On Power and Force

Both power and force include some form of coercion but force seems more active. Power is more nuanced. One may have power from a position that is traditionally one of weakness like an ailing partner using their condition to manipulate their significant other.

Force is a more direct attack to the body, it is more tangible. Power is less so, in the sense that the dynamics with power are more implicit (the mind is the battle ground)

How do we react to power vs force? How different is the relationship between the self and the other when it comes to force and power? Let the self be the agent (the agent can be a group with common goal i.e. government or army) of power or force and let the other be the subject of that form of coercion:

With power the self gives the illusion that the other has a choice. Power moves multilaterally. It can be transferred, shared, taken since it is a psychological systematic influence. For power to be effective agent(s) of power simply needs to know rules of the system and the other must not extent of the self’s influence. This way the other is less likely to resist it. The self must create the illusion that he and the other‘s desires are one and the same. This will give rise to an involuntarily akratic self narrative within the other.

Since power is a psychological influence it has a wide reach. The agent does not need to be present, he only has to establish his system and propagate it as far as he wants and ensure those he wishes to influence internalize it.

Force eliminates the notion of choice or makes the cost of resistance very high. In this case the other has more information on the self’s intentions. This is why force usually requires the explicit threat of bodily harm – to varying degrees – in order to be effective. Since the influence of force can actually be localized i.e harm will come to the body if the other does not obey the agent of force, force can only move unilaterally from the agent(the self) to the other. The other needs to be aware that force is being used against them so it stands to reason that force can only reach as far as the threat to the body is imminent.

To put this all visually, force is how an army invades a land, power is how the politicians subjugate the people.


Waiting: to remain or rest in expectation. My perpetual state of late. Suspended in time, ever expecting. The restlessness is unbearable. My doctor just sent me to the labs for a blood test. We need to eliminate all other factors before we can confirm your diagnosis he says.


This might be one of the most depressing waiting rooms I’ve ever been in. Everything is washed out, even the air. The walls are painted with this bland shade of white (probably tainted with the despair of the room’s occupants) a hybrid grey-teal, and some other indistinguishable colour. I spend five minutes trying to decide if it’s green or brown. This room does not reassure me. I want to know beyond a reasonable doubt that I am in a place where I will receive the best possible care. So far I am not convinced. The receptionist’s counter has a widening chip on the bottom right corner. Exposed copper piping travels across the room, birthed from a jagged hole in the ceiling. The posters, drained of color from exposed light, barely cling to the walls.

This is the place where hope comes to die.

The man next to me is groaning incessantly. Or humming off tune. I can’t tell the difference. They call out his number – I had a quick glance when I sat down next to him.

“Number 50”

He rocks back and forth.

“Number 50”

I give him a slight nudge and he springs out of his chair.

How did she know my number his eyes betray.

I’ll let him think I’m psychic for now.

He walks up to the counter and drops his forms. I wonder what he’s here for. He picks up his groaning  as soon as he’s back in his seat. I should feel sorry for him. He might be in pain. Aren’t we all? But I don’t. I just sit there, slightly annoyed by his cacophonous mumbling.

I try and tune him out. A baby three chairs away starts to cry. I know he’s not here to get his lungs checked out. His mother covers him with her cheap sweater and offers a tit. His mouth is busy for the next five minutes. They call my number out but I’m too busy cursing the forces of the universe to pay attention. The receptionist almost skips me but I quickly come back down to Earth. I give her my health card and she directs me to the doctor’s office. The walls are decked with the same dreary colour trio. Oh joy.

The nurse attends to me rather quickly. I whisper a small apology to the forces of the universe as I roll up my sleeve. She tourniquets my arm and looks for a vein. It is abnormally pale today so her mission quickly bears fruit. She dabs on alcohol and finally it truly hits me: I am in a clinic. Suddenly, I am six years old in Les Bleuets hooked up to an IV. I dread what is coming next. I can see the needle. Memories of the sharp sting race through my mind. The pain is not the problem. I welcome it. It is what this needle represents: it means something is wrong. I look like everyone else but inside something is not right. I need fixing. This, I fear. The needle pierces through skin. I watch as my blood rushes out of me, eagerly filling the vials.

I wonder how long it would take to drain a small woman.

The nurse wishes me a good day as she walks away with my blood. As I straighten myself up I can faintly hear the baby laugh. At least someone here is having a good day.

Two weeks they say. Two weeks and we’ll know what’s eating me.

Curse of the Bottle

Room spinning, every cell of this body
Rejecting flowing rivers of darkness
Gushing out of my mouth into the Oh my
God didn’t make it in time roommate
Screams sink is clogged.

Hospital bed stomach pumping blood in my alcohol stream

Joy riding car swerving wind shield
Shattering limbs raining I – I didn’t see him
Coming… jail cell house warming.

Leave her alone she’s just a child, buckle
In my face, purple-blue blush
Hennessey flavoured kisses shirts unbuttoning
No means yes means no means shut the
Fuck up and suck my dick bitch