Friday Night Linkage: Blanchot’s Blog, JEM’s Blog

Dear readers,

These blogs are out there, just like a cure for cancer.

First of all, I’ve just found out that Georges Bataille and Maurice Blanchot have gotten together to work on a group blog where they pretend to be one person named W. Except they are actually writing a novel about somebody (who appears in the picture to be a waifish woman, but I can’t even figure out what genders are really in play here) who is having a devastating, tormented relationship with W. that seems to be vaguely about intellectual despair and missed opportunity, leavened with an asthma from too much history and living in Europe. One clue is that money is given in pounds.

This blog is called Spurious, and here’s a sample:

Of course, W. had great hopes in me, once, which were part of his larger hopes of building a larger intellectual community. W. often speaks movingly of those hopes and how they were dashed, and how I played a large role in dashing them. Do you remember, he says, when I gave you that opportunity of speaking for a whole afternoon to some of the most interesting and intelligent people in philosophy? He pauses for dramatic effect. I know what’s coming. You ruined it, didn’t you? You completely spoilt it!

Stuck in a German airport for six hours, I know this is a special opportunity to get on W.’s nerves. Six hours!, I say with relish. Oh my God, says W. I’m concerned about Lindsay Lohan, I tell W. – ‘Who’s Lindsay Lohan?’ – ‘She’s getting so thin. Like Nicole Ritchie.’ – ‘Who’s Nicole Ritchie?’ W. tries to hide behind a newspaper. ‘W. – I’m concerned about Mischa Barton.’ He doesn’t say anything. ‘W., W., Mischa Barton! I’m concerned about her!’ He puts down the paper and looks at me over his glasses. – ‘Shut – the fuck – up.’

Six hours! We don’t have much money between us. How are we going to spend our time? ‘You go that way and I’ll go that way’, says W., pointing in opposite directions. But of course it’s his fault we’re stranded here. ‘So, what shall we talk about?’, I ask W. ‘What have we left undiscussed? What have we learnt from our trip? What have you learnt about yourself? How has your thought advanced? Are you dreaming of your magnum opus? When do you think you’ll write it? Have you abandoned all hope that you’ll write it, or do you still think you’ll write it? Do you think you have a magnum opus in you? Go on, I’ll bet you do.’

Second, JEM has returned from her sketchily animated grave to raise the level of true outrageousness everywhere on the Web. You may know her as petitpoussin, but we know her as Truly Outrageous. As is my wont, here’s a tasty sample:

A Short Q&A:

Q: So, you’re a feminist. Why do you hate men so bad? And do you shave?

A: Get the fuck out of here.

Q: So, you’re a feminist and a writer. What do you think of chick lit?

A: Get the fuck out of here.

Q: So, you’re a feminist writer… but you sure do love you some pop culture. I’d call you borderline obsessive, even. But mainstream culture and entertainment perpetuate patriarchy. What’s up with that?

A: Get the fuck out of here.

And so on. Have a good Friday night. On Friday, you think the weekend will never end. As I was just saying to M. But can I really love M.? Not if she won’t tell me the rest of her name.