au soleil: on sensing the world

The faint but clear sounds were wafted through the night in a murmur of operatic music.

A voice near me said: “This is Sunday, and the band is playing in the public park of San Remo.”

I heard this with astonishment, thinking I must be dreaming. I listened a long time, and with growing delight, to the strains of music carried so far through space. But suddenly, in the middle of a well-known air, the sound swelled, increased in volume, and seemed to gallop toward us. It was so strange, so weird, that I rose to listen. Without doubt it was drawing nearer and louder every second. All was coming toward me, but how — on what phantom raft would it appear? It seemed so near that I peered into the darkness excitedly, and suddenly I was bathed in a hot breeze fragrant with aromatic plants, the strong perfume of the myrtle, the mint, and the citron, with lavender and thyme scorched on the mountain by the burning sun. more “au soleil: on sensing the world”

Thursday, 12 April, 1962

Spent the day working on the trajectory of the B vehicle, using the tapes from Kent Kresa’s run. We found that he had not used the 3rd stage or 4th in the run he gave us.

Overcast – rain/snow in PM

Drove Ford today, stopping at AMS on the way home to get the Willys drive shaft.

HS finally decided that he would like to have his rear springs — boosters taken off so I did so; it was quite a job as the nuts had locking inserts. He gave me his six volt adjustable regulator that I’ll try putting on the Willys, changing the ground — This as an experiment.

Put the Willys drive shaft on and road tested it. There didn’t seem to be any vibration.

Had a large bit of wax taken out of my right ear at the Acton Clinic.

workshop – Day 9 – eNZed

prepping the waka, Whanganui, New Zealand, December 2010

Workshop day begins: first the waka time on the river. Morning cycle down the river to the Putiki boat ramp, get there a little early, and feel the nerves as to what is possible with the workshop. There have been numerous anticipatory conversations in the last days about what I will be doing. I take a small paper with thought-notes and put it in my life-jacket pocket.

I am fighting with the impression that there is a superfluity of input for the participants — some have not been on a river or so. My dilemma becomes a question of when to jump in and alter the flow of events and protocols which accompany the waka and the enveloping and powerful Maori cultural scenario. It makes no sense to do anything other than participate. Where full participation is a position, an approach to an eventuality of contingent life-flow. I am observing the processes and vibes that are coalescing, seeing if there is a auspicious moment to intervene, but I see none. Back to participating. Enjoying it all. The newness, but also the familiarity and comfort which the Maori protocol applies to that (community-facing) unknown, and The River. more “workshop – Day 9 – eNZed”

schizophonia

Originally all sounds were originals. They occurred at one time and in one place only. Sounds were then indissolubly tied to the mechanisms which produced them. The human voice traveled only as far as one could shout. …

We have split the sound from the maker of the sound. Sounds have been torn from their natural sockets and given an amplified and independent existence. Vocal sound, for instance, is no longer tied to a hole in the head but is free to issue from anywhere in the landscape. In the same instant it may issue from millions of holes in millions of public and private places around the world.

Schafer, R. Murray. (2006). The Music of the Environment in “Audio Culture.” New York: Continuum International Publishers.

This Julian Treasure talk is a very short (seven minute) but provocative dance around some issues of sound and hearing (and listening).

By substituting the concept ‘energy’ for ‘sound’ the issue expands and finds some wider principles. Action, activity, creative and destructive both, releases energy. Many times this energy is in the form of sound. Techno-social systems generate massive amounts of waste energy in this form of sonic vibrations. Living organisms tend not to generate waste sounds as any wasted energy possibly compromises the life-form (life being a negentropic energy-optimizing process). On an evolutionary scale, waste energy (in the form of adaptive experimentation by the life-form) is incrementally minimal when considered in juxtaposition to the total energy expenditure of the life-form itself. However, en masse life clearly plays a role in accelerating the production of entropy of the Terran system when considered in comparison to a planetary system without life.

Humans, in their superficially intelligent pursuit of technological solutions, especially in the recent era, have created the means to generate tremendous amounts of waste energy. While engineering is about solving problems in the most efficient manner possible, the vast majority of devices created are clearly inefficient. This is especially apparent when the entire process necessary to bring a device to a completed configuration is considered, ensemble — that is, the extraction of earth materials, transport, processing, and manufacturing.

Whenever one has a technological process, it is likely that at one or more points in the process, sonic waste energy is being spewed out into the surroundings. This plethora of waste energy impinges on the body system with (un)certain results. (Remember the experiments of playing heavy metal or classical music at plants? It’s easier to understand the effects when you consider the energy content of the two different sonic manifestations.) In a typical urban environment, a tremendous amounts of (sonic) waste energy is, literally, reverberating everywhere. Any flux of (waste) energy will change that which it encounters. It will change the energy state of everything along its pathway to eventual almost-dissolution in the un-stellar void.

Using your ears to guide you, find a place where you can comfortably be for an hour. If eyes desire — sight falling between night sky stars tracing on the retina — could carry the ears to a same-such place, life would have different potential.

CLUI: Day Twelve — Silver Island Mountains

Silver Island Mountains, Utah, April 2010

Neal makes it in from London after last weeks aborted attempt from having the flu.

A loop north around the Silver Island Mountains paralleling the Bonneville Salt Flats traces many textures of rock, sky, and the interface between. Numerous forays away from the truck into the landscape, looking at everything, smelling everything, hearing … nothing … or so. The space vehicle rumbles onward on the bad road. Bad road. All bad roads lead away from, further away from, Rome.

Leave the car, be here now. The desert commands that (or the fearful response, deny here now, and insulate the embodied self from any manifestation of here, get back to the car, now).

Turning to the west at the north end of the mountain fault-block, I am suddenly met by five huge white Maremma (or Great Pyrenees?) sheep dogs, each over 100 pounds, ready to shred whatever fleshly appendages might be protruding from the truck. They were guarding a sizable flock of sheep who were busy razing the already marginal winter foliage. gah, why they allow sheep farming up here, I’ll never know—the BLM’s “multi-use” philosophy destroying what land cover there is left in this place. The circuit continues across the playa from Pilot Peak and on to Leppy Pass and a human installation.

(Ed. note — have solved the image gallery as you can see. Seems to be relatively glitch-free and less work than my previous solutions. This is one image from a number — Pennsylvanian-Permian-aged lime/mud-stones, highly contorted. Do hope to get all of them up from this trip so far, sooner than later. But there is so much code to do for that — I still haven’t settled on a means to display images on this blog — there are several pre-packaged plug-ins for WordPress in this regard, but I haven’t decided. Not going to Flickr things nor use Facebook as the data management and control is passed off to those cloud services (not to mention the perverse End-User Licensing Agreement terms). The travelog blog means was good, but the file structure of WordPress does not lend itself to any automation if I use that older technique, and I desperately want to get out of the manual compilation work that I have been doing all along. It’s incredibly time consuming and easily bunged-up with (simple) code errors. Ach, as this site evolves into its 16th year, it remains something of a millstone, given the relative paucity of traffic (1 – 2,000 hits a day total).

Proxemics

I would prefer that this whole thesis stay out of the regime imposed by semiotics — that is, the approach to social inquiry as an expression of how the dominant worldview is itself dominated by abstracted elements, rather than focusing on the flows of energy themselves. The abstracted systems do, of course, have a heavy bearing on the regime of flows within the social, as they do govern the pathways along which energy flows. However, in order to understand the dynamics of the flows which underlie the abstractions, one has to clear away the abstraction. I hope to frame the issue of language and protocol only to the degree that makes it possible to subtract it from the picture.

Consider the difference as framed following: when two people are speaking to each other, one can make a fundamental structural observation that breaks down the process into the movement of sonic energy and the presence of language-as-protocol. What is the sonic element? It is the movement of embodied energy, energy arising from the embodied presence of one person, arising from the complex negentropic life-processes of one’s self. This particular energy ‘form’ arises through the precise evolutionary configuration of body that allows for that particular expression: the lungs, the throat, the voice box, the mouth, and so on. It is projected through the ‘medium of substances’ from the Self to the Other, into the embodied presence of the second. Into the ear canal to energize the neural system that is hearing. This is a fundamental. This phenomena exists independent of the language being used, and regardless whether that language is shared by the two people.

Proxemics then becomes a question of potentialities and possibilities of flow or not-flow as proffered by the arrangement of energized bodies (at all scales!) — not simply a systematic coding of the arrangements and orientations of bodies in a Cartesian space. Hall does include body-heat (thermal code) in his list of proxemic behavior along with other sensory “codes,” but stays away from the actuality and implications of energetics (as illustrated by the previous paragraph. (A System for the Notation of Proxemic Behavior, Edward T. Hall, American Anthropologist, New Series, Vol. 65, No. 5, Selected Papers in Method and Technique (Oct., 1963), pp. 1003-1026)

The presence of language, then, is a formulator of meaning. Language does not carry energy itself. What one says is different than how one says it. The use of language (merely) imposes a modulation (amplitude, frequency, in time), a protocol on the energy movement. This modulation is a learned social function. And of that imposed modulation: when examined closely, it loses some of its monumental qualities (semiotics-as-deterministic-abstraction-of-abstraction):

There is no language in itself, nor any universality of language, but a concourse of dialectics, patois, slangs, special languages. There exists no ideal “competent” speaker-hearer of language, any more that there exists a homogeneous linguistic community … there is no mother tongue, but a seizure of power by a dominant tongue within a political multiplicity. — Deleuze and Guattari (Rhizome)

(in) no time

Willie Wagtails (Rhipidura leucophrys), Minors (Manorina melanocephala) …

that entry stopped there. no time to observe and note things when constantly consuming texts and coping with the daily movements. it is highly inefficient to commute for this kind of work. research is 90% online, and moving between home and the office sucks up at least 1.5 hours a day. strange that it is able to absorb so much time when it’s just a short distance away. walking takes about 40 minutes each way, though, and waiting for the bus and the slow crawl down George Street is tedious. I find that the mind-space that I take on when in that mode is very unproductive and deadening. I observe, while hearing is constantly assaulted, occasionally some energizing encounters, but the locally dominant Asian sense of personal space I find deeply conflicting with my own. and the reflexive sensory protocols I developed through the time in the desert and mountains has been thoroughly destroyed — no stars to see, not even planets, and it is only in the 16th-floor office that its really possible to watch the weather develop albeit through heavy windows that cannot be opened and are filthy on the exterior (I cleaned the large inside pane of the window immediately over my desk, much to the amusement of several of the other grad students). optical clarity — if I’m forced to look at the world through a glass filter, it’s got to be clean!
more “(in) no time”

another 50th

I stick around for Chris’ 50th as his folks, John and Barbara, also come into town on their way between Iowa and Tucson. nice to catch up with them. Barbara reminds me about her chocolate-chip cookies when she mentions she doesn’t have any with her. this references the care packages she would send to Chris when he and I were room-mates back at 148 Washington in Golden — she would usually include a tin of her fabulous cookies which Chris would share generously. got to snag the recipe someday. or, film her making them.

all this visiting. catching up. exploring territories. hearing stories. mapping out lives. recitations, prognostications on weather and politics and social systems. sampling lives. and seeing time pass forwards inexorably.

keeping up appearances (the cost of social participation), requires energy. energy paid into the system. (was this the lament of the Man?) versus what? appearing as The Self is and allowing for personal idiosyncrasy, proceed with no particular thought as to impact, just to channel what comes in life.

Only on condition of a radical widening of definitions will it be possible for art and activities related to art [to] provide evidence that art is now the only evolutionary-revolutionary power. Only art is capable of dismantling the repressive effects of a senile social system that continues to totter along the deathline: to dismantle in order to build A SOCIAL ORGANISM AS A WORK OF ART … EVERY HUMAN BEING IS AN ARTIST who — from his state of freedom — the position of freedom that he experiences at first-hand — learns to determine the other positions of the TOTAL ART WORK OF THE FUTURE SOCIAL ORDER. — Joseph Beuys

iDC dregs

iDC list gets annoying and rewarding at the same time. but what of life spent on the keyboard? the topic is teaching… and the transition of the teacher into the link jockey.

sotto voce: While the offerings of IP_based networks seem unlimited, and in rhetoric, the superlative of unlimited is often applied, I think it is important to keep firmly in mind that it is not a space of unlimited knowledge nor is it a space of neutral knowledge. And, also, in this time, it is not a space of embodied experience aside from eyes absorbing statically-framed EM radiation, ears hearing sounds disconnected from their source, and fingers twitching across a very limited place. Not to mention underlying ideologies which accompany each form of mediated connection (largely invisible but very much real) — among others, that of consumption (extractive resources, electricity, and thus, the globe-spanning world that we exert irresponsible dominion over). In this regard, the (limited)vastness of that knowledge-space seems a bit tainted and out-of-touch perhaps. Expensive and consumptive. Exclusive, reductive, and reified. A teacher is a catalyst, and is one who, simply by being an Other we encounter in life, presents us with the unknown. If we trust that Other, a world opens up that was previously unknown, and (if) we (trust enough to) apprehend and engage it, it changes us, we learn. This unknown world is sourced in the entire comprehensible universe, and is available through that Other. These encounters may take place anywhere, anytime, and can be had ‘for free.’ We need only ‘pay’ the Other with our attention, our life-time, and life-energy. It seems that in our formal techno-social educational systems, these potential encounters with the Other are (being) replaced by more and more socially-standardized systems-of-relation (protocols, curricula, government mandates, abstracted monetary instruments) which seem ever more intrusive to and even suppressive of potential open encounters. This limits the creative potential of the outcome. The cumulative effect of this social hyper-formalization-of-encounter — because learning occurs precisely at the edge of knowing, not within the known — is that we look elsewhere for the dynamic of coming-to-be (learning) that keeps us alive and growing. To me this is the ultimate source of the loss of vitality that affects the Education World, a vitality that ultimately does not rest on technological mediation but on human encounter. Yes, human encounter is always mediated by the vast range of social protocols and tools, and learning encounters may happen within highly mediated (‘virtual’) spaces, but when we allow those encounters to slide continuously into more and more mediated spaces, the life-time available for less mediated human encounter shrinks. I think that this represents a wide loss to learning, education, community, and creative potential as it moves to extremes and forgets what it is predicated upon — the originary encounter between the Self and the Other.

mega-equinox

Late monsoon storm rolls by Granite Mountain, seen from the deck.

Equinox spent in a mega-church, The Heights Church or a church aspiring to be one. dot.com. Which suggests the necessity for threading through the complex layering of cultural, social, and political detritus. A guy walks in ahead of us with an NRA tee-shirt on and a giant insulated travel-mug of coffee in hand.

Al always sits in the front and center of the large industrial sanctuary space. One row back from the front row. His eyesight is pretty bad, macular degeneration, and likewise, his hearing is attenuated to whatever narrow frequency band that his hearing aids provide.

I have my shit-kickers on, the dressiest items available for church at this point. Can’t find my Colorado School of Mines belt-buckle with the hand-tooled leather belt. The bronze buckle in the form of the school seal cast in a metallurgy class with an ancient prof, forgotten his name. Proof of Western citizenship.

There on the stage — one of those portable raised prefab affairs for concerts and political spectacles — is a miked drum-set, a bass and amp, a Rhodes with vocalists mike, a set of congas (not timbales!), and a guitar on a stand. No podium, dais, but plenty of microphones. On either side, two very large video projection screens.

Club scene? Will there be a concert? The Rhodes is the most prominent object, at the front edge near the center of the stage. later the preacher uses it to as a place for his notes and Bible.

It’s the eight o’clock service. Al tells me that there are usually around three hundred people at this, this first of four services. The 300? We are early.

As the service starts out, it’s clear that I should have brought earplugs to attenuate the 100 db blast from the sound system.

Somehow I can imagine doing a visual-sonic performance here. good sound and video system, focused audience, yeah, a good venue overall. More notes on this later.

expatiating

month over and out. blue sky above. short views of the stars. brief perambulations. trip-wires to step over and toxic states of being to avoid. and liberation.

another month, noting whether or not it has passed or seems to pass.

cut down a tree, dead birch, with an only-partly sharp axe. sharpened a bit on a chunk of sandstone. the birch is about sixteen inches in diameter. some serious cardio-upper-body work. with safety in mind (it’s a double-bladed axe). and the thoughts of the techno-social system roiling through mind. making small stories which illustrate the relationships.

the primary of which is the counter-balanced movement between autonomy and control; ability to project power and to survive with the available tools, and the avoidance of losing the autonomy of the body to project energies of its own making.

imagine the relationship of the contemporary person to artificial Lighting. Light switches are conveniently located at the door of a room to avoid any need to move in the dark. do we lose the capabilities of seeing in the dark? of augmenting memory-based embodied navigation and balance skills, tactile senses, located hearing. of slow motion, of eyes-wide-open proceeding. heightened muscle coordination? or just suffer an evolutionary set-back when shins hit the frame of the bed.

departures arrivals

(00:04:32, stereo audio, 10.9 mb)

where you going to? no sleep, travel night’s sleep. and up in bright 04:00 morning. and away after hearing night movements of the teenage child. other kids over after I go to bed at midnight, doors opening and closing, and then escaping, returning at 03:00. (sigh) nothing to be done anymore except be another human on the planet. closer proximity might help, might not. while heart comes to ache emptily. but with a foreboding of malfunction as per the way. nothing is always. and forever shades the eyes from seeing everything this is. how to crack open what can be?

African Feedback

Through a process of listening and speaking, African Feedback documents an exchange between artist Alessandro Bosetti and residents of villages throughout West Africa. Playing music by various experimental and avant-garde composers to people met in villages, Bosetti records their responses, asking them what they are hearing, and how they relate to the music and sounds. Composing their responses, with field recordings made throughout his travels, African Feedback is a musical portrait of cultural translations, misunderstandings, different voices and languages. Including an audio CD and the transcriptions of the listening sessions, along with an introduction by the artist, African Feedback is a beautiful and beguiling work cutting across the ongoing questions of cultural difference.

Alessandro Bosetti was born in Milan, Italy in 1973. He is a composer and sound artist working on the musicality of spoken words and unusual aspects of spoken communication, producing text-sound compositions featured in live performances, radio broadcasts and published recordings. In his work he moves across the line between sound anthropology and composition, often including translation and misunderstanding in the creative process. Field research and interviews build the basis for abstract compositions, along with electro-acoustic and acoustic collages, relational strategies, trained and untrained instrumental practices, vocal explorations and digital manipulations.

and the Dworak’s are off to Brussels for the weekend for Milena’s daughter Karla’s baptism.

OHV

Ready to vacate the camp ground: the omens and portents are not good.

Bbbbbrrrrrrrraaaaaaapapapapapapapapa, brapppapapapapapaaaaaaa.

Nothing like the amplified throb of hydrocarbon explosion to go to sleep by and to wake up by. Camping in a BLM (Bureau of Land Management) OHV (Off-Highway Vehicle) area. The premise is simple, the social system has generated devices, machines, both two-wheeled and four that allow a single driver to mount somewhat like a horse, and to ride at speed on rugged and steep terrain. For entertainment. (Note: three-wheeled machines were banned from production 25 years ago because of the vast toll of injuries and deaths which ensued as a fault of the basic design). The word entertainment is key. It is absolutely true, straddling one of these machines, with hydro-carbon explosions vibrating the body, landscape rushing by a high speed. The body transforms itself into the body of a god (or goddess). Speed and flight, and the power to conquer the land makes one a lesser though very carnal deity. It’s great fun. The wider world is narrowed down to a small slice of the road ahead and some limited peripheral vision that is otherwise masked with the (state-mandated) helmet. The system narrows to the challenge of moving forward along a pathway (state-defined, in this case, with designations for beginner, intermediate, and expert, like a ski area), maintaining forward motion and lateral balance while negotiating the shifts in speed and orientation. Essentially an immersive video-game experience. Back to the virtual. Hearing is both muted in the helmet, but also assaulted by the viciously loud hydrocarbon explosions happening with minimal attenuation between the legs, touch is overwhelmed by the vibrations of hands, holding onto the handlebars (feeling reduced by gloves) and actions reduced to wrist rotations for accelerating, and gripping for braking. Sight, limited by the helmet. Smell coming through a nose filter, and otherwise, smell and taste dominated by the grit of dust that chokes everything. This is circumscribed by my definition of virtual as that which entails an attenuation of sensual input to the body-system.

It’s a holiday weekend, one for remembering the dead, fallen heroes, and the reasons that nation-states exist. The right to bear arms under any circumstances.

A radio blasts into the night as soon as the working folks arrive late on the Friday evening for the three-day weekend. Motors are tuned, beer is drunk, laughter and shouting echoes around the local space. The local space is a mis-en-scene, a tableau. The trees are decorations to be cut for fire, nails inserted into and chopped with hatchets because they are there, extruding from what is taken simply for painted or projected backdrops.

The camp ground is, as darkness falls, a backdrop for yet another kind of entertainment to take place. The BLM has posted a regulations sign-board, but it is the victim of target shooting with large-gauge shot-guns. Most of the regulations are unreadable, peppered with holes leaving letters, words, whole sentences unreadable. No shooting so far this weekend yet, but it’s sure to happen. Our campsite has a mound of big red 12-gauge shotguns shells, spent, under one tree, and several hands full of high-power rifle shells of a variety of calibers scattered around. And every once in a while one sees side-arm shells. Spent ammunition. Broken glass, beer bottle tops. Past remembrance-of-the-dead weekends. Celebrated by shooting into the air, shooting the trees, shooting anything that looks non-human. Most of the time.

The ambient audio mix also contains material from the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas compound.

(stereo audio, 12.4 mb)

There is nothing that does not flow forth from the Dharma Realm, and nothing that does not return to the Dharma Realm.

bbbbbrrrrrrrraaaaaaapapapapapapapapa, brapppapapapapapaaaaaaa.

salvage

hmmm, combinations of local circumstances impede encounters. structural deficiencies route possible crossings into different spaces. turtle-like, looking out onto a complex and unknown landscape and socio-cultural milieu.

find any openings for contact, sussing-out, phishing, checking in, checking out. finding where there is a break in the construct, gaps. small TAZ’s crouched and ready. intervene, connect.

and on another note entirely. sadly, transcendentally. hearing on the underside of the planet. or the reverse top. as shadows point to Antarctica. another giant come to an end in this world. how to expect that another world is? or that there is some way of standing in both for more than a while.

So it goes. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five style=

polar/solar crossing #1

the last day, more lunches, meetings, panels, and sessions. of multiple form, but with threads of connection throughout. that’s the core thread, or simply the core: people. the structure of most of the collective events is the usual podium-stage-screen-VIP-amplification (who was chosen for social and real amplification?). I am only interested in the granular micro individual un-amplified events.

Steve provides this nice image from a small polar/solar path crossing in Caesar Chavez Park in downtown San Jose.

the SoundCulture presentation with Ed Osbourne, Shawn Decker, and Nigel Helyer … where the organization SoundCulture aims to be a trans-disciplinary, trans-regional, pro-actively critical platform for sound art …

sound is field-like … fluidity … formlessness … nomadic and transient … sonic everywhere (related to Light … because it is another manifestation of field energy)

sound in spaces … how to solve (or use) spatial pervasiveness of sound …

sound is one of the first inter-media areas, linking multiple practices and media

sound is vibration and relies on material

sound as environment — sustainability & architecture

sound and music — hearing and technologies, but what about music and sound difference …

comments:

overlooked as field; eye is master, ear is slave; architecture going backwards; plus sound-specific work isn’t always that way … music — the 500-pound gorilla in the room; electroacoustic; sound vs composition, etc. I commented on the possible parallels in the development of photography-as-art-form and the subsequent isolation it faced as materially-defined art form, and then a gradual realization as the digital began to make headway into its domain that photography was just another way to put a 2-D mark on paper.

finally catch up with Tapio as well, for a bit of conversation time.

head home before the SOFA street party really gets underway. don’t have the energy to keep on with it. carrying a bunch of equipment is an anchor. so, after filming some of the Latino concert action in the convention center with Amanda and Sophea, I head back to the car and the commute up 680 to Livermore.

seeing hearing feeling

spend the morning with Sally Jane, checking out some of the exhibitions including a personal walk-through of the Animalia project with producers Angela Main and Caroline McCaw (more kiwis!). then on to the ART MUSEUM to see THE SHOW curated by Steve Deitz. some amazing works, leading off with the elegant live-chat-based piece.

lunch with Ken at La Victoria Taqueria, better burritos than Macho Taco which was inexplicably closed at lunch-time.

also happen upon the npr (neighborhood public radio) broadcast studio at the downtown cineplex in an unused ticket booth. was wondering where they were broadcasting from — last night I happened to tune them in at 88.9 on the car radio on the commute back to the ‘burbs. so, met Jon Brumit and

hard to begin and end the day with a rattling vibrating swervy commute that lasts about an hour, door-to-door.

some overviews on the conference:

yadda-yadda-yadda; blah-blah-blah.

so many words, so many moving images, so much sound, talking heads, and spectacle. along with nice personal encounters. the monumental, the hierarchic voices along with the personal, networked, and confidential/private.

San Jose is interesting clash of urban-renewal towers of glass and corrosion-resistant metals: ringed some hard-core barrio Victorian bungalow scene, interlaced with the chronic homeless scattered between the shining spaces and conventioneers.

organized networks are interested in new institutional forms. tactical media has come to a stage of confronting itself. question of scalar transformation, (vs) networked organizations. democracy and networks are antithetical. bunk.

prototypes: sarai, iDC, srishdi school of art and media, indy media, etc

end up going to see a Mike Figgis remix of his film Time Code. a pseudo-press guy is giving away a couple tickets, so I snag one. he explains that he’s not really press, but a writer, and is trying to write a history of media art starting with the worldview of Gertrude Stein. I didn’t quite understand what he was trying to tell me. I suppose he very well might be a better writer that explainer. the film is a disappointment — the subject of the narrative is hermetically sealed in Hollywood and lacks any compelling visual or story elements. Mike is there, verily, and does a live “remix” which consists of rewinding the tape(!) and fading in/out the 4 different screen audio tracks. in form — the four frames which simultaneously inhabit the main screen that were recorded in four single simultaneous takes starting at the same time — there is an extremely interesting potential, especially as the overall resolution of video systems for shooting, recording, editing, and playback are gradually increasing. but the possibilities of the form seem completely wasted by the insipid narrative and visual void. is it a joke maybe?

head back to Livermore on the 87-280-680-84 pilgrimage route. not really liking that violent traverse of the land. though one segment moves across the Calaveras Valley which is still unpopulated and sports the rolling amber hills with huge live oaks scattered at stellar intervals.

hot as …

morning spent making a photo archive of Kevin’s work that Stefan and Ellen have. adding to the archive, not really sure how many works are out there of Kevin’s — he had a lot of cultured friends, and he liked works to go to good homes, so.

an afternoon with Josephine and Dan and the KidsConnect crew. interesting to work with 7th – 10th graders from around the metro area. I jumped in with a simple facilitation of the local human network, hearing their stories. later met the Scottish couple who are acting as advisers and tutors on the Second Life platform that is the virtual platform for KidsConnect.

Rexroth

Mr. Sobol, while mentioning his wonderful gigblog, finds resonance in my travelog and the work of Kenneth Rexroth, and sends one of Rexroth’s works along.

Inversely, As The Square Of Their Distances Apart

It is impossible to see anything
In this dark; but I know this is me, Rexroth,
Plunging through the night on a chilling planet.
It is warm and busy in this vegetable
Darkness where invisible deer feed quietly.
The sky is warm and heavy, even the trees
Over my head cannot be distinguished,
But I know they are knobcone pines, that their cones
Endure unopened on the branches, at last
To grow embedded in the wood, waiting for fire
To open them and reseed the burned forest.
And I am waiting, alone, in the mountains,
In the forest, in the darkness, and the world
Falls swiftly on its measured ellipse.
* * *
It is warm tonight and very still.
more “Rexroth”

George Saunders

George (Saunders) leap-frogging a parking meter somewhere on Sunset Boulevard, sometime in the year that Orwell’s O’Brien tagged when the lesser shall have a future controlled by the greater, thus:

How does one man assert his power over another, Winston?

By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating? It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery is torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world which will grow not less but more merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress towards more pain. The old civilizations claimed that they were founded on love or justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy everything. Already we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child and parent, and between man and man, and between man and woman. No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. Children will be taken from their mothers at birth, as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no literature, no science. When we are omnipotent we shall have no more need of science. There will be no distinction between beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always — do not forget this, Winston — always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — for ever.

And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. — George Orwell

George Orwell I did not know, but George (Saunders) is a friend from some distant past. I heard a cryptic review on NPR of his first novel The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil that made its way to shelves recently. I’d buy a copy, but I don’t spare cash for material things that I would just have to carry around. I’ll wait until it’s online with the Gutenberg Project or so. maybe somewhen else I’ll resurrect some visual histories of other days that were shared. why George was leaping over the parking meter I no longer recall. why I made an image, I only know that I have been taking images of friends in various stages of living at various ground coordinates for more years than I can remember why. certainly not for nostalgic reasons because when I took them, there was no future, only a present that skittered along, like the rocks I sometimes spin across bodies of water, or the rocks that I have held in hand, drawing lines on another’s body, or those same rocks, smooth in their repeated collisions with other rocks, now in my jean’s watch pocket, getting warm from expended body heat, and grounding one side of my body to the body of the earth. humans have life collisions. I collided with George, numerous times, it wore down some sharp edges, maybe. maybe not. I still have sharp edges, George perhaps not. maybe not proud of that, as evolutionary alteration is a sign of maturation.

V2

tuning in to Lev Manovich‘s lecture/discussion at V2. last time I saw Lev was at my flat in Helsinki in 2000, I made dinner for him, Tapio, and Susanna. His topic is “scale effects.” Stephen Kovats, a curator at V2, sent an email invitation to myself and a handful of other folks who frequently participate in such live/online events. it is a non-standard way to participate, for sure, watching and hearing the event via an audio/video stream, and reacting to that via an IRC channel that is projected into the lecture space. there is much more that one could do to push this format for live interaction, but it usually ends up being rather mundane and polite.

sotto voce: after self data-mining. computers scaling social forms. (dialectic between increasing quantity, size, creates new effects. examples Wikipedia. scaling in visual culture. one million hours of programming online. (BBC?) company in San Diego makes 6 giga-pixel images. (factors — image size, data volume, podcasting, moblogs) Bruce Sterling, the future. ubiquitous computing. media ecology. listing newest, hippest pop technologies. What about the societies in which this technological consumerism takes place in? medical imaging – PET, MRI, CT. graphical browsers took off. 30-40 years of media history. What about the impact of scaling up of existing media? What is tradition of quantitative effect scaling. very much based on a Cartesian system. Mcluhan’s suggestion that increasing of speed changes the social system. With scale being a parameter for comparison of media implementations. Speed: processing speed relating to visual presentation. algorithm already developed in Durer’s time. so, scaling causes the development of a “whole new media”… new visualizations important to contemporary science. resolution yardstick. but the available visual cortex (field of vision) can cover a small fragment of the image at any one time. redefining new media. normal media flattens the world, then surveillance. 4k digital Cinema. adam says it’s all smoke and mirrors. I think it seems to be using conventional metrics — based in Cartesian worldviews? temporal, spatial, compression. the collective. “as much data as we want.”

the parallel irc discussion (see below) leaves much space for wondering at Lev’s success. there seems a close linkage between text production and influence, something I have mentioned many times in other places. he made careful note that he is working on two new books and is proceeding at a rate of 2500 words a day. seems linear, quantitative, and retro. hmmmm. but it works within the attention economy.

shifts and changes

three months out from accident/surgery and all reports are positive from Dr. Papadopoulos. he was busier than last appointment, but he gave the essential prognosis that I can wean myself from the brace and swim, hike, and so on. good deal. it comes off as much as possible. which may be a slow process, it has grown to fit, muscles succumbing to laze and sprawl in the molded plastic casing.

retro-fitting the travelog — now back to December 2000. about half-way, though the first half is probably twice the volume of text than the latter half. doubt I will get the whole thing done. it is a legacy project.

pondering how it is that I have not brought more relevant experiences into this travelog. the last decade of my trajectory is relatively singular, and has crossed the paths of a great many of those who are greater in the eyes of the mass pay-per-view. nothing rubbed off. or only a little.

it could be that, as with the subject of my inquiry — the continuum of human relation — I tend to take a relationist rather than a reductionist approach. that is, allowing a text (better yet, speaking!) to generate from the complex and dynamic space of the human connection rather than making a series of overarching reductions of that Other, through the encounter. hmmm. it is this pathway which almost requires an abandonment of social relevance, except as a chance by-product. there will be unprecedented outcomes.

it is exactly this reductionist approach which brings massive social rewards: the compressing/re-stating/re-creation of lived presence as completely embedded in the social system. indeed, this IS the essence of fame. the generation of parallel (yet seemingly convergent) pathways which appear known, or previously experienced (social structure is predicated on shared experience). when there is an encounter with an Other who, on examination, does not share any of the abstracted pathways of life-experience, we feel uncomfortable, distanced, and afraid. through the “getting-to-know” process — a process of trying to locate within the Self and the Other common pathways and patterns of being — if we are not successful in finding any shared pathways, then the social dimension of the relation is doomed. we are forced to simply be in the moment, in a fearful and unknowable sequence of moments that have no predictable outcome. “breaking-the-ice” — looking for the flow of shared life by breaking through the stasis and reification of socialization (judging on looks, on possessions). looking at life passing on around through the (distorted) socialized eye. seeing only the known, blocking out any confrontation of the unknown.

a couple Latino guys come to deliver the firewood. my ears are wooden. hard to understand them. not able to dredge up some English, and not used to hearing the Spanish, though I can understand when one of them translates to the other.

Unocal memories

Reflecting on parallel universes, light musings surround the controversy that today ceased rumbling around CNOOC (Chinese National Offshore Oil Company) and Unocal (Union Oil of California). Back when I worked for Unocal in the early 1980’s, it is hard to imagine any other response than hearty guffaws to the suggestion that in 20 years the US oil concern would be up for auction with Chinese buyers out-bidding Chevron. No longer in contact with any of my colleagues from those days, I would be curious to hear their situations, if, indeed, they still are employed by the firm. Times change the conditions of the market. Unocal has been an acquisition target since the early 80’s when I was there — when the infamous Texas oilman T. Boone Pickens was in hot pursuit of the company, such that the board tried to sink the company into multi-billion debt to make it less attractive. It is a different time indeed when a Chinese company, 70%-owned by the Chinese government, makes an aggressive bid to acquire a legacy US corporation. And on top of that, a company dealing with the major strategic resource of the developed world of the 21st century. No wonder Washington hawks are screaming! After watching the entire Cspan-aired Senate hearings on this precise merger, I was astonished at the lack of intelligence in the expressions of the ‘experts’ called in by the Senate. So little understanding of the movement and evolution and change of power in a dynamic world. Fighting or resisting inevitable power shifts is for the naive who cling to temporal power under highly conventional paradigms. It is clear that China is rising, and the US perhaps falling — in the broad sense. the empty cup tends to fullness, the full cup tends to emptiness. Rather than deal with the realities of socio-political evolution, the Washington power-brokers cling to an out-dated and very static worldview. Few seems to get Sun Tzu.

But how is it, these men and women who populate a corporate landscape, how do they live? Remembering back to the instance of going on a executive retreat to an exclusive resort in Ojai, north of LA, for a 4-day review of Unocal’s status in the oil business. My task was to present at an informal seminar an overview of state-of-the-art technology and applications for gravity and magnetic in petroleum exploration. Golf was on the schedule for a majority of the older execs, their bonding exercise. Open bar helped with that. I got the feeling that everything simply went along a certain and safe pathway to the intended goal of regular paychecks which were fed into mortgages, car payments, and very short vacation splurges (only 10 days of holiday per year for the first 5 years). Like a corral to tame the wild engineering student broncos. At the end of my briefing on the Colombia Llanos project, I showed a series of slides including portraits of the local peasants, the landscape, and the on-the-ground operation. It was very quiet when I was showing images of the people.

I have always maintained that my departure from the Big Oil scene was in no way an altruistic choice. this despite an early radicalization which included studying “The Communist Manifesto” in 7th grade — a fact that classmate Russ Werner picked up. he was the funniest kid in the junior high school, and the best cartoonist as well. he left a note in my yearbook addressed to the Pinko Commie Rat. no, that predilection did not factor in, though I can point to Roger Steffens program on KCRW, where I was a volunteer-member, The Reggae Beat brought the vibes of the Rastafarian belief system into high relief with guests the likes of Bob Marley, Alton Ellis, and Peter Tosh. If music can radicalize, it did. Bob Marley speaks as powerfully as any German philosopher! Jah Rastafari Makonnen! not to mention programs like “Alma del Barrrio” on KXLU “schizo-radio on the Left.”

I also recall, when living off of Lincoln and Ocean, taking a long slow look at a Roland Jupiter 8 keyboard, running around $1200 at the time, now I really wonder what would have happened if I had bought that rather than a Nakamichi tape deck, a used 6’2″ twin-fin swallowtail surfboard, and a Fiat Spyder.

No, leaping from the Big Oil gravy train was merely the next step. on the eve of departure, the actual handing in a letter of resignation to Dennis Mett, the director of International Exploration, there was the huge Mombasa project that came up. For six months after I left, I would get occasional phone calls from Bill Sax, the VP of the International Division, asking if I wanted to continue working for Unocal and go to Africa for a couple months to oversee a mag survey from offshore up into the Great Rift Valley. By that time I was on another trajectory completely. Not nearly as lucrative, but somewhat more soul-satisfying.

Chief executives, who themselves own few shares of their companies, have no more feeling for the average stockholder than they do for baboons in Africa. — T. Boone Pickens

sand storm

a trip into the Hopi reservation with the objective to get to Grand Falls on the Little Colorado with Uncle Al and some friends from his church, Mike and Debbie. no chance. there is a heavy south-west wind blowing on the drive up to Flagstaff, nice to have a tail-wind going up the hills. but when we get onto the reservation, we cannot see very far east, from I-40 there is a plume of tan sky originating towards Walnut Canyon and stretching north as far as can be seen: sandstorm. the wind increases to probably 50 mph as we are heading down the last 15 miles of dirt road. but as pebbles the size of peas begin to rain onto the car, and visibility goes to zero we eventually have to turn back. end up mostly driving around, to Wupatki (Anasazi ruins above) and Sunset Crater National Monuments instead. though even then, the wind and sand makes any activity unpleasant.

If a man walk in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer; but if he spends his whole day as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making earth bald before her time, he is esteemed an industrious and enterprising citizen. As if a town had no interest in its forests but to cut them down! — H.D. Thoreau

mushrooms

sonorous night of outside vodka partiers and raucous snoring. sharing simple spaces with others. back in a situation where 99 words in 100 are incomprehensible. so, the exhausting state of contextualizing everything, with little-to-no results. recalls first visits in Iceland and Finland. where now comfortable meaning is heard in those places, here is that discomfort. especially in unstable living and logistic situations.

a hike to the highest dune where there is a huge sundial covered in runes, installed in 1991. the top granite pedestal, the solar pointer, is broken off and lies smashed across the circle of granite blocks that forms the face of the dial on the ground — from a storm in 1996. there are pathways everywhere, some adding to the sense of un-natural erosion and human presence. no trees are left to lie in the woods if they fall by storm or disease, so the natural infrastructure, for example, soil development, is a bit hampered, though the whole of the island is technically a National Park. I park myself on a variety of locations to soak up the ambiance, one place, sitting half-way out on a breakwater pier (to record the odd sound of waves skimming the side of the concrete). an elderly gentleman wanders up, looking as much like the images of an old Karl Marx as is possible, with a bit of white-haired Fidel Castro mixed in. he is with his daughter, who stays behind at the shore. they are there for memory, that is clear. bodies mapping old pathways and places from youth. there they were, a younger man with his daughter, a child, playing on this same beach, the trees different, the world hosting a different set of human empires, principalities, and powers. he comes to me, and asks something in Russian to which I reply in English that I don’t speak Russian, he then asks in German if I speak German, so I reply in German him that I am an American artist, he reacts with interested surprise, but speaks no English, so, smiling, walks to the far end of the breakwater to stand for a bit. his daughter finally joins him and together they chat with the lone fisherman who seems to be without much luck. the couple, young and old, walk slowly back to the beach, I tip my hat to him as he approaches, he salutes me, and pats my shoulder as he shuffles past. human connection.

mushrooms are the focus of much of the day. Alvydas has gathered several bags full, so we spend a couple hours cleaning them — peeling the top skin off and making sure there are no decaying parts.

I make a presentation for the students late in the evening that is followed by some difficult questioning provoked by my fragmentary and discontinuous comments about energy and art, and the live remix that I effect as an opening sample of my work on the projector.

this is followed by platefuls of the mushrooms with potatoes that have been carefully boiled and spiced. mmmMMMMmmmmm.

post ram6: mushrooms, sea, and wind

This video supersedes some of the smaller clips that I made previously. It begins in Vilnius on a quiet day after the end of RAM 6. Jodi and I wandered around town, and eventually end up at a performance with Derek Holzer and Sara Kolster and some others; fireworks in Vilnius keeps the car alarms going; then it was on to Nida with Alvydas to the residency place nestled in the forested dunes a few minutes walk from the Baltic and just about 5 km from the border with Kaliningrad! It’s nice to explore the area for a time, and then going out mushroom hunting with folks for a big meal later in the evening.

real-time notes

real-time notes, uploaded later (Sophea): invite someone to listen. permission to listen. what to do with sounds around? move them, trans-locate, transform, remix. real-time. mediation does not occur in real time. it occurs in a second time. cancellation. spatial elements. additive easy, subtractive difficult. control of acoustics. presence of observer. hear-er. location, pathway. subtractive relates to filtration of input energy. humans use a variety of devices for sonic filtration. cupped ears, ear plugs. psycho-acoustics. withdrawing information and re-configuring it. based in pure harmonics and resonances. (acoustic properties). absorbtion, reflection, reverberatory. waiting for lunch. existing resonances. hearing works. Bill Fontana — back when he was in Boulder, waiting to set up a project with CU, with live sonic connections from a field at high-altitude to a network space. but he never got funding. live, not-live. what about real-time?

Ken Nordeen comes to mind. as does the stomach’s desire to consume. lunchtime.

the workshop continues.

wishing to implement some kind of content management system. for this site. having an interactive blog instead of this. maybe I switch over to that when year 8 comes to a close. issues: edit-ability, portability, stability of server, interface design, customize-ability.?

teaching with technology

Teaching with technology conference. Concepts swimming at the popular surface of the sea. Little diving to the basal bentholithic ground. Why the ascendancy of the text? (and David Abram’s critique of written language as the initial wedge driven between lived/immersive experience in the sensual world and the new rational sentient be-ing.) Hearing things from the keynote speaker, intelligent, that I have dealt with and modeled in my teaching already. hmmmm. Stating the obvious. And keeping to the center. not comatose. (my presentation: Convergent Practice: Networking and Creativity)

Deep in production states, the initial 2-hour DVD burned for the installation coming up in a couple weeks. First time in artifact production for public show since the installation at Deiglan in Akureyri in 2000. Tested the plasma screen today, some sizing glitches, but otherwise, it seems to look/sound good. Second iteration will happen this week, perhaps a third after that.

So little writing done here, reflections seem to be submerged by influx, hinted knowings (tongue on 9-volt battery, citrus), secretions of saliva. pressure of hearing, adsorbing.

Open source, middleware, centralization, privacy, (the idea of standards, or the principle behind, actually directly decreases possibilities of innovation!) so, when standards come from open source communities of use, vs a central corporate monolith, you get different results. mandated innovation … hah.

Technology, arts, media. ‘talk the talk,’ but where’s ‘walk the walk.’ The focus on a particular level of technology to implement in a teaching situation. There is no correlation between deployment of technology and the quality of the learning experience (period).

Paragraphs. delineating breaks of time. illustrating the discontinuous nature of re-creating, re-production.

lost the life of language, the usage that does not spark, no internal voice. where the internal voice spends breathless hours; questions itself.

desert moon

another place.

The wind will not stop. Gusts of sand swirl before me, stinging my face. But there is still too much to see and marvel at, the world very much alive in the bright Light and wind, exultant with the fever of spring, the deLight of morning.

Strolling on, it seems to me that the strangeness and wonder of existence are emphasized here, in the desert, by the comparative sparsity of the flora and fauna: life not crowded upon life as in other places but scattered abroad in spareness and simplicity, with a generous gift of space for each herb and bush and tree, each stem of grass, so that the living organism stands out bold and brave and vivid against the lifeless sand and barren rock. The extreme clarity of the desert Light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life forms.

Love flowers best in openness and freedom.

***

Dehydration: the desert air sucks moisture from every pore. I take a drink from the canvas water-bag dangling near my head, the water cooled by evaporation. Noontime here is like a drug. The Light is psychedelic, the dry electric air narcotic. To me the desert is stimulating, exciting, exacting; I feel no temptation to sleep or to relax into occult dreams but rather the opposite effect which sharpens and heightens vision, touch, hearing, taste and smell. Each stone, each plant, each grain of sand exists in and for itself with a clarity that is undimmed by any suggestion of a different realm. Claritas, integritas, veritas. Only the sunLight holds things together. Noon is the crucial hour: the desert reveals itself nakedly and cruelly, with no meaning but its own existence. — Edward Abbey

Abbey, E., 1971. Desert solitaire: a season in the wilderness, New York: Ballantine Books.

ignoring things

back to Kiel via Hamburg, on the train once again. having also once again not done much there at all except meet intensively with a small group of other humans and speaking, exchanging energies with them. ideas like forms of deep-praxis, life-changing practices, and ways of communicating my ideas in more visceral ways come up. and logistics, and that flow, analog and continuous, of life, forward, and the sensual information that feeds into that.

the music that I encoded at Wolfgang’s is quite electric/eclectic. like listening to KCRW radio. in Santa Monica. where eyes opened to other forms of thinking and being. about as experimental as you can get.

like having the students choose an energy source, and give weekly reports on it to the others. or, as arose in Kiel as well, that image of the two cans with a string between them. communications-at-a-distance.

hearing last night the depth of living under the weight of manifest fears in Bogota. how that goes deeply into re-arranging the body’s energy state. we may stand, consciously apart from the body, but eventually it comes back to connect with that removed consciousness. with a vengeance if it has been ignored too long. saying, DOn’t IGNORE THE LIMITATIONS OF SENSUAL PRESENCE, yep.

passing a massive antenna installation a bit the the north of the rail line. military, and probably extreme long wavelength array for submarine or global communications. a relic of the past? like the landstrasse lined with the Linden trees. and the fallow, wild fields. a higher level of wildness and disorder. than in the former West, still. nice.

self-portrait & noise

self-portrait, teacher's flat, Imatra, Etelä-Karjala, Finland, October 1998

drone of trucks coming from and going to Russia on the highway near the house. combined with a very high-pitched almost-but-not-quite continuous whine of the hot water pipes makes for a very bizarre environment in the flat/room. I can work with the whine, although it is quite loud, sleeping I do not even try, just start with ear-plugs. sensitive hearing and loudness. noise. how is it that I can trace, identify, and enjoy the well-flowing energies/works of others, yet cannot make such works myself? I have an instinct for Others whose energies flow less turbulently (more laminar flows, cogent, read-able, absorb-able?) than mine (I think!?), meeting them, speaking with them, enjoying their presences and their products. and engaging in energizing dialogues.

embryonic MacDonalds

day one finished. a bit exhausted by exposure. the Academy is functioning under some fundamentally different paradigms that, combined with the student and faculty, has produced an ambiance shifted away from that of many other institutions. it will be important to measure what is happening this week. view the situation. in short, there are no walls and no departments. only some themes from faculty deliberation. no classrooms. so, I take a space to gather the students, whilst others wander to and fro nearby.

in the evening, a program about the film crews with the Air Force who created images of the atomic tests. hearing the familiar names like EG&G (Edgerton, Germeshausen, and Grier), Eniwetok Atoll, Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Lookout Mountain, Nevada Test Site, and on. into the Atomic Age. I reflect on what my father knows, has experienced in those times, with the envisioned threat of nuclear devastation hanging over every step of the way from strip malls to embryonic MacDonalds in Southern California. duck-and-cover. crouched under small first-grade sized desks, eyes and head covered. sirens wailing. for earthquake and/or nuclear war. forming the gross paranoia that bounces so much around Amurika and that brings such dis-ease to minds there.

night train

a few days off. before starting another workshop at the Academy of Fine Art. it has been a couple years since I taught there with Terhi. and did that performance. whenever it was. sleeper car. two-person cabin, another body gets on around midnight at Oulainen. I will not be asleep, I never sleep well on these rides. how many times? a couple times with Sanna but. so. solo this time. ranting and raving. to meself. it’s so warm this evening that no gloves are needed, no hat either. imaginations of Amsterdam begin to form, after a ten-year hiatus. traveled there with MB from Köln, down, downstream on the Rhine. there is a photo of her sitting in the train cabin, knitting. anyway. will Sanna contact me? something she has hardly ever does, made a move towards me, showed any real interest in reaching out. this week will be my last in Helsinki for many months, who knows, ever maybe, depending. of course, there will be pass-throughs, but unless something happens with the Helsinki 2000 projects, there is a good chance that Helsinki will not be on my agenda at all. a pity. that things had to go this way. learning lessons, sharing energy when possible. no solutions. and just pushing along. some minutes later I am engaged by mobile, lying there in the rolling stock, southbound. breaking up. all kinds of rewinds play. fast, slow, voices saying things that make no sense except to the two hearing, but both are confused by the world, and what it is to be IN the world, and so it goes. done, over, fini? nah, tea at Fazer later in the evening. and then the cold ferry ride to a warm island retreat: in the fortress.

>> > E M B E D D E D i m a g e s
>> > G A P I N G s h a d o w s
>> > S W O L L E N w o u n d s
>> > S A L T E D s u n
>> > F O R L O R N p a t t e r n s
>> > E N T A N G L E D t h o u g h t s
>> > S C O R C H E D s e a
>> > S E E K I N G s o l a c e
>> > F O R L O R N t h o u g h t s
>> > E N T A N G L E D p a t t e r n s
>> > S W O L L E N s u n
>> > S A L T E D w o u n d s
>> > G A P I N G i m a g e s
>> > E M B E D D E D s h a d o w s
>> > S C O R C H E D s o l a c e
>> > S E A s e e k i n g

— Varsha Nair

strikes

in Rovaniemi. bus to bus to bus to plane to bus to taxi. underway for four hours already, and still have a plane, bus, taxi to deal with. just to get from Tornio to Helsinki during an Air Traffic Controllers strike. without reading Finnish, it is outside possibility to understand the detailed dynamics of the negotiations. how can anyone, experienced in cross-cultural and linguistic situations, have any real faith/trust/belief in this monolithic stance that journalism and the media somehow have a corner on the truth market. knowing the slippery interface between two persons speaking the same language and having similar backgrounds, and the zoomed-in intensity of crossing even the most basic cross-platform linguistic barrier. in all cases, meaning is stripped to its essential lowest-common-denominator packet-form. in the worst case, it is lost. and in between these two translation polarities, there is a massive area where few things can be pegged, many data-feeds mis-routed, and substantial interstitial gaps in the matrix of human expression. travel makes me stress — all the time. can it be? that a human will undertake to set a daily condition of being that MOST stresses the core neural network of the organism itself? being human. chomp down on some Ibuprophen and aspirin dragged along from the last visit to the US. never am able to get the right over-the-counter drugs outside the US for some reason — just don’t know which ones to get. though I hardly ever use any medicines stronger than Tiger Balm or so. faugh! so I try to rewire language. adding contemporary terms to replace the ancient. but it is all the same — using cross-platform instead of transformative. while language is being constantly fed by the media, by writers (script-writers, mostly, and technocrats and geeks), its core senses do always reflect ancient knowledge-bases. one of the greatest challenges is educating across a language barrier — at the same time, reducing ones own knowledge and experience base to packets that can be shunted across this formidable interface gap. especially useful is a reliance on pure energy, force-of-self to heave these things across. and a very quiet, sensitive ear for hearing where the receivers place these energies within their experience. and sensing what these energies engender in the Other. mapping both the generative and reflexive energies of the Other. I don’t push this hard enough in the Art-Context, though. or with the mediations I have used for so many years. relying instead on the ephemeral, the transient, the sole ambient experience. un-documented, face-to-face, momentary. back in Helsinki. again. and again. sitting in a hotel room. watching cable. media-child, show about fashion. reflecting on the few times at Studio 54 and the Palladium in the Big Apple. knowing the underside of THAT business. images of Manhattan, photography, art directors, designers, fashion houses, headliners, mainliners, winners and losers.

terrible tragedy

morning, cool night (inside) cold (outside). my sister Janet, the family historian, transcribes and sends this story written by my grandfather, George Blodgett Hopkins, of an incident from his childhood in Linn, Missouri in the late 19th century.

Sometime between 1875 and 1877, when I was ten or eleven, a terrible tragedy occurred. My father, sister and older brother had been in California for some time. Mother, brother Walter and myself were still living in the old home. The new Linn courthouse that I had mentioned previously, was completed and part of it was occupied. The basement, composed of numerous rooms, 16 or 18 feet square, was not occupied. The rooms were located on either side of a long hall that extended east and west, the full length of the building. As I recall, the ceilings were about 10 feet height, the walls were plastered, painted and nicely finished. more “terrible tragedy”

hip, cool, and ripped-off

logging into the past. first I drop Loki off at school for a greatly shortened day that seems to be only a special pageant for the entire student body. 90 minutes. I go back home to read several weeks of nettime email. which gets me to this stage of needing to write here. photometry. grammetics. and new media is nothing more than more of the same. networked things – smeckworked things. learning in cyberspace, doing in cyberspace, personal technology begins/continues the inexorable involuted backfire on itself. but only personal technology. something to shoot back with. Corpo-tech, or mili-tech won’t cease. because selling and killing will have a greater field of action in the future. the mistake of all the applied technology hype is that it forgets the original interface — soul/body. where the ether jacks into the meat. all mediated things root in and then fly from this electro-colloidal fertilization-zone. all reason and form and metaphor and absolute can be searched, can be hunted in this zone. can then be copied, pasted into relevant organic categories. that’s it, the Confucian Analects that sends us through a process of searching the perimeter of the soul/body interface.

The men of old, wanting to clarify and diffuse throughout the empire that Light which comes from looking straight into the heart and then acting, first set up good government in their own states; wanting good government in their states, they first established order in their own families; wanting order in the home, they first disciplined themselves; desiring self-discipline, they rectified their own hearts; and wanting to rectify their hearts, they sought precise verbal definitions of their inarticulate thoughts (the tones given off by the heart) ; wishing to attain precise verbal definitions, they set to extend their knowledge to the utmost.

This completion of knowledge is rooted in sorting things into organic categories
— Confucius, from The Great Digest or The Unwobbling Pivot, translated by Ezra Pound

it is possible to consider all things to be simple. complexity is a result of over-thought. over-processing of even the most simple data-set creates sampling artifacts, noise, and confusion. borders fabricate, delta-functions shoot to zero or infinity (the paralysis of alienated polarization), surfaces distort. convolution with questionable concepts creates complete areas of synthetic fabrication replete with discontinuities and false event horizons. forget metaphors, jam poetry, and all cultural production machinery paradigms, swallow language, stop writing. stop beating flesh against time and space barriers that make it hurt. no sex for entertainment: no time-slot filler, no wet commerce. body looks soft for a reason. that reason is coddling. ways of going that treat body/soul interface as a bother, not the crux (what is crux — old ancient forgotten word — is there a new word to fill the spot where this was forgotten and once lodged? maybe the word that fills it is catalytic converter or simm or talk-show). there are so many substitution fonts that language can be forgotten anyway. because people are knowing less and less exactly or even generally what each other is saying. no hearing, no talking. only dumb silence while fingernails grow to stab palms. while genetic receptors are mapped (where’s life?). and while questions are asked that raise a cryogenic boiling fog that dissipates to nothing after awhile. hip. cool. and ripped-off.

superlanguage

spent in reformatting and putting a new system on the Powerbook, and continuing the massive work of cleaning and organizing the Macintosh labs at the College. all day pretty much. thank goodness for long weekends. although I never got done what I had intended. downloading several papers that have the potential for use in a critical theory class. Towards SuperLanguage, a paper by Pierre Levy, seems most attractive. in Helsinki at ISEA ’94, I heard him present this paper, but my head was elsewhere, and, if I am not mistaken, the reading of yet another paper put me over the edge of hearing read speech.

complications

here at Björn’s, he is out, Easter Morning, singing in a choir at church. I stay in, it seems cold out, despite a warm looking sunrise. yesterday I manage to find a copy of the Kieler Nachtrichten newspaper with the article in it. rather long, scanning it, it seems to cover critical issues, but my German is not good enough to allow a full apprehension of it. save it for later to read with a German speaker. Schubert on, Björn has a huge opera and classic vocal collection. last night we are listening to the Texaco Metropolitan Opera Broadcast live from New York, and so I relate the story how my relationship with opera was most heavily influenced by the fact that my father used to listen to this very same broadcast which started rather early on Saturday mornings. the recollection of being woken up as a sleep-committed teenager was, by far, the most unpleasant aspect, but being woken up by Marie Callas singing Donde lieta usci… from Puccini’s La Bohème put the concept over any reasonable edge. storming out to turn the volume down, discover that he is not even in the room, but out working on the lawn mower, getting it ready for me to mow the lawn when I get up. operatic conspiracy. grrrrrr. okay, now I can enjoy almost all music; my criteria being as long as it is good seems to hold out into realms of all sorts except into the banality of badness. the line of sound and music has blurred to a point where listening and hearing are continuous. sometimes it is music that focuses ones attention onto itself, sometimes sound has the same effect, sharpening the sensual intensity of an event. we are hunters, in this incarnation, hunters, gatherers, (clockwork orange), violence-breeders to take care of continuing species. Ludwig van. gorgeousness and gorgeosity. shagging for the genetic promulgation of being. but who cares about genes? a single generation has no use for genetics — it is one of those questions that the Buddha suggested was a waste of energy to consider. what is important, then? the whole day is gone, Björn cooks a nice Thai meal (having recently returned from a visit to Bangkok) and I screen some videos. complications with Tornio, they don’t know when I am arriving. stress, but I don’t care about it, I just go. I can’t be bothered with complications when they are no fault of my own.

hubris of chrome

Listening to Kulu se Mama by Coltrane this morning over a bowl of Cheerios, the phrase the hubris of chrome materializes in my head. It is an expression of the pride that humans have in the creating of machines in their own image. A false god-hood. Seeing themselves as the driving source within the heart of the machine. Production of technology, extension of body, prosthesis, being at root only a reflection of the creative energies of Life. And, somehow, a reflection is, by definition, only a corrupt materialization of the source. It is not, in itself, a source. It is an energy sink, that which absorbs energy, alters it, and re-radiates it. I make lunch for myself, and in the process eat some bad ham which has the effect of, about an hour later, the hearing in one ear goes, throwing me off balance, I am in the middle of a discussion with some students, I last another half-hour, then break, and end up dashing home in the car, hardly able to stand up or walk. I fall onto the bathroom floor and end up having to stick a finger down my throat in order to vomit. Amazing what organic poisons can do to the body.

traverse no zenith

Forty-degree temperature swings signal the approach of winter. sun draws into a southern zenith. recall a phrase that meant so much — traverse no zenith — imperative demand, plea from a heart moving through bands of circumpolar cloud, Light of Being. on the phone caught by the unexpected, radio clipping sounds cut into aural continuity. two instances of deja vu fire into the continuity of recent cyclic time. the screaming train, braking downhill across the street. hearing, I race downstairs grab the video camera and begin filming. leaning against the frame of the front door, one foot propping open the screen, seeing the contents of the viewfinder, I am there in dream again. before, like during the Self-to-Self event way back in 1990 immediately prior to flying to Iceland, staying at Bill and Andrea’s place in Layton, Peters Valley. that Knowing within the flow of sensory information. reeling screeching of steel wheels pulsing to a halt over many minutes. and the visual construction of things, impression on eye. being pushed into the race of perception. and the thoughts strung out in a progression of order, like it was before, like it was before. I was here now. I am here then. and the coming-to-be yet a pure formation of new-ness in pre-dreams that are no longer real but are fragments of movement movement movement. somehow things have changed. back is stable, not hurting all day, for the first time in months. this was the year of back-ness, backwardness, spinal deficiency, upright challenged, anti-bipedalian. crawling, lying on the back, succumbing totally to gravity, being absorbed by the floor-ness, being at the bottom, close to the earth or pressed to lower matter. any change in this is a revelation, somewhere near Patmos, and the end Times not too far off. formed conversations are call and response. pressing idea out, energy, in the form of Words. Light. Words. Light. Words. saying that ignites, seeing the Other come back from the hearing in another state, hearing difference, and praying that the hearing is not distorted by the filters of learned being. WHERE IS MY VOICE? hidden behind the anti-truth of language, squirming under the weight of separate and solitary understandings. experiences unfold and leave a taste in mind that is akin to a dry polluted wind, blowing across steppes of post-industrial carparks. stained ground, offal of automobiles and material sinners. case closed. nothing reported today. late anyway, and over and out. from a western front.

word-prayers

The week flashes by in a way that continues to defy my clear understanding. Bullshit. Who cares how fast it goes. Quality, not lagging moments. sliding through the words, words that frame each human encounter. momentary existence flashing to ear enjoyment hearing knowing. the pleasure of speaking with others spoken to over long times and long places. the recognition. understanding no less a challenge, but the recognition and open acceptance remains the core heart of the interaction. a string of beads, word-prayers to the Other, passing through fingering hands one-by-one, where walking propels to the spatial coming-to-be, speaking-hearing propels the soul to a visionate space of confluential coming-into-spirit.

my home?

So many miles have rolled past the frontward hypnosis of my eyes in the last 25 days, I cannot recall but flashes and strokes of brilliance. Lightning, Lightening. In the blurred darkness of what passes by memory. Like the throbbing eye-pulse, after driving long hours, the eye still sees movement, rippling tunnel-ward from center to periphery. Formation of words. come to slivers, deep driven under the fingernails. shaking layer after layer of skin off, gone and gone. to the Other place. in the Other’s arms. meanwhile, hair falls out. inflictions of sensation. sensation vs information. which is ascendant? which descendant? massive attack. scatter shot and pleasure domes. scratch and ambient. destruction of the soul is vanity. having that immense luxury of concentration. a longing for the stammering glottal stops the shudder from paced expression. hearing stands for nothing like being (and another’s touch). where the, and the, or.

Across the sky, the clouds move, Across the fields, the wind, across the fields the lost child of my mother wanders. Across the street, leaves blow, Across the trees, birds cry — Across the mountains, far away, My home must be. — Hermann Hesse

barbeque

Barbecue over at Jim and Janet’s place. They got back late last night from their weeks vacation in Utah and Colorado. Mostly fishing, but also showing their two Aussie sheepdogs at a show in Richmond, Utah, where they packed away a few ribbons. Marianne was over for dinner too. Hadn’t seen her since Christmas, so was caught up on her two book projects, one which has found a publisher. A book about the lives of ranch dogs in the west of the US, with various creative texts and photos… Conversation ranged far and wide. Whilst in the background the Olympics jingoism blared onward to its ecstatic self-congratulatory conclusion … I really can’t stand it, yet I am drawn to the imagery like a magnet. That’s one reason I have not had a teevee around my own house for 15 years or more — because it is so seductive. But I am getting more and more conscious of the need to totally limit mediated input in this life — taped music, radio, newspapers, books, magazines, teevee, telephone — and concentrate on the unmediated. Observation of other people and the immediate physical surroundings. Hearing stories about other places direct from some one else. I suppose

being here now

would characterize the approach. But this alone is not enough. There must be an active component, a pursuit of what lies behind the purely physical. I try to meditate on these things. But mostly I just am confused on the course life is taking. Under-employment, well, socially a downward spiral for the past three years or so. I don’t know when it will end…

ergo vivida vis animi pervicit, et extra processit longe flammantia moenia mundi atque omne immensum peragravit, mente animoque…

and so it was that the lively force of his mind won its way; he passed on far beyond the fiery walls of the world, and in mind and spirit traversed the boundless whole… — Lucretius

fast trains

Already I am back on the X2000 train heading for Malmö. The boat docked around 0830 this morning and I made a race across town via the Metro to the Central Station. I didn’t want to miss this one, as it would affect whether or not I would be able to buy Björn a beer this afternoon in Copenhagen. The X2000 service is among the best in Europe, as far as I have experienced of high-speed trains on this and other trips. I always enjoyed the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse) in France, but I never got to ride them First Class, so I don’t know about the service. Anyone traveling in Europe with a 1st class Eurail pass should be sure to look for these trains and try the ride. (Look for ICE trains in Germany, TGV and EuroStar in France, Belgium, and London, and X2000 in Sweden — I think Spain and Italy have inaugurated their versions, but I have no experience with them.) On the X2000 they serve excellent meals and there are free headphones and friendly personnel. I found the only flaw was the constant beeping and ringing of mobile telephone calls in a car half-full of Swedish corporate managers. Such is life.

Today the weather is better, and here in Sweden the trees are almost completely sprung. more “fast trains”

exile

Up early again. Sunshine. 0930 ferry into town, packed everything last night, so took my backpack over to the Silja terminal and left it there in a locker, then went direct over to Muu to get one more fix of fast digital life for the time being. I meet Tapio at Café Fazer, off the Esplanade. This week he is attending a conference put on by the American Studies Department of the University of Helsinki concerning a critique of media and culture. The prospectus looks, well, typically academic, and it is certain that they have good funding given the number of American … academics … giving papers. We have a long conversation about some of the issues that concern us both. At the moment the boat is slowly pirouetting away from the dock and heading past Suomenlinna to the open Baltic. more “exile”