|November 3, 2012|
I’m sitting at home one day a few weeks later, early hours, bang, bang! Seven o’clock in the morning. I was just about to open it but they banged through. I was so calm, they were shouting so loud, all red in their faces, shouting at the top of their voices, “GET ON THE FLOOR!” I go, “I’m not resisting.” My dog didn’t bite nobody. They searched my house. They go, “We’re arresting you for violent disorder.” I’d seen myself on Sky News, it showed me getting beaten up, and me throwing a few punches, so I knew they’d get me. Got to the police station around half past eight, and was there all day.
The next morning went to court, got bail—I wasn’t expecting to get bail—and went back to get my dog. It was like they’d seen a ghost. At first they said they didn’t know where my dog was. When they came back with my dog, its nose was busted, it looked terrible, it was weeing blood. I go, “What did you do to my dog?” They told me that’s how it was when they got it. I know they beat my dog. It was traumatized; it wouldn’t go near anyone else for a while.
I went to the Crown Court in Wood Green, pleaded not guilty. Now I’m just waiting for the trial. They said that they have a picture of me throwing a rock. I admit, I did throw a rock, but it didn’t hit anyone. That was well after I got beaten up. If it wasn’t for some young people, I’d have got beaten to a pulp. Young kids throwing bricks and stones at the police to stop them from hitting me. Hoodlums and thugs stopped me from being beaten to death. I felt comfortable being amongst them. In the crowd, there was a lot of people talking about lots of things, really interesting things too. About Mark Duggan [black British man who was killed by police immediately preceding the riots]. At the time the Steven Lawrence case [a murdered black teenager whose killers were not convicted for almost twenty years] wasn’t up—people saying they knew who the killers were, but they couldn’t touch them. Saying the police started off the rioting by picking on some young black boy—they beat him to the floor for no reason, and that’s how it spread. I saw mostly young black guys getting beats.
This is what I keep hearing: it’s not a police service, it’s a police force. They’re just getting more and more power and authority. You can’t trust them. People aren’t stupid. Some people think this is all planned and all—the riots were all planned—by a bigger group, the Big Society, or whatever the government’s trying. A lot of people are saying, they want riots to happen, so they can force certain things on the people. Say there was another riot now. Now the government’s got more rights. They could do things like logging everyone’s mobile phone. I think they’re trying to get more control over the population, and mold us into how they want us to be. I feel we’re all slaves. They’re frightening the public—where I was standing, it was the police causing the fear. With the trial, it doesn’t matter what I say or what evidence I bring. They’ve already decided that I’m guilty. And because it’s the riots, the sentence will be five times worse. I’m going to get a big, long sentence.
Inherent Vice’s Two Directions
The jokes certainly strike one as sophomoric and the latter one as clichéd, further below Pynchon’s intelligence than one would like to think he would stoop, at least in print. Discounting them and moving on, or throwing the book across the room as Parker half implies we should do, however, would be to lose sight of “that high magic to low puns”.
Auden, Larkin and Love
I was prompted to revisit these ancient questions anew by a long footnote about a single line in the new Complete Poems edition of Philip Larkin’s poetry. The footnote refers to “An Arundel Tomb” contains a provocative remark about that the poem’s celebrated, controversial, closing line, the one about the true nature of immortality: “What will survive of us is love.”
Plato, Our Comrade?
Not surprisingly, there have already been critics of Badiou’s translation. The first is that his translation breaks the formal rules of translation to such a degree that the original meaning of the text has lost its significance. But this critique is inadequate at face value because Badiou’s hyper-translation is forthright in its intention of taking Plato’s concepts and modifying them into his own lexicon.