a letter to deleuze
every time i read your work, i feel more and more resentment toward you for having ruined several things that were very important to the way i saw the world. your reality is sexier than mine. i desire your reality. but do we need a diagram? why should it show strata and layers and forces in this way? couldn’t reality appear as a number of other things? isn’t it just as likely that reality is a hot dog? a hot air balloon? a vagina?
your writing makes me anxious, makes me feel as schizophrenic as you want to be. i get a pain in my stomach that i think is nervousness, a pain that wants to force itself to the exterior through the mouth/anus. academia is stifling. its supposed to be and i try to shove myself to fit into its binaries, its limitations. i force myself to view the world as i’m told. then i read your work and i feel a nervous excitement that i can think the way i want to. i can ignore common grammatical rules and academic traditions and talk about wolves and plants and anuses and geology and how silly freud was and i can do those things all within a few pages.
but where does this anxiety come from? what is schizophrenia? are you suggesting that i am just an interiorization of the exterior, just a fold, just a wrinkle? are my insides and everything that makes me me, my self and everything that i understand to be separate and unique about my self, are they not as interior as i always thought? how blurred is the division between in and out? how much of me is not me? where does this anxiety come from?
but “you” cannot answer “me.” this isn’t a dialogue, nor could it ever be. never dialogue, just multilogue, with all of your “yous” talking to all of my “mes.” but who am i if i am not my Self? i have a name, but it is through the acknowledgement of being a Michele that i also come to realize that i am part of a rhizomatic multiplicity. am i ever not a multiplicity? i am always standing on the edge of the crowd, attached by a hand or a foot or an anus? “The Wolf is the pack.” this makes me anxious. this is the place where my schizophrenia begins, but it also cannot be where it comes from. schizophrenia is too personal, too isolating to come from a multiplied and exteriorized self. i must be more interior than you would have me believe. but you make me desire that multiplicity, that connection with the surrounding world. how liberatory! “RHIZOMATICS = SCHIZOANALYSIS = STRATOANALYSIS = PRAGMATICS = MICROPOLITICS.” identification of the self/selves seems like a way toward a new politics, one that understands a world of multiplicities. if so, then i am Michele! Or: i am micheles! lets create rhizomes, even in the shadows, and make maps upon maps upon maps! lets be nomads! lets live in the spontaneous short-term and fuck genealogy from behind!