[lit-ideas] Concerning the struggle to abolish first names (5)
- From: "phatic" <phatic@xxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Thu, 05 Aug 2004 13:18:00 +0200
Georg Johannesen:
CONCERNING THE STRUGGLE TO ABOLISH FIRST NAMES
_A contribution to the word class struggle as a Norwegian love story_
4. Now
So what? What else? What about me and my first name? Well, I am still
persecuted by friendly people. They claim that I look like this or
that person, whom they claim to know. Some even say when they see me:
-- But isn't it Georg?
People think it will make me happy when they say I look like an able
or rich person. It doesn't make me happy. Everybody looks like
someone, I think. Everybody looks alike. I can see that. So what? And
then the hobby-horse rears it's head again: But why do they have
different names? In our time?
I do not ask: What is your name?
No, I ask: Why are your named?
Addressing children close to me, I try the old joke. I ask:
-- How old is your name from?
Then they laugh. So what?
It is not going so well with the abolishment of first names. People
don't understand what I mean. But people know very well who I am.
Thus, the diametrically opposite situation of what I want: that
everyone will agree with everyone and then that everyone will forget
each other. So what? What now?
I'm devising compromises and trying to be more conciliatory. I will
accept that people have family names. Father, mother, grandfather in
Oslo, grandmother in Bergen, my sis-brother, all of it fits together
and retains meaning. I am not a fanatic. I accept that I have
siblings and brothers even under the current system where all people
are each other's enemies. My brother is called Johannesen.
I am also retreating on the question regarding the use of first
names, not only in practice as with Ib and Bo, but also
theoretically. In Africa there is a country with seven first names
after the days of the week. Why not? Or even 24 first names after the
hours of the day. Why not?
The Romans used numbers. Quintus is a first name which means five. I,
for instance, is the second of siblings. Two could have been the name
my parents gave me. They could have said:
-- There's the second!
The second Johannesen or Two Johannesen would have worked for me.
And speaking of numbers -- also regarding remuneration for this
manifesto -- my social security number is: 220231 - 36108. The first
number means that I was born 22 February 1931. But is 36108 supposed
to signify the number of people born on the same day? The number is
too big for Norway, and too small for Eurasia. 36108 could mean that
I will die the third of the sixth in the year 108 after Marx, or some
other era without a name. After Marx means in my way: after nobody
remembers Marx anymore or at least not Karl. But people may go on
calling me thirtysix or sixandthirty with 108 as surname. I couldn't
care less. The tax authorities' serial number is prepolitical
numerology and historical positivism without correspondence in the
blushing productive forces in modern ovaries. My marginal tax is 50%.
So what?
Well, I have found my solution privately and personally: I weaken!
When people greet me these days, I respond weakly while thinking:
-- Who on earth was that?
I live in the Oslo valley where geniuses crawl from subsidised
employment in universities, publishing houses, parliaments, and
similar places. I meet great politicians, great poets, and great
administrators everywhere, particularly in caf=E9s.
-- Who on earth was that?
Then I quickly think:
-- I remember the face. But what was his name now?
This morning I had precisely that feeling when I was in my bathroom,
shaving, while looking intently into the mirror: Who on earth was
that? I remember the face. But what was his name now? That feeling
gave me enough courage to step out in public with a final appeal.
5. Final appeal
Do not think that I started with the most difficult revolutionary
work! No. I simply engaged in the struggle against the use of proper
names of a certain kind, the so-called first names. What, then, about
verbs? What about the subjects who, with the aid of transitive verbs,
do as they like with any object? Any author and philologist knows as
well as any speaker and reader that language is constructed in a
hierarchical and undemocratic way. To struggle against first names is
hardly any more radical than to declare oneself in opposition to the
monarchy. (Olav, Harald, Haakon!) That's a poor beginning. For there
are many other words. What about the word classes? Which poet today
is willing to participate in the word class struggle? None? Or all?
Or the other way around: What about the material basis? Teeth?
Larynx? The hand that holds the pen? What is the typewriter's
position on this issue? People still accept a firm separation of
nouns and verbs: The boy walks. And then the boy walks. They think.
Speaking for myself, I am in an increasing state of doubt in this
matter.
Thus it follows:
IMEGOODNIGHTYOUYOU?
Why should words separate? What is the difference between a question
mark and an exclamation mark?! Why doesn't "and" and "but" mean the
same? Yes, it does, but it doesn't. Always =3D Never. Yes =3D No. And but
why has correspondanceschooleducationalmethod 37 letters when the
crucial article "in" only has two? I was happy "in" Liv, where are
you? She doesn't answer. I cough while my typewriter chops and
strikes and all personal pronouns change places: you-I-I-you! Ancient
languages was dialectical with beautiful adjectives of the type
pretty-ugly and old-young and big-small, dark-light. That's how
dialectical Liv was and she was also a materialist. It was me who had
superstructures and never learned to keep my mouth shut. That is why
I sharpen my mouth as a pencil and whistle: The birds know what the
birds know! Look here, Georg. This is what you have written today:
Stop it, Georg!
On 4 Aug 2004 at 18:11, phatic wrote:
> 1. Introduction
>
> For many years I tried to have first names banned.
>
> I saw the use of first names as a Heathen-Christian practice or mal-
> practice, founded on word-magic and mystical thinking, thus pure
> idealism. The use of first names gave fertile soil for conspiracies
> between persons who had mutual knowledge of their names. First names
> gave a false sense of self. People one could expect more from, left
> names and addresses as if they lived in a safe society. Thus, the use
> of first names was corrupting, confusing and weakened the survival
> instinct. I struggled against first names for political reasons: I
> wanted to survive the 20th century!
>
> With the passing of years, my trust in my fellow people has increased
> steadily. Today I see no reason, consequently, to conduct my struggle
> alone, but rather to come out in the open in Windows* and ask for
> support from readers who share my basic outlook.
>
> Thus, my name is Georg Johannesen.
>
> I expect a series of anonymous mails.
>
> 2. Before
>
> Before I used to say:
>
> -- Call me Johannesen.
>
> If I met new people, I would mumble:
>
> -- J-o-a-s-n.
>
> People thought I said Johannesen, Johansen, Hansen, Johnsen, Jensen and
> so on.
>
> I was often misheard, but always misunderstood. When I mumbled my last
> name, people thought I was modest and socially insecure. People didn't
> understand how audacious I was. I was probably socially insecure, but
> in my own way. I'll always manage, I thought. But what about them? I
> trusted me, but not them, to put it simply.
>
> I knew who I was. I didn't want to say what my name was, because then
> they would have a hold on me. I wasn't for sale. I wasn't corrupt. And
> I knew that people continued to be naive enough to say their name
> aloud, memorize it and remember what I, for instance, was called.
>
> _Note:_
>
> For a while, I thought of calling myself "I", as a first name, and
> "We" as last name. Then I would introduce myself thus, loudly and
> clearly:
>
> ITISIWEGOODDAYYOUYOU.
>
> My friends found it moderately funny. But I didn't get a bank loan.
>
> 3. The break-down. A marriage history
>
> Then I met Liv, whom I fell for. She had quite a first name. She made
> me live, to be silly. It was no end to the number of stale compliments
> I gave her with inspiration in her enormous first name. (Use your
> imagination: Alive, Lively, Live-in, and many other ugly and funny
> things which could amuse a simple soul as my wife's.)
>
> But she called me Georg.
>
> She said it often, particularly when she wanted to address me or in
> some other way try to get my attention.
>
> -- Georg, she said.
>
> Or:
>
> -- Look here, Georg!
>
> With the word "here", she referred to herself. But it was on her, or
> in her direction, she wanted me to see when she said "look-here". It
> took me a while to see through her. But then I saw everything.
>
> -- Come, Georg, she said and grabbed my arm.
>
> Met a friend, i.e. party member, so I said:
>
> -- You, meet my wife.
>
> Or more formally:
>
> -- May I introduce my spouse? It is Mrs. Misses. She has kept her
> maiden name from the time she was called Miss Misses. She finds it so
> radical, you see, husband or wife, Mrs....?
>
> Naturally she would respond:
>
> -- Stop it, Georg!
>
> Typical, isn't it? She wanted me to capitulate. She wouldn't accept
> that I was N.N. who never gave in. She didn't understand that I
> consisted in acquiring new cover names, such as Leif or Hoo and Hush.
> No, my wife wouldn't be in the phone directory, she wanted a permanent
> residence, and when we had a son, she honestly wanted to call him
> Georg. As in Jr.
>
> But then I called a halt to it. I threatened to sever all contact with
> her. I loved her. But while I loved her, I would say:
>
> -- Well, if that's how you want it, I might as well break off my only
> connection to you!
>
> -- Stop it, she cried and seemed to want to continue, but from then on
> we only practiced 69. And only in the dark.
>
> The boy was called Ib or Bo. Those were the two shortest names in the
> entire Norwegian area. I think it was Ib, and not Bo, because B and b
> is the same both in capital B and miniscule b, while o in Bo is more
> vocal than I in Ib, since I is close to the consonant J, that is Jey.
> I thought of J (Jey) as a first name, that is J (Jey) Johannesen for a
> while. But it ended up with Ib Jansen with Jansen as a simplification
> of Johannesen. I think.
>
> Thus our marriage continued with myself on a perennial retreat. She
> was the strongest, despite my stubbornness. She had the upper hand as
> a unique, singular individual in a struggle with me, who only
> represented the masses in their generality. Because I was on
> humanity's side. But did that matter? She sided with herself. I lost.
> Humanity didn't help me.
>
> I remember that we had a daughter, as well. But I can't remember what
> her name was, because a loved child has many names, and I gave her pet
> names and nicknames in such a number that she became quite anonymous
> in her own way.
>
> I mostly called her Potipeia or rather Kotipeia after the chorus of a
> drinking song. But I also called her Little-Wise, Little-Dumb, the
> older or younger Edda, Kid, My Kid, Our Kid, Little-Foot, Diaper and
> Dancingout. She preferred calling herself Elisa-Elisabeth-Goldstar-
> Rosalind, but mostly she would just say she was thirsty, wet, hungry,
> alone, and since she was an Aquarius, fishes, wolf, horse, me, her
> mother, lady, Arne, boat, aunt Per and Ellen, aunt Kate, her
> girlfriends, train, and so on.
>
> For a while it appeared as if she was on my side.
>
> I claimed I was the ceiling, that I was drinking invisible coffee from
> a building block and that I was flying high up in the air as a
> doctorplane. At the child accepted that -- for a while!
>
> One afternoon we had chased the polar bears out in the hallway. Then
> I said:
>
> -- Call me Leif.
>
> But already at the age of three she had become so indoctrinated that
> she laughed out loud. She thought I was joking. She called me "daddy".
> My wife was called "mommy". I made her say "moddy" and "dammy". But
> neither my daughter nor my wife accepted equality between the sexes.
> No, father is pretty and mother is strong. They stuck to that, both of
> them. They won. I am still pretty. But she was strong.
>
> Liv is dead or at least gone. We are divorced.
>
> I will never again hear her pretty voice saying:
>
> -- Stop it, Georg!
>
> Her friends and family says I made her life a misery because she kept
> finding reasons to reveal my name in private. I'm not stronger than
> that. I long to hear her say:
>
> -- Look here, Georg.
>
> The worst part is to remember how I sometimes conquered her
> individualist tendencies and how she some nights would forget my
> accursed first name:
>
> -- Oh, Georg, oh, Georg, oh, you, oh, you...
>
> And finally I managed to get her where I wanted. She moaned and moaned
> that final letter of the alphabet:
>
> -- =3DC5, =3DE5, =3DE5, =3DE5, =3DE5, =3DE5, =3DE5!
>
> Then I wasn't alone.
>
> _Note:_
>
> Communism is, as will emerge from my marriage history, purely a male
> cause. I think I know why. One male can produce enough sperm in a
> short period of time to reproduce four billion people as himself. Men
> acquire a collective attitude which stems from the relations of
> production in the testicles. Whereas a woman lays 12 eggs per year.
> During their sexually mature life, she is producing no more than a few
> hundred eggs in total. Women name their eggs. It's as simple as that. I
> think.
>
> [* Georg Johannesen, 'Om kampen mot bruk av fornavn', _Vinduet_ 1,
> 1972. Translated by T E Fjeld.]
--
phatic@xxxxxxxxxx
http://phatic.blogspot.com
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