Don’t we just love Guy Debord and those Situationists wandering Paris in the 1960s, mapless, unguided by more than drift, a theory of psychogeography, and minds open to the politics of spaces, and calling it all derive: a lovely word if ever there was a lovely word; a missile word aimed at flaneur; a word, an apercu opening onto the possibilities of thinking political philosophy while walking while totally cooked. Don’t I just love McKenzie Wark and how, in Dispositions 26, she makes her own derive with GPS receiver in her handbag and manages to accuse Australian culture of the inability to see itself (correct) while she goes, even though she knows, she must know, by 2000-2001, that the politics of any kind of derive, wasted or stone-cold sober, is and will be forever unrealised.’ Vivian Blaxell
