of course as a contributing writer you may find yourself on a beautiful site (designed) with some beautiful writing (actual critique) and you may ask yourself…

the answer is:

the perverse

delights of

artistic incest

& nepotism

in NZ

introducing

the pantograph punch

advertisement
National Scandal
pique-assiettes
theatricality

Comments (0)

Permalink

listen / hear

porte-parole

Comments (0)

Permalink

step out of line: an exhortation to the Untimely & Questions from Alfredo Véa’s overwrought & overwringing timely book (the prison is to hide the fact society is the prison)

…in the first photo of the triptych the young man is still alive. Can you see his eyes? He doesn’t have long. …

His black body is shining and radiantly serpentine at the base of a tree. His skin is glistening, and his musculature is as chiseled and defined as an athelete’s. People who knew him said that he was a slow-witted and gentle young man. He is surrounded by hundreds of white men in white suits and white hats, but he is all alone in the universe. There is nowhere for him to go, no one who can help him. Who could be more alone than Jesse Washington? Someone who was standing near the tree wrote later in a letter that Jesse was praying as he lay there, but to which god? What good would prayer do when there were ten or eleven ministers in the audience along with dozens of their parishioners?

If you look closely into the faces in the crowd, you can see smiles and you can almost hear the laughter. You can see hugs and back slaps–handshakes, brisk tips of the hat, and friends greeting friends.You see men fresh from the perfumed talc and lively jabber and banter of the barbershop. You see men who are tired and sweaty after hours or walking in the furrows behind two gray mules. At the top of the photo, you can just make some men who are giggling and tipsy from a couple of beers at the local saloon.

Look in the lower left corner. Right there! you will see a young red-haired Irish boy in a linen cap. He is lighting a cigarette. You can’t see it in his freckled face or his white skin, but he is half Mexican, and he is about to do something awful. Look around in the picture. You see men who have just jugged their haggard wives and mussed their children’s hair. In the second picture you see Jesse dangling above their heads like a bag of clay. In a circle around his black feet, some freckle-faced children are leering and laughing.

In the third photo, Jesse Washington’s arms are now only stumps, and his legs are stubs of charcoal above the knees. Someone has poured kerosene on his body. Someone has tossed a flaring matchstick. By most accounts he was alive when the flames to enrage all of his nerve endings. A fourth photo–not part of the triptych–is found on a picture postcard.

As you can see, someone has written the words ‘This is the barbeque we had last night.’ …

How does this happen? …

[this song was written by one of the two sons of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg executed by electric chair for espionage in 1953–see here

Ethel and Julius both enter Alfredo Véa’s narrative.]

You’ve all seen paintings by the impressionists, by the post-impressionists and expressionists. I know you have … even you here in state prison have seen the paintings of Van Gogh, Edouard Manet, and Paul Gauguin. Everyone loves their work today, but in their own time no one loved them–and I mean no one. There was a special venue for many of these artists. It was called the Salon des Refusés–the salon of the rejects. Vincent Van Gogh never sold a painting while he lived. Only one or two people out of the millions living in Paris could see the beauty and power of their work.

Those one or two Parisians were derided as absurd, ridiculous–they were branded as tasteless radicals. In fact, they were the lucky ones. History shows that they were right. What were those other millions of Parisians thinking and doing at that time? Nothing unusual. They were doing what everybody everywhere does–even today. They were marinating in the culture of their day, happily mouthing the clichés and the jargon of their time and place, thinking the current thoughts, following the current fads, and eating and drinking the current foods of their time and place. Like you, they selected their music from the few choices that were placed in front of them.

Black prisoners play black music out in the yard, brown inmates play brown music, twelve-year-old girls all love the same little boy bands–it’s so stultifying, so damned predictable. When you’ve been simmering in your own cultural broth all of your life, your flesh and your soul soon begin to take on the common color and flavour. In time you lose the power to taste your own individual life on its own separate terms.

Nowadays everybody loves Van Gogh. People line up at exhibitions of his art and pay millions for his paintings. But it’s a cheap love. Vincent climbed all the way out of the mundane and painted what he saw through his own wild bipolar mind. He had to escape the tepid broth, and he paid everything he owned to attain his unique vantage point–for his art. We pay nothing for it.

If you’d lived in Paris during Van Gogh’s life, would you have stepped forward to champion his work? You can only answer ‘yes’ if in your present life you have stepped forward to defend someone or something against the opinion of everyone around you–against your entire era and against your whole culture. If you were that kind of courageous visionary, you wouldn’t be in here counting the days until your next parole hearing.

… Do you want to know if you’re one of those people who came into Waco by train to see the spectacle of Jesse’s death? Do you want to know if your love is cheap? The question you have to ask yourself is this: What is it that I believe that no one else does? What cause do I espouse that is hopeless–radical? What salon of rejected artists or thinkers have I stepped into lately?

I hear a telling silence … Do you know what that means? It means that you and I were in that crowd when Jesse Washington’s neck snapped.

I’m trying as hard as I can to fly out of this smelly broth that we’re all drowning in. … I want you to lie in your beds tonight when everything is quiet. I want you to use your imaginations to melt away your tattoos–let all of that murky ink dribble down your fingertips and drip onto the floor. Use what’s left of your imaginations to tear away your gang language–all two hundred dull, insipid words of it. Pull all of those tired clichés out of your mouth and spit them onto the linoleum tiles. Rip away every facile obscenity. Then peel all that deadening television culture away from your gray matter.

After you do all that, ask yourself: What’s left? Where am I? Who am I? It might seem like there’s nothing left of you inside that body. You all look like prison and smell like the street. But take my word for it, there is something there. Each of you possesses things that you’ve never seen, never even sensed.

–Alfredo Véa, The Mexican Flyboy, pp.150-155

pique-assiettes

Comments (0)

Permalink

what remains. Robert Shults’s The Washing Away of Wrongs. Decomposition.

– photo Robert Shults, from the series The Washing Away of Wrongs

Allison Meier: “clothing and personal items from suspected migrants found on the US-Mexico border”

(at Hyperallergic)

– photo Robert Shults, from the series The Washing Away of Wrongs

Allison Meier: “with flowers from a nearby tree fallen across a donor’s body”

(at Hyperallergic)

Photographer Robert Shults shot the series The Washing Away of Wrongs at the 26-acre Forensic Anthropology Centre of Texas State University, the world’s largest outdoor facility for the study of human decomposition through donated cadavers.

Robert Shults: …”a process virtually teeming with life as new microbiomes rise and fall during decomposition. There is an astounding range of plants and animals that depend on the donors’ bodies as a critical part of their own life cycle. As such, when I visit the facility, I don’t really feel the presence of death hanging over the ranch. Rather I get the most palpable sense I’ve felt anywhere of how an individual contributes to the lineage of natural history.” (from here)

The whole series is available here.

porte-parole

Comments (0)

Permalink

The Warrior of Capestrano (Italian, 6th C. BCE)

– photo: Francesco Salerno

inscription on the sculpture (left strut) reads,

Me, a beautiful image made Aninis for King Nevio Pompuledio.

first known dedication to an artist. (from here)

 

porte-parole

Comments (0)

Permalink

utopian machine network things

While the idea of ‘utopia’ appears naive and even hysterical under capitalist realism, the pathologization and irrationalization of anti-capitalist longing presents an enduring threat. In the face of the hard-right global turn, these problems must come to the foreground of our struggles.

the weird and the eerie

…the weird is that which does not belong. This mode brings something to the everyday which does not belong there and cannot be reconciled with it. The form that is most appropriate to the weird is the montage; hence the preference within surrealism for the weird combinations. Modernist works of art/culture can often seem weird because we are in the presence of the new…

Fisher:…the weird is constituted by a presence — the presence of that which does not belong. In some cases of the weird (those with which Lovecraft was obsessed) the weird is marked by an exorbitant presence, a teeming which exceeds our capacity to represent it.

The eerie concerns the most fundamental philosophical questions: why is there something here when there should be nothing.

Fisher:…The sensation of the eerie occurs either when there is something present where there should be nothing, or is there is nothing present when there should be something.

…to exist on a map is to have value. … Beryl Markham: “A map .. is a symbol of confidence and trust. It is not like a printed page that bears mere words”.

Yuk Hui:…machine management of almost everything: drone killings, DDos attacks, deep packet inspection, etc. … it is important to avoid romanticising a human machine complex as “machine assemblages”.

Ἀκαδήμεια

Comments (0)

Permalink

the legitimation of network representations as being the science of human survival – Olivier Auber

network critical

Comments (0)

Permalink

lyrics to “Hallelujah Money” by Gorillaz & Benjamin Clementine (courtesy Genius)

[Verse 1: Benjamin Clementine]
Here is our tree
That primitively grows
And when you go to bed
Scarecrows from the far east
Come to eat
Its tender fruits
And I thought the best way to perfect our tree
Is by building walls
Walls like unicorns
In full glory
And galore
And even stronger
Than the walls of Jericho
But glad then my friend
Out in the field we shall reap a better day
What we have always dreamt of having
Are now for the starving
It is love, that is the root of all evil
But not our tree
And thank you my friend
For trusting me

[Hook: Benjamin Clementine (Choir)]
Hallelujah
(Hallelujah)
Hallelujah money
(Past the chemtrails)
Hallelujah money
(Hallelujah money)
Hallelujah money
(Hallelujah money)
Hmmm
Hallelujah money
(Hallelujah)
Hallelujah money
(Oooh)

[Bridge: 2-D]
How will we know?
When the morning comes
We are still human
How will we know?
How will we dream?
How will we love?
How will we know?

[Spoken Verse: Benjamin Clementine]
Don’t worry, my friend
If this be the end, then so shall it be
Until we say so, nothing will move
Ah, don’t worry
It’s not against our morals
It’s legally tender
Touch my friend
While the whole world
And whole beasts of nations desire
Power

[Bridge 2: 2-D]
When the morning comes
We are still human
How will we know?
How will we dream?
How will we love?
How will we know?

[Hook: Benjamin Clementine (Choir)]
(Hallelujah money)
Hallelujah money
(Past the chemtrails)
Hallelujah money
(Hallelujah money)
Hmmm
Hallelujah money
(Hallelujah money)
Hallelujah money
(Oooh)
Hallelujah money
Hallelujah money
Hallelujah
Hallelujah money!

[Outro: Spongebob Squarepants]
(Cries)

 

{from Genius}

...

Comments (0)

Permalink

Heiner Müller’s instagram courtesy of n.1edicoes

...
anciency
Ἀκαδήμεια
CAPITAL CAPITAL CAPITAL
hommangerie
infemmarie
τραῦμα
National Scandal
porte-parole
Trans-European Express

Comments (0)

Permalink

this with Theatre with Audience the documentary about Andrzej Wirth are taking my thoughts about the next Minus Theatre (VMG) piece in the direction of playing to the land

porte-parole

Comments (0)

Permalink