projection performance tonight as part of a series of art events in rooms around campus. i’ve volunteered to host the next (more on that, to be sure)–for now, tho: to recap. [kenny sez, if it doesn't exist on the internet it doesn't exist]
prologue:
bernadette’s delicious “these stories about after the revolution” mashed to the tune of popcorn’s ridiculous “beautiful sunday” (compliments the defunct djan’s world of oddities–the original electro-synth euro-moogers) –all of which went fine, fine, to a two minute reel of an 8mm mighty mouse at the circus
performance:
mighty mouse returns (precedes) in top form in the original castle film release of ‘mighty mouse.’ amy coenen, a vocalist, & i provided the soundtrack. amy offered sumptuous improvisational tone-jumping–i read the following text–six parts crazy with (mostly) celan, acker, foucault (this week’s reading–more on this soon), arnheim, schwitters, & christian bök: for no other reason than that their words are simply on my mind current.
so really, the raison d’être, the jouissance (i’d rather) in playing with amy, who was a joy to perform with. all for fun, anyhow. much. much & muchly. lots of this to come, i suppose, but it’s still new to me.
this was not the mighty mouse film from tonight:
but then. to digress.
anyhow, there were questions on ’source of text’
–&so…
[see comments]
November 21, 2006 at 9:50 am
Tenebrae
We are near, MIGHTY MOUSE,
near and at hand.
Handled already, MOUSE,
clawed and clawing as though
the body of each of us were
your body, MOUSE.
Pray, MOUSE,
pray to us,
we are near.
Wind-awry we went there,
went there to bend
over hollow and ditch.
To be watered we went there, MOUSE.
It was blood, it was
what you shed, MOUSE.
It gleamed.
“OH LOOK!”
Ziiuu iiuu
ziiuu aauu
Zziuu iiuu
Zzuii aaa
I look for Vocals tonight
Vocals from the inner bass drum
Which rumbles out Os, As and Es
Which makes language bounce off
Instead of standing guard in the street corners
The Vocals are dragging themselves through the nights
I have seen them – one by one – heading home
In need of support from the Consonauts
The crutches and shapers of exclamations
SYZYGY PYX
GYP
GYPSY
PYGMY GYMS
JYNX SYNCH
TRY
PSYCH
TRYST PTYX
SPY GLYPHS
LYSL
BRR
GRR GLYCYL
SYLPHS FLY
FLYBY
SKY
BY TSK TSK
NYM NYMPHS
WHY
WYRMS
HMM MY ZZZ
That night, for the first time in months, Janey and her father sleep together
because Janey can’t get to sleep otherwise. Her father’s touch is cold, he doesn’t
want to touch her mostly ‘cause he’s confused. Janey fucks him even though it
hurts her like hell ‘cause of her Pelvic Inflammatory Disease. (Acker 9-10)
Johnny returned home (what is home?) and told Janey he had been drinking with
Sally…She [Janey] lay down on the filthy floor by his bed, but it was very
uncomfortable: she hadn’t slept for two nights. So she asked him if he wanted to
come into her bed.
The plants in her room cast strange, beautiful shadows over the other shadows. It
was a clean, dreamlike room. He fucked her though she didn’t tell him it hurt badly
there, too, cause she wanted to fuck love more than she felt pain.
To be brief, then, let us say that history, in its traditional form, undertook to ‘memorise’ the monuments of the past, transform them into documents, and lend speech to those traces which, in themselves, are often not verbal, or which say in silence something other than what they actually say; in our time, history is that which transforms documents into monuments. In that area where, in the past, history deciphered the traces left by men, it now deploys a mass of elements that have to be grouped, made relevant, placed in relation to one another to form totalities.
Ziiuu iiuu
ziiuu aauu
ziuu iiuu
ziiuu eeee
There was a time when, as a discipline devoted to silent monuments, inert traces, objects without context, and things left by the past, aspired to the condition of history, and attained meaning only through the restitution of a historical discourse; it might be said, to play on words a little, that in our time history aspires to the condition of archaeology, to the intrinsic description of the monument.
Janey, Dane writes, is “fallen into the alienated locus of speech, a prisoner
in patriarchal language” (248), a language reinforced by capitalism, as seen in the dialogue
between Mr. Fuckface and Mr. Blowjob, the capitalists.
Mr. Fuckface: You see, we own the language. Language must be used clearly and
precisely to reveal our universe.
Mr. Blowjob: Those rebels are never clear. What they say doesn’t make sense.
Mr. Fuckface: It even goes against all the religions to tamper with the sacred
languages.
Mr. Blowjob: Without language the only people the rebels can kill are themselves
Zätt üpsiilon iks (emocionado) (Y)
Wee fau Uu
Tee äss ärr kuu
Pee Oo änn ämm
Ell kaa Ii haa
Gee äff Ee dee zee beee?
‘Aren’t you sure of what you’re saying? Are you going to change yet again, shift your position according to the questions that are put to you, and say that the objections are not really directed at the place from which you are speaking? Are you going to declare yet again that you have never been what you have been reproached with being? Are you already preparing the way out that will enable you in your next passage to spring up somewhere else and declare as you’re now doing: no, no, I’m not where you are lying in wait for me, but over here, laughing at you?’
Ziiuu iiuu
ziiuu aauu
Zziuu iiuu
The verbal part alone of a sound film is quite meaningless and is, indeed, without any artistic value. Sound film—at any rate real sound film—is not a verbal work of art supplemented by pictures, but a homogeneous creation of word and picture which cannot be split up into part that have any meaning separately. (This is the reason why so little is to be expected of dramatists and novelists for sound flims.)
SYZYGY PYX
GYP
GYPSY
PYGMY GYMS
JYNX SYNCH
TRY
PSYCH
TRYST PTYX
SPY GLYPHS
LYSL
BRR
GRR GLYCYL
SYLPHS FLY
FLYBY
SKY
BY TSK TSK
NYM NYMPHS
WHY
WYRMS
HMM MY ZZZ
Like jelly fish in magic moonlit nights
They walk hand in hand through soiled back-alleys
Yawn and drag themselves ahead
As if intoxicated, in need of a yearlong sleep
Cautiously I follow
And sneak upon the remarkable beings
Who yawn Os and As
Who look like murderers, deceitfully prowling,
Leaving slime behind on the sidewalks
What shall I tell them, these insidiously luminous Vocals
Who can hardly walk, without the support of Consonants?
The plants in her room cast strange, beautiful shadows over the other shadows. It
was a clean, dreamlike room. He fucked her in her asshole cause the infection
made her cunt hurt too much to fuck there, though she didn’t tell him it hurt badly
there, too, cause she wanted to fuck love more than she felt pain
STY STYRL
FRY
FYRDS
LYMPH CYST
WYRDS WYCH
LYNCH
WRY
MYTHY LYNX
CRY BY NTH
CWM
CRWTH
CRYPT STYX
MYST WYNDS
DRY
DRYLY
SHY BY SHH
MYTH HYMNS
THY
MYRRH
MY RHYTHMS
As always with relations of power, one is faced with complex phenomena which don’t obey the Hegelian form of the dialectic. Mastery and awareness of one’s own body can be acquired only through the effect of an investment of power in the body: All of this belongs to the pathway leading to the desire of one’s own body. But once power produces this effect, there inevitably emerge the responding claims and affirmations, those of one’s own body against power, of pleasure against the moral norms of sexuality, marriage, decency. Suddenly, what had made power strong becomes used to attack it. Power, after investing itself in the body, finds itself exposed to a counter-attack in that same body. But the impression that power weakens and vacillates here is in fact mistaken; power can retreat here, re-organise its forces, invest itself elsewhere …and so the battle continues.
Zätt üpsiilon iks
Wee fau Uu
Tee äss ärr kuu
Pee Oo änn ämm
Ell kaa Ii haa
Gee äff Ee dee zee beee?
It must not give the impression of being something altogether artificial either on account of the polished style and perfection of its phraseology or of fine elocution, if it is not to appear in its surroundings as an isolated foreign substance. It will provide the often casual and scrappy conversation of everyday life, which may even be interrupted by inarticulate sounds and indistinct mumurs—just one sound among many.
Mr. Fuckface: You see, we own the language. Language must be used clearly and
precisely to reveal our universe.
Mr. Blowjob: Those rebels are never clear. What they say doesn’t make sense.
Mr. Fuckface: It even goes against all the religions to tamper with the sacred
languages.
Mr. Blowjob: Without language the only people the rebels can kill are themselves.
Zätt üpsiilon iks (normal)
Wee fau Uu
Tee äss ärr kuu
Pee Oo änn ämm
Ell kaa Ii haa
Gee äff Ee dee zee beee Aaaaa
What shall I tell them, these insidiously luminous Vocals
Who can hardly walk, without the support of Consonants?
Ziiuu iiuu
ziiuu aauu
ziuu iiuu
ziiuu Ooo
I hear police sirens, and hurry up the fire escape
Toward one of the roofs
See how they’re seized and ordered up against the wall
Impersonal, nameless and confused
They stand erect in the night
With the stern officers of the Law facing them
STY STYRL
FRY
FYRDS
LYMPH CYST
WYRDS WYCH
LYNCH
WRY
MYTHY LYNX
CRY BY NTH
CWM
CRWTH
CRYPT STYX
MYST WYNDS
DRY
DRYLY
SHY BY SHH
MYTH HYMNS
THY
MYRRH
MY RHYTHMS
It was blood, it was
what you shed, MOUSE.
It gleamed.
It cast your image into our eyes, MOUSE.
Our eyes and our mouths are open and empty.
We have drunk, MOUSE.
The blood and the image that was in the blood.
Pray, MOUSE.
We are near.
Zätt üpsiilon iks
Wee fau Uu
Tee äss ärr kuu
Pee Oo änn ämm
Ell kaa Ii haa
Gee äff Ee dee zee beeee? (afligido)
November 24, 2006 at 2:47 am
rinnzekete nzkrrmü?
nice blog, funny and totally awesome – had a good laugh, which is more than one can expect, ha? ha!
cheers lucky