Notes Toward a Critique of Autonomy: A talk from the Sydney Anarchist Bookfair

 

Below is a talk I gave at the Sydney Anarchist Bookfair earlier this month, Notes Toward a Critique of Autonomy. It’s ‘notes toward’ because it is not a polished synthesis/analysis, but more in the spirit of throwing ideas out there.

Thanks to the organisers of the bookfair, including Jura Bookshop and Black Rose Anarchist Library, for having me. It was such a fantastic event, full of interesting and challenging ideas.

 

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Rest in Peace Amala.

 

 

Rest in Peace amala, my old Mummy, who always told me that I didn’t treat my husband right, whose company I adored. (If one could explain the art of witty, acerbic conversation in Yolŋu-matha, and the skilful play on words, switching across and back between languages.) Countless hours together in company under the mango tree, weaving, talking, smoking and drinking tea (and amala would often break into song, so quietly, half facing away). She taught my dhuway what it meant to be a son-in-law and he duly avoided her as his mokul, sending gifts and care through his galay, my brothers and sisters. She was my amala and I was her waku.

It was amala’s Mother’s country that I came to call my own. It was her father’s country that we footwalked to, to scour the rocks for oysters. To stop in the dry and rest. I was never the most adept hunter, or gatherer, for that matter, and so often stayed behind to look after amala (her brain already slightly gapu-mirri). Chattering away even when I dozed off. Sometimes amala mistook the shower for a toilet and sometimes I’d wake up just in time to catch her trying to light a fire inside to keep the sandflies from biting me as I slept. One could only half sleep, but I so loved this time that we spent together.

Celebrating 1000+ subscribers … sankyou

 

 

When I started this blog, back in 2009, I was very much talking to myself. Thank you to everyone who has made the process of writing a PhD dissertation a great deal less lonely and a great deal more rewarding – to all my online peers, friends, colleagues and comrades. Thank you also to the ever-inspiring and supportive Twitter community of which I am a part. (I am sure I would have gone batty without you.)

 

Many, many thanks and incendiary wishes – here’s to a future where all information is free, all knowledge is shared and discussion [is] open and dynamic.

 

xoxo

 

 

 

 

 

Breaching the bridges or gulfs and or beaches

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

an incidental typewritten notation

 

 

 

Carrying wäwa home: A personal footnote in memory of Don Burarrwaŋa.

 

Something of a personal footnote from wäwa’s (three week long) funeral ceremony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Casting a misleading net of neurological association

Unremarkable, everyday thought. A synchronic snapshot of associative neurological firing. Not terribly exciting.

Double, double [trouble] and trouble: an impromptu collective reading of Malatesta

 

As an anarchist I especially treasure the fact that some of my oldest and most love’ed friends are socialists. I caught up with a number these ol’ friends at a recent IWW (Industrial Workers of the World) fundraiser gig in Sydney . . . and delighted in having them read Malatesta aloud.

Yes, Malatesta is my current boyfriend.

Of course, not all went quite so smoothly. In fact, we didn’t make it past the second page – such was the beer, debate and absurdity. Anyhow, so I have taken the liberty of re-reading the Malatesta article in question in voice-over in the home-video clip of the aforementioned shenanigans. To be fair, no one featured in the clip (except myself and perhaps HZ), endorse or agree with the material over-read. A wonderful night – and a wonderful article.

 

 

 

 

Old notebook same questions

 

. . . . that moment when you realise that you have been asking and pursuing the same small family of questions for years . . .

 

 

 

 

 

Pictorial prelude to a critical footnote on the use of the term ‘riot’

 

Scene #1

 

 

Scene #2, #3

 

 

Scene #4

 

 

#5

 

#6

 

Scene #7