God, I despise that film scene when the protagonist wakes up in a coffin and after some initial mandatory panicking, bloody fists and so on, recollects the subject and visa-vi good reasoning either starts digging or comes up with some genuinely smart solution. Break out.
The nightmare isn’t to wake up in a coffin but the realization that I thought Uma Thurman was sort of cool in “Kill Bill”. – – disguisting – – I don’t want to know but can only guess what tacky symbolism the buried alive scene carries. But perhaps it is time – it certainly is – to leave Oedipus behind and take up Antigone again, but this time we have to take her from behind or so to say play the drama in reverse. Our present day Antigone must insist on keeping her brothers out of the ground. They must not be put into the ground, never put to rest or prepared for a spectacular Houdini like resurrection. Quentin Tarantino forgot for a crucial moment there to resist psychoanalysis and let Uma just die, or like wake up in any space whatevers. Shitgodamn, sadness he runs all the way into the core of Freudianism and becomes a CIA agent highest rank, i.e. Central Identity Agency. What however is surprising is that the coffin scene isn’t in every Woody Allen film, but then on second thought the coffin is the only scene there is in every Woody Allen film. – admiration – Stop going to Woody movies – how could he not screw his daughter or whatever, that’s not the reason. Stop watching Allen flicks, stop yourself from comments like “-He’s funny”, or babbling about his passionate relation to New York. You know what, he is the fuckin Dumbledore, Don Corleone and freakin Darth Vader of CSI.
Your job is not to stab yourself in back in order to resurrect, exactly not! You are dead: there is no beginning to start from. And thank good for that nothing to continue. Leave all ideas behind, forget your legacies in a road stop hotel, abandon the choices you have to make. Enter the desert, bring a barrel of oil and start your mission: lateralize. Fuck resurrection, fuck insurrection, fuck any pre of postfix, if anything surrection, no strings attached. Pure intensity.
Your identity is not the sum of your relations. Detach your relations form yourself, and operate without mission. Only if we leave the current obsession on identity, only if we let go of desiring representation in the dominant discourses – the workers movement is ontologically over – forget your activist past – only if we push out the coffin scene also from the deleted scenes department can we bring it on like a decent cheerleading trope. This is not about satisfaction, this is not about you or me, this is not about the subject standing up, this is not about Antigone’s brothers, so not about Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is so not about creativity, this is about group sex and the creation of the world. A breach of the condition for success!
The time is now for rotten politics, the time is now to fuck Woody and vote for putrefaction. Stop the revolution, the future is built on de-solidification. Abandon ship, motherfuckers.