about it, especially because I’d spent the week leading up to it filling my USBs with weapons for a last-ditch dancefloor shelling. To make myself feel a bit better, here’s a partial reconstruction of my set that fades out around the time I took a hard left turn into some disco for the mellowed-out crowd.


Bridging the Chasm with Simon Reynolds — Mark Fisher Memorial Lecture

It’s been officially announced that Simon Reynolds will be giving the third annual Mark Fisher Memorial Lecture. I’ve already been very excited about this for months. Having Simon over is also why we really want to throw the biggest for k-punk night yet in 2020. We can’t wait.

All information over on the Facebook event (and below):

Simon Reynolds — Bridging the Chasm: the Promise of Music

Friday, 17 January 2020 from 18:00-21:00

Ian Gulland Lecture Theatre, Whitehead Building, Goldsmiths

In this third annual Mark Fisher memorial lecture, Simon Reynolds looks at the centrality of music — specifically popular music — in the k-punk vision. Talking about the formative post-punk era that lastingly shaped his outlook and his expectations for pop, Fisher once declared: “Music wasn’t only about music.” Through the prism of Fisher’s thinking as it evolved over two decades, Reynolds explores changing ideas about the relationship between pop and politics: the power that music has held out for successive generations, and the challenge of activating music’s promise in the world beyond.

The event is free. No booking is required. All are welcome!

Organised by the Department of Visual Cultures

Accelerationism and the Logic of Resolvability: Note on Sense and Signification

As long as we define the problem by its “resolvability”, we confuse sense with signification, and we conceive of the condition only in the image of the conditioned. In fact, the domains of resolvability are relative to the process of the self-determination of the problem. The synthesis of the problem with its own conditions constitutes something ideational or unconditioned, determining at once the condition and the conditioned, that is, the domain of resolvability and the solutions present in this domain, the form of the propositions and their determination in this form, signification as the condition of truth and proposition as the conditional truth. The problem bears resemblance neither to the propositions which it subsumes under it, nor to the relations which it engenders in the proposition: it is not propositional, although it does not exist outside of the propositions which express it.

Deleuze in Logic of Sense on… the logical fallacies of innumerable wannabe left- and right-accelerationists? Maybe…



We were largely unsuccessful on all our previous seal-spotting trips during our week in Cornwall. We’d seen a couple, far away from shore, bobbing around and sunning their faces, but for the most part we were left disappointed.

We’d become a bit obsessed with seals after spending an afternoon in the summer watching them through a telescope off Lizard Point. That was the right season to see them though, of course. Nevertheless, we went back to Lizard Point in late November to try our luck.

We were the only people there.

Somewhat disheartened, I decided to go the fish-in-a-barrel approach instead and drove us over to a seal sanctuary which did not disappoint.

It turned what was a miserable afternoon into one of the best of the week because, let’s be honest, seals are funny as fuck.

The sanctuary is essentially a seal rehabilitation centre. They have a hospital where any seals found to be in trouble off the coast are brought in to be treated and healed, and they also provide homes to any former zoo animals or otherwise injured animals that would unfortunately no longer survive if released back into the wild.

Our favourite was Ray. Many of the permanent residents had plaques with information about them and their lives on and Ray’s story was that he was found off the coast with a severe head injury, presumably caught up in bad weather and slammed against Cornwall’s jagged coast line. They said he was brought in but suffered brain damage so he needed some extra help from the staff but he was loved by the vets and other seals alike. It said you could spot him quite easily because he acted very different to the other seals.

We couldn’t stop laughing after looking over the barrier to see a seal flat on his belly on a step, face half-submerged in the water, just blowing bubbles and insistently making weird noises to himself. That was Ray. The special seal.

A lot of the other seals had damage to their eyes. Apparently, in the wild, when they’re feeding, it is not uncommon for them to be attacked by seagulls trying to steal what they catch. They peck their eyes out, which easily become infected, and then they’re brought to the sanctuary to heal up. It was quite sad how many were missing eyes or were completely blind, but they were no less playful despite that fact.

On our way round, we were stopped at one point by a woman doing a survey about visitor experiences in the winter. She was lovely and really helpful and gave us tips on where we might be able to see more seals in the wild at this time of year. She mentioned the Godrevy coast, across the Carbis Bay from St. Ives. Saying goodbye to our seal pals, we went there next.

By the time we arrived at the Godrevy coast, the weather was taking another turn for the worse. We walked some of the way along to the Godrevy lighthouse and saw two seals relaxing on the beach but little else.

As the sun was descending rapidly, we decided to turn back, making our way to Urbanomic HQ and thinking we should bring Robin back with us the next day before our long drive back to London.


The next day, Robin did join us. He fantasised about moving to the Godrevy lighthouse to become a lighthouse keeper — “for the psychological challenge” more than anything.

We climbed the hill, heading to the furthest end of the headland where we were told there were some 150 seals basking on the beach in a little colony.

We assumed that 150 was an exaggeration.

It wasn’t.

There were signs everywhere asking for silence. Any sudden movement or loud noise could make the seals think their cove was unsafe and scare them away for good.

After watching them for some time, with binoculars and through whispers, we descended to a seal-free beach on the other side of the point before scrambling across the jagged rocks back to our car, with Robin commenting on the strata along the way.

Heading back inland, we stopped for lunch to warm us back off and later said our goodbyes, driving back to London in heavy rain and fog. It was a miserable journey.

We’ve been quietly looking at jobs and houses in Cornwall ever since we got back.