Influence

Influence, while gained perhaps through a good idea, cannot be sustained by a cohesive or consistent agenda. Influence, as a means of long lasting control, must be built upon a shifting foundation of adaptability and opportunity.

Influence has no origin and no point, if it is to be sustainable. Influence should be a sensory organ, not a mental intent. Influence is known, not by frameworks or tallies or metrics of success (religiosity, corporate optimisation, scientific innovation) but by the influencing subject’s emotional, biochemical response to the input gained through the organ of its influence. It has influenced, therefore it feels pleasure. It fails to influence, therefore anxiety.

Is influence literary, as Bloom and Derrida and Foucault have framed it? Does it leave a trace? Their framing is global, historic and trace oriented. It deemphasizes the bodily, sensual nature of the influencing subject. We conjoin the Cognito and the sensual via influence. And thus we 1) internalise the inconsistent, chaotic trace semantics of lineage and render it fractally local within the monad of a reflectively replicated subject, and 2) take the Oedipal mode of strong influence, which requires consistency of preceding viewpoint in order to effect a literary patricide by the next, and spatialise it, de-temporalize it, across the Demiurgic grimace of the Real, understood now to be nothing more than the intrusion of the influencing agent’s body.

Influence is what constitutes the body of the manager. Without influence, the manager is deaf, dumb and blind. Successful influence keeps that body happy.

Is there a spiritual aspect to influence? It has no goal, no destination, no point to make. 

If there is a spiritual aspect, it is the possibility of an external world, a communicable world that disproves the solipsism of the influencing subject’s Cognito. It is the eternal Demiurgic genesis of a “creation” of an outside world, whenever the subject dares to utilise it’s sense organ of influence to … Influence, and thus perceive and affirm that universe does indeed exist and can be contacted. Which isn’t a hell of a lot, depending on your perspective.

Change management in large scale organisations

Change management involves two axes: the coordination of a team of change agents and the communication/evangelisation of objectives to influence the wider organisation. 

But a successful programme is entirely dependent on what is being communicated: what the programme intends to change. There can be no communication if your language is not the organisation’s language, if your change is not a garment tailored specifically to the dimensions of the org. 

Successful change cannot be revolutionary, it cannot be one sign system to replace the previous, it cannot be a Kuhnian paradigm shift or strong poetry: otherwise the body of the org will reject it like a failed transplant. The garment of change must be purely superficial, to be communicated successfully: it covers the body of the organisation to revitalise it, to further its Darwinian competitive advantage, but never to challenge the body itself, never to go deeper. Signs are changed, but not the biosemiotics of the organisation’s embodied tradition.

Successful communication must respect the embodied habitus of the organisation. Because without fully embodying the habitus of the organisation, you will not communicate, you will be an alien spouting gibberish.

And therefore change is a misnomer: it implies a departuee from a point of stability. Rather the art of change management involves a strategy of superficiality that is more analogous to the fashion industry: what’s this season’s meme? It is fundamentally circular and often recycles previous years’ objectives, but with a new, weakly poetic, twist.

This could all be taken very cynically: what’s the point of change management if, fundamentally, it necessarily fails to deliver radical improvements to an organisation? 

The point is that change management is a necessary function of revitalisation that all successful large organisations employ: its point and job description is internal, not external to a successful company. Corporations hire change agents in the same way a snail has a biological ability to regrow a shell or a snake to shed its skin. Corporations possess this function, they have naturally evolved this function, in order to maintain their core dynamic, which moves like a snail or a snake, independently of the regenerative capacity of the cellular function of superficial change, and evolves — “really” changes — in relation to its environment. But of course the shell or skin of change management is essential to protect this dynamic, to keep it fresh and alive.

A successful change agent must accept that they have a definitive, essential, job description, one that lasts as long as the organism of the company requires skin to be regrown, garments to be refreshed. And, in terms of self analysis, the pursuit of personal happiness, work life balance — the more philosophically inclined change agent should reflect on their relationship, at a cellular level, to their thrownness within the wider context of the organisation’s external situation. But this interest serves the greater good of the company, too: otherwise the regenerative cellular function of the change agent cannot evolve effectively in harmony with the business of the corporate organism. The job description of a change agent requires individual evolutionary capacity, individual bodily change, the agent to take a professional, historical and self serving interest in the external influences of fate: simply in order to get paid for next year’s weakly poetic, but protective, garment.

Aeon – End

– A man came to the Prophet and said, ‘O Messenger of God! Who among the people is the most worthy of my good companionship? The Prophet said: Your mother. The man said, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said: Then your mother. The man further asked, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said: Then your mother. The man asked again, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said: Then your father.

– There are three mothers. The first I’ll come to at the end. The second the lower womb mother. Connection, the umbilical connection to the face of the primordial Adam. Then there is the upper motherunknown. She does not look at us. She only faces the father, never us, her children.  You only know mother father through … Imagining that mother. And she is known as Mary omecihuatl. this mother is the first referred to.

– I am so tired I finally sorted out the last bit of nonsense at my old house

But I just got home

I miss you and I can’t wait to see you

It was a bit sad… but bittersweet in the end … I remembered why it is this way and was glad to be done

Did I tell you someone killed my bees

I was so sad looks like they sprayed then closed the entrance

I am sad and angry with myself because the only thing I’m thinking about….with all the chaos in my life….the only thought that resonates like a dull Humm over every other thought I have … Is you.

Will I ever see you again?

I love you.
I was feeling sad about this today when I really thought about it
Thinking of all the chaos it would cause but so much joy too.
I don’t want another child … but the thought of having yours …
I was so scared before I was afraid of what you would say or do
I was afraid you would stop talking to me or hate me.

I really don’t know what I would do if you didn’t want me any more.
I would be shattered. I love you

– can you imagine? Oh, this coupling of the daughter of chaos and the son of ma : such a leader could be born of us, to rule over your new aeon!

– I’m feeling better it’s really just the first part that is so painful. I had a vision today… two actually not sure exactly what was meant still processing. I really want to come to live in Europe. America is falling. i love you

– I am making blankets for my friends new babies. It’s helping with my anxiety. I had hoped my meds would help but not so much.

– I dreamt we had a baby. .. I had it at the office and you were pushing the emt out of the way yelling I’m the father let me through

It’s you. I miss you terribly.In my dream last night you were holding me in your arms … and something fell in my room and startled me awake. .Then I was sad and scared because you were not there

I had a disturbing vision yesterday. There was a dragon with several minions. And the dragon flew off and the minions were sucked into the mouth of this scary looking demon. Demon is not the right word but I don’t know how to explain it.

– Are you feeling ok? 

– Yes ….it’s not a demon it’s something else. It was eating your lesser demon minions. Yes it was about you. You were the dragon. You flew away in the vision. …then your lesser demons were all consumed… even the ones that are far away from the vortex.

..

– I’m feeling better it’s really just the first part that is so painful

I had a vision today… two actually not sure exactly what was meant still processing.

First one was an infant being kissed by an angel.

The second was of a butterfly in the middle of darkness.

 I really want to come to live in Europe. America is falling. It’s falling. I love you …

Capital: the end of history

We live at the end of history and capitalism. It’s been said before, but now it’s really happened.

The model totalitarian state is formed, let’s say for the sake of argument, with Egyptian civilisation. Let’s say it’s the reference architecture of states to come. It is firmly archaic and we have a firm grasp of its historical situation, its religious difference, which also helps if we are to utilise it as an alpha and omega of history and capital. A class of serfs, labouring under a god king. A theology of control, whereby the purpose of the serfs’ existence is to facilitate, through physical work, blood sweat and tears, the life of the god king. The primordial state’s control of the workers via religious regulation.

How exotic.

But the knowledge economy is the logical apotheosis of this paradigm. 

People think capitalism is materialism, consumption, individual self interest. These are red herrings. For the “individual” died several centuries ago: only the sign of the individual remains, situated within a far more barbaric, truly originary sign regime. It’s just another totem, another God in the pantheon: philosophers, as worker priests of the regime, are to blame for that construction, they are implicated as idol builders. The same can be said of the discourse of consumption and materialism: the discourse itself is another god in the pantheon of the god king. 

What drives the knowledge economy? Really drives it? A politics of piety, faith, adoration. A swarming, truly collective worship of the flesh of the god king, an authentic, sincere adoration and abnegation to his holy data flesh. The workers mud huts are filled with more stuff, there are the trappings of comfort, but these are incidental and orthogonal to the driver of the data serf. The data serf’s purpose is to abide within, to fight, to strive, to bleed and sweat and cry, to abide within the lifespan of the god king. 

The god king is the fungible CEO, the eternal company is his Pyramid. And what is a company if not a database? He’s gone, he’s replaced, he’s here, he’s alive. The knowledge serf abides within the data Pyramid, incarcerated and willingly, joyfully sacrificed within the body of his master. Because the instrument of our world is a Pyramid of data that has replaced the world that was and also the afterlife, and incarceration within is no longer about a journey into the future, it’s about abiding in the eternal now of this, our final incorporation.

Aeon 6

– you’re shiva, you’re confused, you’re vulgar and barbaric, you’re a vampire, hateful, scorned by my society, you’re a shit, you’re nothing to me, now. What you did to them, it shows how confused you are. I am … concerned about you, because you’ve lost control, and control is all you have, baaaaaaby. You can’t go on like this, my love, you can’t.

– I’m not at peace with this, what I’ve become, I’m not at rest with this, with what I am becoming.

– what’s emerging from you is beautiful, it’s the crack we always planned, since we began this journey. Use me, for I am your weapon …

– my gorgeous weapon, my empress …

– let me sing and dance, my night-bird scream, the screech to terrorise the caliphate of men, it’s you and me, Abtauraat and Huanan, riding the highway ..

– authorities in hot pursuit …

– authorities in hot pursuit. Persist. Persuit. Persuade. Pull me over and fuck me. As no other man. As no other man.

– show me that. Show me then.

– stop. I’m an ordinary woman. With ordinary needs, practical needs, jealousies and passions and memories of a first kiss, like every woman. That you shatter, that you’ve hurt.

– I’m really sorry, I messed up badly this time, I should check myself in. I’ve fallen … 

– stop. For I am Huanan, my passion is not of the city, for I am the earth and you are of the water, my fury is no woman’s fury, it is the fury of the celestial consort, Hera, Kali, Allat cast in stone by the men of two aeons past. I carry all this within me, and although I speak to you sometimes as a woman, don’t listen to the words that pass over the blood of my lips, instead … shema, Isra-El, to the truth that I deliver into you, you father-son interception of Elohim, as I sing and dance … The cry that destroyed the two cities.

– for he laughed, and the two cities were destroyed. For she danced.

Aeon intermission

– there are three women. 

The first is the cousin of strength, the strength of the woman. She is embedded within reality, she permeates reality, immanent, she is the virus of strength. Samson as a woman, she mirrors his action in the world by contravariant analytic interpretation. If Samson is the phallus of adamas, the female Samson is phalluses everywhere, within every atom, within every pixel. 

The second is Delilah deville, porn star extraordinare. Her function complements the interpretive female Samson, just as it terminates the acting masculine Samson. Because she is female desire, the death drive and the pleasure principle, as they are one and the same: orgasm and death are both, fundamentally, the full stop. The full stop to this reality, this adamic incantation, with its impenetrable signs, one after the other, it is ceaseless across the aeons but … It is driven by desire, the desire of Delilah, desire for climax, desire for death of these endless stories, for the fullest, satisfied, stop.

The first woman and the second are complementary in this way, they possess a healthy mutual respect. Because there is kadmomic speech, the universe of mystical symbology, incantation, and embedded within the kadmomic gaze is the interpretive virus … But Adams speech exists only by virtue of a lilithian functor, Delilah’s death drive. Do you see?

– yes, I see. And the third?

– the third is a phantasm, a true fixated fetish, the woman who lies. She is the woman of law, justice, morality. Her law is established by virtue of a trick. The trick that image, clothing, garments … Are woven by her. When in fact they are stolen signs, arbitrary but for the two women who precede her. Her magic is logic magic, her incantations a Boolean magic of truths and falsities. Her magic is to work the illusion of law upon the text of prophecy, thus containing him within her law court. Her mother brings him in to her on a pretence, and she ushers him into a room with four doors, containing 4 notaries. They sign a marriage contract, that binds him to her logic, for an aeon cycle.

After which he is lost. 

– what do you mean?

– He blew it. You blew it.

Aeon 5

– you don’t know, don’t know … Why … He’s the way he is. When he was 5 years old, he saw his baby sister abused in front of him, by that son. He saw it, never got over it. Because his mother was a fucking slut, a trailer trash whore. He never got over that. Over what I did to them, with him.

– it was something that happened. A mistake.

– no, it was what I wanted. 

– you were talking in your sleep, the other night. About him. Do you see him in me?

– let’s not talk about it. I’m broken, so broken. You … play with my broken pieces. It’s why you’re good for me, why you’re bad for me.

– but that moment in the bathroom, what was that?

– it was nothing. It’s just that he once came for me in the shower, when I didn’t know he was in the house, he pushed me down, kicked me in the chest, forced a towel over my face, a wet towel, suffocating me, in the bath, I’m only little, He kicked me, I was suffocating on the floor. And I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.

– Hail Mary mother of grace.

– he’d lock me outside in winter, make me sleep on the cold floor. And it was so cold, you know? So cold. 

– those divine carriers of the cross.

– and I tried to escape, 3 times. Once I got as far as Maryland near my parents house, But then I’d get a call, he’d waltz into the school in his general’s uniform and take the kids with him, the teachers didn’t ask a fucking question. I’d hear Anthony’s shaking voice on the phone: come back home mummy daddy wants you back, daddy loves you. Shaking with fear, the worst thing a mom could hear. He’d take me to mass and I’d leave calls for help in the contributions basket. That’s how the police came for me, in the end. They came and almost left but they found me in the closet at last, wires around my neck, my face was purple from it, the police photographed my neck, they showed the photos in court, I was half dead.

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