labyrinthine

The spirit of Jean Baudrillard lives on, as both George Bush and Osama bin Laden continue to trade in empty symbols.
Tim Footman
March 7, 2007
Let’s get the jokes over and done with first. As his obituary in the Guardian puts it, the death of Jean Baudrillard did not take place. Was it Baudrillard who died, or his simulacrum? Has he hyperreally gone? Oh, the drolleries will be flying round the philosophy chat rooms today.
Nevertheless, within the boundaries of “reality” set by journalistic procedure, the cultural theorist Jean Baudrillard died yesterday in Paris, at the age of 77. Along with other big hitters of theoretical -isms, such as Derrida and Barthes, he’d come in for some antagonism in recent years, not least from those in the neoconservative camp, for apparently reducing a succession of historical events to a morally relativist, value-free zone. Most notoriously, he argued that the (first) Gulf war did not take place, that it was simply a succession of symbolic gestures conducted by each side, and that it only achieved the identity of a military campaign because it was labelled as such by politicians and the media.
But, in many ways, Baudrillard got it right. He is the thinker most associated with the notion of the simulacrum: essentially that modern society creates representations and copies that are more “real” than the original. Reality TV is an obvious example: something marketed on the basis of its authenticity becomes more intense and absorbing and important (hyperreal) than the authentic life we see around us. People prefer it to reality. It becomes their reality. Chantelle (a simulacrum of Paris Hilton, whose existence is another grey area) is their friend, a situation that becomes feasible because they were complicit in her creation.
The post-9/11 world provides many more validations of Baudrillard’s theories, not least the spectral bogeyman himself, Osama bin Laden, a man whose continued existence is pretty much irrelevant. As long as his simulacrum, a combination of blurry photos and wonky videos, exists within the media universe, he does his job, both for his supporters and his opponents, as hero and/or villain. Even al-Qaida itself only “exists” as a loose notion of shared values, rather than a cohesive organisation. It comes into being because individuals and groups act in its name; and because we (via our political representatives and the media) also attribute those actions to it. The representation is bigger and brighter than the reality, although looking for the links between the two may be futile - as Baudrillard himself put it, “There is no more hope for meaning.”
Not to be outdone, George Bush appeared in Iraq in November 2003, bearing a Thanksgiving turkey. The turkey was intended to represent the peace and prosperity that the coalition forces had brought to Iraq, thus offering a perfect simulacrum - a hyperreal symbol for something that doesn’t exist. And just to add to the postmodern fun, it wasn’t even a real turkey.
If Baudrillard taught us anything, it must be this: don’t believe the hyper.
this article was first published by the guardian
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As I walked out tonight in the mystic garden
The wounded flowers were dangling from the vine
I was passing by yon cool crystal fountain
Someone hit me from behind
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Through this weary world of woe
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
No one on earth would ever know
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They say prayer has the power to heal
So pray for me mother
In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell
I am a-tryin’ to love my neighbor and do good unto others
But oh, mother, things ain’t going well
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
I’ll burn that bridge before you can cross
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
There’ll be no mercy for you once you’ve lost
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Now I’m all worn down by weeping
My eyes are filled with tears, my lips are dry
If I catch my opponents ever sleeping
I’ll just slaughter ‘em where they lie

Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Through the world mysterious and vague
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Walkin’ through the cities of the plague.
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Well, the whole world is filled with speculation
The whole wide world which people say is round
They will tear your mind away from contemplation
They will jump on your misfortune when you’re down
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Eatin’ hog eyed grease in a hog eyed town.
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Some day you’ll be glad to have me around.
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They will crush you with wealth and power
Every waking moment you could crack
I’ll make the most of one last extra hour
I’ll revenge my father’s death then I’ll step back
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Hand me down my walkin’ cane.
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Got to get you out of my miserable brain.
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All my loyal and my much-loved companions
They approve of me and share my code
I practice a faith that’s been long abandoned
Ain’t no altars on this long and lonesome road
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
My mule is sick, my horse is blind.
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Thinkin’ ’bout that gal I left behind.
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Well, it’s bright in the heavens and the wheels are flyin’
Fame and honor never seem to fade
The fire gone out but the light is never dyin’
Who says I can’t get heavenly aid?
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Carryin’ a dead man’s shield
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Walkin’ with a toothache in my heel
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The sufferin’ is unending
Every nook and cranny has its tears
I’m not playing, I’m not pretending
I’m not nursin’ any superfluous fears
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Walkin’ ever since the other night.
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
Walkin’ ’til I’m clean out of sight.
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As I walked out in the mystic garden
On a hot summer day, a hot summer lawn
Excuse me, ma’am, I beg your pardon
There’s no one here, the gardener is gone
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Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’
Up the road, around the bend.
Heart burnin’, still yearnin’
In the last outback at the world’s end.
Music and words by Bob Dylan
Copyright 2006 Special Rider Music

images sampled from a pornographic video by dick tuinder, digitally processed by aryan kaganof