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author | phoebe jenkins <pjenkins@tula-health.com> | 2024-10-30 11:01:33 -0400 |
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committer | phoebe jenkins <pjenkins@tula-health.com> | 2024-10-30 11:01:33 -0400 |
commit | 260db6beeccc50338d7363fa428eb350b1e54620 (patch) | |
tree | ea507a2203211f4332be70d992b735f0aea4d25e | |
parent | ba19cfbfc51ba461328dff01241fe6af3ed07d6b (diff) | |
download | age_of_oil-260db6beeccc50338d7363fa428eb350b1e54620.tar.gz |
rotate da r
-rw-r--r-- | age_of_oil.otx | 16 |
1 files changed, 8 insertions, 8 deletions
diff --git a/age_of_oil.otx b/age_of_oil.otx index d36b92c..0ec20aa 100644 --- a/age_of_oil.otx +++ b/age_of_oil.otx @@ -19,13 +19,13 @@ \def\term#1{{\it\dq{#1}}} \def\e#1{{\it #1}\/} \long\def\Q#1{{\leftskip=1in\parindent=0pt #1\par}} -\def\cbrk#1{\vskip 1em \hfil #1 \hfil\nl\vskip 1em} +\def\cbrk#1{\vskip 1em \hfil #1 \hfil\vskip 0.5em} \def\dinkus{\cbrk{* * *}} \def\ld{…} \def\textsuperscript#1{$^{#1}$} \def\ae{æ} \def\term#1{\e{\dq{#1}}} -\def\turn#1{\transformbox{\pdfrotate{180}}{#1}} +\def\turn#1{\raise 1.5ex \rotbox{180}{#1}} %---design \_def\_chapfont{\_scalemain\_typoscale[\_magstep3/\_magstep3]\it} @@ -43,16 +43,16 @@ %---go {\tt\parindent=0pt\parskip=0pt -From the Library of the \hfil New Museum of \nl -\hfil Contemporary Art \nl +From the \hfil Library \hfil of the \hfil New Museum \nl +of \hfil Contemporary \hfil Art \nl New York \hfil ------ \hfil THE AGE OF OIL \nl -\hfil Duncan Smith \nl +\null\hfil Duncan Smith \nl To \hfil David Ebony \hfil and \hfil Peter Zabelskis \hfil\nl -\null\hfil for their loyalty \hfil and \hfil support \nl +\null\hfil for their \hfil loyalty \hfil and \hfil support \nl -© 1982 and 1987 by Duncan Smith \hfil All rights reserved \nl +© 1982 and 1987 \hfil Duncan Smith \hfil All rights reserved \nl First edition 1987 \hfil Printed in the United States of America \nl ISBN: 0-9616193-5-X @@ -1099,7 +1099,7 @@ The recent AIDS epidemic has warned gay men to abstain from certain sexual pract Typing, my means of livelihood for these past twelve years, has had a pivotal influence on my writing. Secretarial wage slavery has forced me to be attentive to the appearance of letters lest a random typographical error provoke the ire of my employer. All of the essays heretofore presented in \booktitle{The Age of Oil} were composed under these circumstances of selling my secretarial labor power from 1978 to 1986, with the bulk of the writing composed from 1980--82. The only essay that was written free from the exigencies of secretarial duties was \essaytitle{Calling All Cars,} but that essay, like all the others, reflects my attentiveness to the letter, both forced upon myself by my livelihood and by the writings of Freud, Lacan, Joyce, Mallarmé and Derrida. -Perhaps what unifies \booktitle{The Age of Oil} is this question of the letter or, if I may be permitted a typo (now that I'm writing free of supervision), the let\e{tar}, where \e{tar} has always already haunted let\e{ter}. Letters are tar, they represent the gross materiality of language that speech always seems to transcend. Just as oil has usually been refined from crude into gasoline, from dirty black crud into the cthereal vocalizations of popular lyrics, so have letters always been spoken, retranscribed into living speech. The \dq{lightening} of oil and its refined state reproduces the \dq{lightening} of letters into their spoken state. As secretary, I earn a wage based on my ability to transform speech into letters. Occasionally the transcription is inaccurate, a \dq{letter} is missing and so the entire missive, a \dq{letter} again, must be typed over. What does a secretary type, letters or letters? When my boss says, \dq{I wish to dictate a letter,} the double requirement entails both the rendition of a spoken interval into a visual handwritten symbol (a letter) and the transcription of all such shorthand into a typewritten format (a letter). My particular type of shorthand, Personal Shorthand, enforces this attentiveness since it deploys alphabetical symbols for such common words as \dq{copy,} \dq{enclose,} \dq{and,} \dq{the,} represented by \dq{c,} \dq{q,} \dq{a,} \dq{e,} respectively, +Perhaps what unifies \booktitle{The Age of Oil} is this question of the letter or, if I may be permitted a typo (now that I'm writing free of supervision), the let\e{tar}, where \e{tar} has always already haunted let\e{ter}. Letters are tar, they represent the gross materiality of language that speech always seems to transcend. Just as oil has usually been refined from crude into gasoline, from dirty black crud into the cthereal vocalizations of popular lyrics, so have letters always been spoken, retranscribed into living speech. The \dq{lightening} of oil and its refined state reproduces the \dq{lightening} of letters into their spoken state. As secretary, I earn a wage based on my ability to transform speech into letters. Occasionally the transcription is inaccurate, a \dq{letter} is missing and so the entire missive, a \dq{letter} again, must be typed over. What does a secretary type, letters or letters? When my boss says, \dq{I wish to dictate a letter,} the double requirement entails both the rendition of a spoken interval into a visual handwritten symbol (a letter) and the transcription of all such shorthand into a typewritten format (a letter). My particular type of shorthand, Personal Shorthand, enforces this attentiveness since it deploys alphabetical symbols for such common words as \dq{copy,} \dq{enclose,} \dq{and,} \dq{the,} represented by \dq{c,} \dq{q,} \dq{a,} \dq{e,} respectively. Given that oil is hidden and stored in tightly sealed containers, the notion of a crypt appears to be entirely transposable to that realm. As well, given the \e{secret} secret to \e{secret}ary, my obsession with its disclosure could have been predetermined by the title of my occupation. Yet the secrets that secretaries are occasionally privy to, the private lives of their bosses or the confidential nature of their documents, were not as secret as the secrets I was writing while typing. My secret was to write, not to type. Yet I appeared to be typing when I was actually writing, or rather I was typing my writing, not dictated tapes, stenographed letters or handwritten pages of my employers. As a man in a labor pool composed mostly of women, I was refusing to be the mere receptacle of one whose higher wage entitled him to say, \dq{I am who I am.} |