How long is now?

... Notes on a Protest Movement

I.
These busy intersections, plenty of buses, cars, bikes, pedestrians – all in a rush getting somewhere other than this place. The streets of Tel Aviv know the hum, the honk, the hustle, particularly since the middle of July 2011, when a rather unprecedented level of socio-political awareness started getting a hold of an impressively increasing amount of (predominantly Jewish) Israeli citizens. The streets, Rothschild Boulevard most prominently, now not only know about the hum, the honk, the hustle, but are learning to host all sorts of people’s desiring and demanding calls for a rather blurry concept of “social justice”. Faced with an outrageously high cost of living which forces a lot of people formerly known as a “middle class” to work several jobs and still perceive their lifestyle as precarious, “the people demand social justice” (Hebrew “ha’am doresh tzedek chevrati”) now. And here. Be it during the massive demonstrations in Israel’s urban hubs or peripheral cities, be it in between a circle of tents during a public lecture or over a beer on someone’s terrace – “the people” in its and their heterogeneity talk, discuss, move ideas and engage in lively debates. Whereas during the first weeks of the growing protest movement the media and the struggle’s representatives constantly reiterated an non-political (whatever that may have been), solely social understanding of their plight, more recently the surprisingly non-disappearing connection between Israel being an occupying and oppressive state with a yearly security budget in the billions and therewith lacking financial backing elsewhere, has risen to a non-negotiable (oh, I meant non-negligible, silly) fact on the ground (or rather – in the heads) of this grassroots movement and media representations thereof.

These moments of shifts, these ruptures in societal and socio-political constitutions, they are, one could argue, even more prone to know the hum, honk and hustle accompanying it. Some of these alliterations not only concern language but also are bloody serious, result in burning streets, dead people, and dictators in cages.

Some others are fun. Or rather fun that makes one wonder.

II.
So, there are three actual intersections. Busy ones. Within the bigger context of a seemingly hot-headed, impolite and chaotic – qualities that are unquestionably perceived differently in different places and habitualized forms of socialization. I grew up in Germany, and lived in England – public sphere, which I am currently part of, interrupting the chaotically choreographed order of things is not usually met with cheers and smiles. Arguably, the ruptures described above are so far being met with an understanding and supportive public response and participation.

One might presume it has to do with so many individuals’ own immediate needs and frustration that are suddenly on the forefront of a collective protest, and some form of desire for unity within this struggle seems to suggest itself as the way to go. A person’s own urgent and tangible will for change of their way of living is, apparently (and almost sadly so, given the fact that in most cases these needs are obviously intertwined with others’), a rather motivating force for activism. “I have a problem, therefore I act.” is easier said and done than, “I see you have problem, which may or may not have something to do with me, therefore I act.”

Patience.

III.
“If not now – when?” … Not only part of one of Hillel’s most famous sayings (“If not us – who” precedes the time), but also a chorus line of Yehoram Gaon’s “Od lo ahavti dai” (I have not yet loved enough), a catchy and sunny tune, frequently used for big circle dances that have had their share in a Zionist identity formation during the first decades of the State of Israel.

This song now, and, “If not now – when?”, is played at these busy intersections one Tuesday evening in August. A portable speaker placed in the middle of the road, and suddenly, out of a regular group of pedestrians waiting for the traffic lights to allow them passing, a group of about 30 to 40 people emerges, forms a circle and dances, claps, jumps and sings along. Two and a half minutes the intersection is blocked. Pedestrians see, halt, look, some smile, some are obviously irritated. Drivers are faced with people on the street, which does not seem something most of them appreciate. Many cars and motorbikes meander around the circle, forcing it into some other, more elliptical form, breaking apart the chain of hands joint. Bus drivers argue with wild gestures, impatient passengers are pointing at their watches, metal pushes into people. It is fun, frighteningly so. One would think – people, it is two and a half minutes, why can’t you just let them do their thing? Why push push push? The shove of metal pushes people down, almost.

However, at such a time when push comes to shove, now, more precisely, one wonders why and how people react to interruptions of their being so aggravated, so annoyed, so ignorant. What makes one form of rupture okay, and another one a problem one needs to deal with aggressively? To which level are people here, now, willing to let others voice their concern, their being, in a public sphere?

Public Movement who organized these three little public interventions facilitated a sense of uncertainty for the people being faced with it (and, partially, for the participants too, I am sure) – How does this action relate to the current protest? Why are they dancing a folk-dance? Who are these people, there is no banner, no shouting, no youth-group-shirt? Why are they doing this? Why the fuck are they blocking the damn road and make me be late for this appointment by two and a half minutes? Why this song? Who are they? What do they want? How am I supposed to react? Can I join in? Do I like it? What do I like about it? Would I like to join in? Why am I so angry when someone is 1.) apparently having fun and 2.) is really not that violent or bad?

Am I getting my way? Is that what the angry reactions were asking? Am I getting my problem solved by their action? Do they have a problem? Would I want to listen? Engage with them afterwards? Would I want to know? Why would I want to know? Does it relate to my problems and me?

IV.
I have no patience.
I demand social justice.
Now.
Yes.
How long is now?


V.
Rupture.
Reflection.

Früher Vogel geht schwimmen

Es verging bisher kein Morgen, den ich nicht eigentlich, auf eine gewisse Weise, gerne länger schlafend verbracht hätte. Wenn um fünf Uhr früh ist, scheint auch halb acht durchaus verlängerbar. Aber immerhin, ich schlafe.

Zudem lebe ich mich ein, einleben heißt auch - schlafen.

Auf dem Campus der Universität bin ich gewesen und habe meinem Professor davon erzählt, wie ich das erste Mal, als ich wirkliche Palmen sah, beinahe geschrien hätte. Auf dem Campus befindet sich auch das Diasporamuseum - Beit Hatfutsot, neben dessen Eingangsdesk eine Wand ist, mit Videobildschirmen, auf denen ständig wechselnde Portraits zu sehen sind. Darunter steht: "You are part of the story". Mit Noam habe ich mich dort getroffen, der da auch arbeitet, und gemeinsam waren wir in der Ausstellung "Andy Warhol and Israeli Artists Present: Jewish Icons" .



War gut. Sehr.

Es ist noch immer sehr heiß.
Noch immer war ich nicht am Hafen.
Und auf den Weg nach Jaffa muss ich mich auch noch machen.

Aber ich war im Tanztheater. Mit hübschen Tänzern und guter Musik. "Distanz" im Tzavta. Gut. Weil gestern Freitag gewesen ist, fing die Vorstellung schon um zwei Uhr nachmittags an.



So ist das.
Nachher Volkstanz am Strand.

Gegendarstellung

starting this post with an image seems counterstating the counterstatement of gegendarstellung by lose combo which premieres friday june 4th in berlin's sophiensaele.

do come and see the unseeable.

there might be no unsaying.

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GEGENDARSTELLUNG
Performance . Installation . Konzert
4./5./6. und 8./9./10. Juni 2010, 20 Uhr, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte

Während die VeranstalterInnen der bevorstehenden Fußball-WM kraft der Medien ein weitgehend widerspruchsfreies Bild des Gastgeberlandes zu verbreiten suchen, hinderte die raue gesellschaftliche Wirklichkeit die LOSE COMBO 2008 bei einem Südafrika-Aufenthalt mancherorts sogar daran, Bildmaterial für ihre künstlerische Arbeit zu sammeln. Eindrückliche Fremderfahrungen jenseits des touristischen Mainstreams, verblüffende Begegnungen und verstörende Erlebnisse sind deshalb allein aus der Erinnerung gespeiste Tatsachenbehauptungen geblieben. Ihnen geht GEGENDARSTELLUNG jetzt auf den Grund.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG ist eine Re-Visualisierung zersprengter Erfahrungen mit Hilfe entwendeter Massenmedienbilder, ist polyphones Geflecht aus freien musikalischen Improvisationen, Erinnerungsberichten und Reflexionen, dem via Skype aus Kapstadt, Johannesburg, Zürich, Amsterdam oder Sylt zugeschaltete „Südafrika-ExpertInnen“ ihren aktuellen Stempel aufdrücken.

Im Foyer ist das Video CiTi lives (2009) von Ulric Roldanus (NL) zu sehen, das durch die äußerste Zurücknahme des Dokumentierenden ein multiples Selbstportrait Kapstadts und seiner Einwohner zeichnet.

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GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT)
Performance . Installation . Concert
4./5./6. and 8./9./10. June 2010, 8 pm, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte

While the organizer of the forthcoming FIFA World Cup try to convey a largely consistent and harmonious picture of the host country in the media, the harsh social reality prevented the LOSE COMBO during their stay in South Africa from collecting visual material for their art work in a number of places.
Impressive experiences of alienness far from tourism mainstream, astounding encounters and disturbing incidents have therefore remained asserted facts only fed by memory. GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT) now tries to get to the bottom of them.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG is a re-visualization of fragmented experiences with the help of purloined mass media images, it is a polyphonic network of free musical improvisation, memoranda and reflections on which “South-Africa Specialists” attending via Skype from Cape Town, Johannesburg, Zurich, Amsterdam or Sylt will put their up-to-date mark on.

In the foyer the video CiTi lives (2009) by Ulric Roldanus (NL) will be shown which by complete withdrawal of the chronicler himself depicts a multiple self-portrait of Cape Town and its inhabitants.

oh

do come.

plaudercamp by dramazone. or: "I wish to be moved. I cannot feel in life. I must have others do it for me in theater."

saturday i went and saw plaudercamp IV by dramazone during 100° festival which in its general state of event i've ignored (bad me).
well, the set up of that durational performance was quite interesting. whereas i mainly went because it was them. turned out i stayed for about two and a half hours, and both actively participated and watched.
basically, you had to climb up to the top floor of hau 2 theatre in berlin and would be welcomed by orange edgyness and people that asked you whether you wanted to chat a bit. r. and i came together and he went "in" first. "in" was a seperate room, more specifically a tent inside that room. in that tent both performer/expert and guest sat down without shoes and jackets and talked. their talk was projected in the corridor on said top floor of hau theatre. they would explain to you a little what it was all about - collecting memories, archiving them, maybe as a counteractive impulse against mediatized rapidness and general ignorance. they would "check you in, firstly". could not exactly name my bloodtype. mmh. then performer/expert would, under the motto "es gibt ja kleine und große krisen" (there are small and big crises), share one personal crisis, for example how they hate it when their bike gets stolen, how they felt affected by the rehearsals of a biographic performance, how they missed their partner during a year abroad, how they felt overwhelmed by seeing dead people during their civil service. with the slogan "sie können uns ihre erinnerungen anvertrauen. versprochen" (you can trust us with your memories) they encouraged you to share a moment of your own crises-history. initially they also said they would try to combine or relate the two memories which wasn't always the case, which was good, maybe.
so r. sat inside, i was wrapped in a blanket in the not too hot waiting and public screening area. not so many people, which somehow was a pity. strange to see your friends being projected against a wall and hear them talk about their crises.
somehow, i found, the listening and watching was really remarkably fascinating, as if following a quite voyeuristic desire,

a bit like reality tv ("please, let him elaborate more on that threesome in the sauna and how they were interrupted by people telling them their suicidal friend was lost"),
a bit like getting to know glimpses of people ("i don't have a favourite book", "do you think he's a butcher"),
a bit like therapy (which is, indeed, problematic, as no one of dramazone is a trained psychologist)

intrigued, i was watching in on those rather private moments of (however actual or staged) mutual exchange. it felt, sitting outside, rather intimate, somehow, a somewhat guilty pleasure crawled through me when people actually looked into the camera and thereby stated their awareness of being watched from an "outside".

m. said something, actually in regards to the glasshouse, but that might be valid here, too. how can you try to create a personalized, intimate setting and situation, maybe even feeling between performer and individual audience, and then change the "usual" setting so drastically?
maybe that was not the case with plaudercamp. well, but maybe it was, in the sense that, perhaps there were people like me, who came and knew about the general idea of the project. others, more likely, browsing around the festival, maybe incidentally passing by and being approached by one of the performers/experts, maybe did not know what to expect and then would find themselves in a situation with a total stranger being suddenly exposed.

well, i can say i really enjoyed the process of watching, relating different stories and actually realizing the amount of personal history that was "collected". nobody, to give account of that, was lastingly recorded for plaudercamp IV.

passing futures

zuhause
february 28th 2010

after 11 days in israel i am back in berlin, readjusting - no snow any longer, but piles and piles of rubbish that was covered in ice. maybe like this, or not:



the expedition
dotan&perry

basically, i went for the closing workshop encounter of a gif-funded project called poetics and politics of the future which, for the last 3 years, brought together israeli and german theatre scholars and phd students from tel aviv and berlin free university. we had some more formal discussions and talks, but also academical forms that sought to maybe enable encounters on a more personal, individual level. not hammering in on a mass of people like with conferences (or teaching, for that matter) but disseminating knowledge or variations of that through a rather uneconomical version of black market (which is not unlike speed dating, but longer). anyways, how nicely weird meeting berlin colleagues in tel aviv. for me, getting to know some of the israeli group a bit better, namely in the person of freddie rokem, was very nice and created some interesting talks and inspiring discussions about my thesis, which i am going to write in israel/palestine on forms of performing senses of self and other - on the streets and in the sheets, sort of. the initial abstract thought of focusing on street art, which seems to say only so much. interestingly, we saw a nice amount of performance art in very private spaces, homes of people, where you would think that negotiations about self and other are slightly different from discussing them in public spaces. but, we'll see. more on that a little later.

we also did a tour through tel aviv with some person from the municipality, about architecture and restauration and stuff. it was very entertaining, as you can see here:



as it was my third time in israel, being back in a foreign or strange place in some situations wasn't so strange any longer, especially with regards to language and understanding, the initial blurry bliss when encountering layers and layers of unknown or incomprehensible words was pretty diminished. which is not at all saying that i understand, not even a little, but there's hints of known, that i clutch to desperately but lose nonetheless ... this will surely be an interesting problem when encountering such situations on a day to day life (now, said that, thinking you've grasped something and losing it again, is not honestly something so very outlandish, is it). but, yes.



him with the red shirt
february 22nd 2010

one encounter that haunted me for two days was initially taking place on the harbour promenade. i sat there, read, donated money for mentally disturbed kids and just generally enjoyed being bathed in sunlight and a fine mist that was blown over from the heavily breaking waves. anyhow, there came a young kid, maybe 17, who knows, light blue jeans, red shirt, dark hair, confusion, desperation and aggression written in his face, carrying a plastic bag full of clothes. he approached me and started talking in hebrew, which i could follow at first, and sat next to me. not so long after, i was becoming more and more frustrated and repeated that i would not want to go anywhere with him, even if that meant missing out on ahava, chaver, masagim, and generally really did not understand what he was saying. he kept insisting on talking in hebrew and i felt increasingly uncomfortable when he asked if i was cold and whether he could touch my knee. so i left. and he sort of went in the same direction northwards. he went on one of the outer piers, though, lucky me, and i sat, relieved, in a café and scribbled some notes, enjoying the sun and wind, and the lively talk of two elderly men next to my table. every now and again their hebrew was interrupted by german words and phrases. well, i sat, and after a little while this guy came, again. i saw him approaching other people, too, and hoped he wouldn't see me. which was not the case, of course. so he came and i basically yelled that i did not want to do anything, nor go anywhere. he insisted and i asked the men next to me if they could maybe translate and find out what he wanted. and it turns out, for then, that he was lost (i gathered as much), somewhat mentally disturbed (see, even before meeting, i donated ...) and basically looked for an occupation, help in a general (and not sexy fun related) sense of the word. i was irritated, thanked them, he left.
well, then, the following day, watching the sun set, a northern shadow approached me, i looked up and thought "no". there he was, again. i felt angry, irritated, whatnot. he actually managed an english sentence "look for fun". as i am not generally a fun person, i declined. he left very soon after that.

what you can encounter on the street in front of dizengoff centre in tel aviv, is a man, regularly singing there. it seems strangely lost, especially this song, there, maybe the young kids don't remember. at least, most passed. maybe the addition to am israel chai with be'seret is actually a valuable assumption. in the mirroring shop windows - all one shiny surface, whereas in the flesh, everyone on their own. somehow, that is not a statement limited to israel. are we not all caught in representational threads and threats, diminishing our ability to humanly interact? or to interact at all ...



now, to art, we need strict borders, so that they can clash and dissolve, do we not. as i wrote, a lot of performances we saw, were somewhat related to ha'dira - the flat - die wohnung. yes, for example we went to see a production titled ha'dira by the arab-hebrew theatre of jaffa, performed in the flat of the set designer, if i remember correctly, of the theatre, in tel aviv. an israel-palestinian adaptation directed by michael ronen to requested program - wunschkonzert by franz xaver kroetz with sara von schwarze and salwah nakkra. the play, consisting of stage directions only, and actually written for one actress was performed in an interesting way on several levels, and i may very well quote, as i had, basically, the same thought "one flat for two women like one land for two nations ... a fascinating happening which is developing like a musical fugue ... the great merit of this original performance is that the political meaning is implied and hidden in favor of the human message" (zvi goren, "habama" site). basically, we, as an audience, shared the same space with the two performers, said flat, and were not interactively involved in any way. salwah nakkra entered the flat first and followed (i presume) the stage directions of the play, undressed, cooked some dinner ...). she was, after a short time gap of about five minutes followed in action by sara von schwarze who performed, obviously in a different interpretation (she had sushi instead of bread), the same stage directions. well, there were cats, too, impressive acting (both cats, and actresses), no interaction whatsoever, and to make a long story short, the both end up dead, obviously.



another, very interesting thing we saw, was maya zack's short film mother economy that might deal with questioning gender roles at home and work, in a basically rather enigmatic way, a beautifully filmed meditation on absences, if of nomoi, topoi, oikoi, hard to say.



maya took some of us to several adorable places afterwards (well, after a fantastic dinner in barbounia restaurant): the corridor, the riff raff and the texidermi, all being sort of rather berliny bars with gorgeous peeps and decoration. and - she took us to lital dotan's and eyal perry's the glasshouse on hashomer street number 3, where on the flat's corridor a 24 hour long performance took place. basically, what lital and eyal seem to do, is living in their art and considering their art as their living. which, as a general statement might very well be considered hippiesque nonsense. but, we beg to differ, it was really quite impressive and in a certain way innocently aware and cautious. a great sense of hospitality and openness transferred to me. well, we saw this performance, in which lital was not allowed to leave the corridor, about five meters long, one and a half maybe in width. at the end of the corridor two signs on a table said "nail me to the wall" (displaying nails and a hammer) and "make me grid" (white colour and a knife). this short video documents one of these actions.



apparently, what they also do (but you might wanna check their website which is informative in many regards) is inviting people over to share their bed with lital for a night. i thought that an intriguing idea and found the initial question of whether or not two strangers in a sort of intimate setting would change their patterns of behaviour while asleep, sort of interesting (...). so, one night, wednesday, i went to their flat at about 11 p.m. lital and i had little talk, about their project, my project, art in general, upcoming things. maybe, we were getting to know each other a little better, maybe. eyal was not present in our conversation, which i initially thought a bit strange, but okay. in the morning he explained that this not getting to know the person that sleeps over before makes it easier for him to not overreact in an emotional way when he sees them sharing the bed with his partner. so, yes, we talked, and as lital had to get up at six in the morning ("but you can sleep longer if you want"), we decided to go to bed at about half past 12. the following frame was to be: we are naked, there is no sheets for covering, there is an infrared camera above the bed that documents the whole night, eyal is going to come in every hour to change the tapes. "i have to warn you, it is not comfortable, it's very cold."
the decision to go and do it, was somehow very rationally and easily done, of course i was wondering how that would feel, but fine, no problem, with a somewhat clinical ease (or not) we took off our clothes and laid down. it was incredibly hot in the room, about 30°c and radiators on each side of the bed were directed at us. we did not talk much and basically went to sleep (...). well, that is easier said than done, really, after about half an hour i started feeling really cold, especially my feet were icy. i went to the bathroom (it's what i usually do when sleeping in other people's beds), went back, it was incredibly hot again, tried to sleep, thought, cold, again. lital was having difficulty sleeping, too, but we did not consciously interact, neither verbally nor physically; later i wondered if the initiation for a closer bodily contact is "the job" of the guest, so to speak, she did not initiate, i did not, so we both laid there, cold.
the first hour passed without a second of sleep, it sort of was very good to know that it was not going to be a too long night. though i did not feel discomfort in a strict sense of the word, i wasn't comfortable, more restless and forced to think because i couldn't sleep. well, coming back from the bathroom in the second hour (it is actually quite funny to measure your experience by the intervals in which somebody is coming into the room and changes the tapes of a camera that records you being exposed), i took off my ring because my hands were swollen and put it on the nightstand. five minutes later, due to a combination of thoughts of restlessness and the ever-present camera, i somehow wondered how weirdly familiar that might look on the pictures. as if somebody takes off their individual past and bindings to anything else that is not that specific situation. bare yourself for encountering a stranger in an intimate setting. it sort of felt, at times, quite familiar, this laying next to a stranger, thinking "what the fuck am i doing here, why am i not leaving". in fact, not unlike a one night stand situation in which you find yourself wishing to leave, but you can't, maybe there's no taxi, who knows, or you think, "well, maybe if i stay it won't feel as detached in the morning and our shared intimate encounter will lead us to a mingling of spirit, body and soul", that sort of rather irrational and hopeless patterns of behaviour that some of us might find themselves in more often than others.
well, at some point, i somehow managed to fall asleep lightly, i guess. in the morning lital got up, i dozed a while longer, thought that, in the form of this filmed documentation "there's your lonesome stranger, left behind by the one they shared a bed with" ... of course, that is not per se how i necessarily felt, but maybe i couldn't help thinking out a narrative for the camera.
well, i got up, too, eyal made me a lovely toast, we chatted a bit; apparently i was the first woman in a row of until now 12 men, who all were, in different stages during the night, sought physical contact.
a very detached intimacy. i was so cold.



the green bed and the mirror
february 20th 2010

well, there were a lot more things. but, maybe that's enough for now. i went back to jerusalem for some days, were the gates to (or of?) heaven opened, it rained and stormed and thundered for two days, tiny ways in nachlaot neighbourhood became rapid streams.

one night, i went to the western wall and left an impossibility. going back unseeing made me feel like the angel of history. my little impossibility will impalpably get lost in the heap of history.

also, i went to the synagogue for shabbat. felt very intrusive. left soon. natu was reminded of his past by the singing that was the same as in his shul. the singing made me sad. on the rainy way home, through some window, i heard "rainy days never say goodbye to desire when we are together. rainy days growing in your eyes, tell me where's my way". i was reminded of the piano.

due to the rain, or general lazyness, hila and i've watched candy by neil armfield. and i thought of doing something on being willing but as troubled as the time and the circumstance. being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the desire to halt and contemplate. or the desire for pain and pleasure. or the need to risk. or the resignation and fear that comes with it. i did all my best to smile and not be drowned in sorrow. this is the result and it is for you:

unveiled and feeding the hungry leopard

kader attia's ghost




sun yuan's and peng yu's old persons home

after a little vacation in sunny london and cambridge i am back here and find myself facing the fact of having lost a majority of my intellectual property (...). anyhow, england was gorgeous, clearly demonstrated by the display of yet another fabulous levi's ad (see below) that (partly) did not make it to berlin (as of yet) and the (see above) unveiled exhibition in saatchi gallery in their fancyful building near sloane square.

















basically, i was relaxing, enjoying the lovely weather, meeting nice people, catching up with old friends, reading - holidays in a very nice sense of the word! as i did in the picture below in hammersmith with luci, audrey and adrian after a long and beautiful walk through richmond, kew and chiswick. actually walking was what i did a lot, also in regent's park, in the docklands, battersea park, mayfair and beloved soho.

what a difference a day makes

check out this durational 24h performance of self improvement, they're sweet :)

5 people, 1 room, 24 hours. How much can be done in one day? What have you always wanted to do but never had the time? We decided to find out. We are Beta Test; John Hunter, Simon Cummin, Cat Harrison, Iván González and Max Olesker. We started out with a length of time, 24 hours, and looked at ways of filling it. We were fascinated by this duration we'd allocated entirely to ourselves; a period with which to do whatever we wished. So. Conversations bubbled with excitement, and the ideas flowed freely. 24 hours seemed like a long time; long enough to achieve something. The question then became what could be achieved and, crucially, what did we want to achieve at the end of our day? Everything, it seemed – from a neo-renaissance tromp l'oeil relief, to a wall-sized mosaic, to a five-part harmony. Madness.

quiet and slow and not

imagine a quiet and slow place. a quiet and slow time. a surrounding of quietness and slowness and all that twice within two days. have i met my personal paradise? or is it rather only the hope of having found it that makes me all romantic and blind for its loud and fast paces that undoubtedly must have been there as well.

well, i went to two performances and liked them.

first was heiner goebbels' i went to the house but did not enter shown during spielzeit europa in haus der berliner festspiele. he directed this scenic concert performance/installation which he also composed the music for. said music was sung by the hilliard ensemble and was brilliant. the sung texts were eliot's love song of j. alfred prufrock, blanchot's madness of the day, kafka's im gebirge and beckett's worstwards ho. the whole performance very much used a filmic setting in a sense of space and maybe depth of perspective. there were always the outsides which the people (the four singers) referred to by example singing out of the window, but those outsides were not really seen. so it sort of felt very hermetic. the texts, too, are maybe not the most open texts themselves. but instead of using this spatial and textual hermetics to sort of 'show'
something to the audience it rather felt as if it was displayed in a panorama of associations that were not forced upon us. the only thing i felt forced by was the head of that woman in front of me who was very eagerly following every tiny action and movement on stage by moving her head and upper body constantly which is a great joy for the person sitting behind in haus der berliner festspiele, i can assure you. the sounds have been amplified incredibly good so that every quietest tone could be heard - the rustling of wrapping paper, the folding of tablecloths, their breathing. it looked sort of flat but was deeply audible.


left sort of satisfied and sad. satisfied because i really enjoyed the brilliant music and performance with its quietness and slowness. sad because the texts seemed to stir something in me and that, i thought, was sad because it was sad texts by 'old men' and on stage were only 'old men' and heiner goebbels may also be an 'old man' ... but then, i learned afterwards that prufrock for instance was written by eliot aged 23. don't know it sort of made me even sadder.

from the love song of j. alfred prufrock by eliot:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use;
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

from the madness of the day by maurice blanchot:

I am not learned; I am not ignorant. I have known joys. That is saying too little: I am alive, and this life gives me the greatest pleasure. And what about death? When I die (perhaps any minute now), I will feel immense pleasure. I am not talking about the foretaste of death, which is stale and often disagreeable. Suffering dulls the senses. But this is the remarkable truth, and I am sure of it: I experience boundless pleasure in living, and I will take boundless satisfaction in dying.

I have wandered: I have gone from place to place. I have stayed in one place, lived in a single room. I have been poor, then richer, then poorer than many people. As a child I had great passions, and everything I wanted was given to me. My childhood has disappeared, my youth his behind me. It doesn't matter. I am happy about what has been. I am pleased by what is, and what is to come suits me well enough.

Is my life better than other peoples lives? Perhaps. I have a roof over my head and many do not. I do not have leprosy, I am not blind, I see the world—what extraordinary happiness! I see this day, and outside it there is nothing. Who could take that away from me? And when this day fades, I will fade along with it—a thought, a certainty, that enraptures me.

I have loved people. I have lost them. I went mad when that blow struck me, because it is hell. But there was no witness to my madness, my frenzy was not evident: only my innermost being was mad. Sometimes I became enraged. People would say to me, Why are you so calm? But I was scorched from head to foot; at night I would run through the streets and howl; during the day I would work calmly.


second was maybe forever by meg stuart and philipp gehmacher (who both danced) shown in volksbühne theatre with fantastic music by niko hafkenscheid whose music was sweet and melancholic (sort of reminded me of vincent gallo) and sad and sorrowful but never failed to grab you, and the two dancers, with its progressing ever so slightly promising rhythm (waltzes, mainly). the set design here was also very flat, a half circle marked by dark green curtains which were, towards the end, opened a little. in the center there was a big picture of a dandelion clock, halfway blown away, that was sometimes in a sepia shade, sometimes almost colourful and bright and shiny. the dancers were sort of repetitive in their movements and the music, repetitive, too. but then those subtle changes, a hand here a minor chord there. shifting from something you think you recognize to something that seems very strange to you back to something you feel sure is directly performed for you. the strange thing was, you felt lulled and lured into it and only at points could realize the subtle shifts. then those came as a big surprise. (which now, as i write this reminds me of a thought i had on the sublime and subliminal. etymologically somehow connected, it seems contradictory and paradox to think of the sublime as something you would only be aware of subliminally. but then again, maybe it's those surprises you're facing with incredibility, those that found their way subliminally into your sub_conscience. once you focus (again and maybe consciously), they're there and struck you as incredible, maybe even sublime.)

mueck(e(t))baudrillard or i just wanna be the cigarette

i wish i was them sometimes. today for instance. they're actually really small. and they're not alone.


or why not her? mueck paid huge attention to her. that's good, isn't it?

"Alles trägt zum Versagen des Systems bei, das sich unfehlbar gibt. Und angesichts dessen, was wir im Rahmen seiner rationellen und programmgestützten Herrschaft bereits erleben, kann man sich fragen, ob nicht die Unfehlbarkeit des Systems selbst vielleicht die schlimmste Katastrophe wäre" said monsieur baudrillard in le monde diplomatique. and also in the perfect crime: "The absolute rule is to give back more than you were given. Never less, always more. The absolute rule of thought is to give back the world as it was given to us — unintelligible. And, if possible, to render it a little more unintelligible."

or maybe i just wanna be the cigarette in luca's hand


oh, and here are parts of angstbörse, one really interesting, very interactive work on our fears by performance collective dramazone as shown in the akademie für angewandtes leben, hotel subbotnik: .

when it doesn't need to be live unbuttoned

sure gorgeous advertising :)

also: visit margins to find out more about our current call for papers on paradiesische zustände. we're looking for student presentations ranging from lectures to installation to art to whatever kind of format you're feeling comfortable with when you're presenting your thoughts on paradise or hell or things that spring to your mind when you hear paradise.

nothing much.

still exhausted.

i basically took this post from the whoracle of delphi - miss vaginal davis

sorry miss davis, but your latest post is just too nice to not be fully quoted here. how i love your blog!
my deepest adoration is with you and your insights :)


PRESQUE RIEN
The lure of the negresse is her adeptness at the sexual arts. She represents danger, a sexual passion capable of satiation and consumption, the literal siphoning off of life through the draining of precious seminal liquor.
Thats basically what my hot, enormously hung German lover told me recently. Well, not exactly in such poetic terms. His big white Nina Blanchard panties are all in a bunch because his wife and I get along better then i do with him.
His spouse is very worldly, and is not troubled in the least by my affair with her husband. They have two small children, and frankly she is only married to him because he gave her pretty babies, and is independently wealthy, so she lives a secure lifestyle. When i first met him i told him i could only be with him if his wife knew about us. He just wanted to carry on behind her back in a traditional melodramatic manner. He is only 28 years old, and i am 400 which makes me too old to be somebodies mistress. So i boldly marched up to his Mrs and told her everything, and without missing a beat, she gave me her blessings.
I am only interested in him because of that giant lug between his legs. The man genitals are beyond impressive. His personality is a bit stilted in that stereotypical teutonic fashion.
Lately he´s gotten all weirded out by the unconventional nature of the relationships. I keep telling him, "well lets end it then." He doesn´t want to do that either, as he´s now too wrapped up in the Doll, and her race horse arse. I think i have properly assmatized him.
With these European men you have to give them a little then pull back. It drives them gnuts. Enough about my love life, i can´t believe i´ve been this revealing.
***
A reader from Boston wrote congragulating my scoop on the relationship of movie ingenue Anne Hathaway(The Devil Wears Prada) and her no account playboy embezzler ex-beau Raffaello Fallieri. If you remember, i broke the story of their initial pairing here in this very blog. I also said that Mr. Fallieri was a crook and hornpiglet. I knew this firsthand from my own dealings with him sniffing at my gnarly hole years ago in New York. A few mainstream new sources actually gave me some credit for breaking the story which was nice and certainly unexpected.
***
I also predicted this international global financial crises back when i was still living in Los Angeles. My lady intuition is always spot on. I inherited my Daisy Gamble powers from my Louisiana born Creole mother.
Are you ready for some more beheading of the prophet? Well i am going to give it to you whether you want to hear it or not. Here goes: The US will plunge even deeper into a depression. Not like the one in the 1930s, this one will be different but equally devastating. The Republicans will win the presidency. McCain will die in office, and Ms. Palin will become the first fremale president. If by chance by prediction is in-correct, and Obama wins. Senator McCain will still kick the proverbial bucket and Mr. Obama will be assassinated six months into office.
As the Whoracle of Delphi i only bring misfortune telling.


well, now that i think about it. it's the second post in a row in which i was not the author. huch ...

i am all bad-car-maed these days and all blurry-minded and depersonalized, somehow.

but i am going to see the previewing rehearsal of sebastian baumgarten's 'requiem' at komische oper tomorrow which is good and to gossip a little: said baumgarten knicked his spouse kati angerer 'with her fat ass' off the stage because she refused to act properly or better according to his plan. maybe frank can help. well, but i like mozart's 'requiem' a lot so it's gonna be all melting in my chair. well, or the rest of it. dies irae.

re that - i got my admissions - BUT only after i've called them and they realized they've FORGOTTEN me!

thesis is 'done' since a couple of days and now runs meticulous re-re-re-reading by brave readers.

ah, not enough, that arte.tv's quiz 'which european playwright are you?' told me i was sarte, no, m. at tonight's get together at r.'s flat said that my new haircut makes me all existentialistttty. wow.



and! eventually got me some more chains for hanging the catharsis :)

bachelorette vids - what one will later call the plan

on the plan. and soldiers and winnie the pooh.

bachelorette vids - immersion in serial virtual settings

on immersion in virtual realities, feedback, series, lost

i do very much appreciate feedback on this videos. part of the reason is in this video. the other is that i don't know how, yet, but i guess i maybe want to include some of it in my paper. so if you have the feeling that you can relate to one or another thing please leave a comment.

bachelorette vids - the flesh in global culture

i went and saw some dance performance in volksbühne (dave st. pierre - Un peu de tendresse bordel de merde!).
this is about how i felt when seeing the same body as somebody whom i know in canada in the flesh.

the body, virtual knowledge of people.

e. is there

he's there! he's there! little e. has joined the world yesterday morning at five o'clock. all my love to l. and j. and little e.

now, what i want to post is this by know hope. and that's it.




















some things are really almost ready.
and h. herz' voice reminds me of reni the voice. two posts back therefore gets an addition: imagine "h. herz und der trommler" with a michel chion like soundscape that reveberates like reni's. wow. and the drums' frum drumming from next door. which is no longer there. but there is still this huge pile of rubbish and old furniture in this courtyard and i wonder whether i should ask if it'd be okay to put mine which i, to absolutely shocking reactions from my neighbours placed on the street. now, i don't want to get fined, right.

went to bkk again yesterday and hereby officially declare it a very nice pub.

and i found that louise bourgeois said something very interesting on mirrors (on eyes and mirrors 1989-93 i presume): "reality changes with each new angle. mirrors can be seen as a vanity, but that is not at all their meaning. the act of looking into a mirror is really about having the courage it takes to look at yourself and really face yourself." (tate catalogue p.76). that goes very well in a direction i support.

now, am i going to make great big (w)holes of (literate) history, saying bookshelf holding, or not?

boxes

does anyone feel like their room is suddenly only 5 qm meters big and the rest are boxes? my favourite box so far is "theater, jacques, feine sachen" but i do like "bücher unten, pullover" as well. it probably wouldn't make sense to anybody besides me to read "bücher ganz neu außen" but i am very fond of my boxingsystem.
and, we rolled a washing machine over from neukölln arkaden to my place. now it's there. waiting for the dirty bits.
and - the blue!! oh, i like the blue.
and: da war einer, der räumte erst seinen keller aus und dann trank der bier, saß aufm sessel, redete mit sich selbst und sang inbrünstig mit irgendwie 70er jahre musik mit und trommelte auf töpfen und so. es war LAUT
und dann waren m. und ich drüben wegen einer sackkarre, die wir von oben gesehen haben und haben ihn gefragt, ob wir sie ausleihen können und der schickte uns dann zu THORSTEN, thorsten lugte dann mit gesamter hartzIV-familie sehr sehr nett, wirklich, aus seiner wohnungstür und sagte, hier habter die, und griff hinter die tür. dann sind wir zur tanke und haben versucht, luft drauf zu machen. ende vom lied war, ich habe eine waschmaschine ausm media markt rübergerollt und dann kam frau h. herz und meckerte mit dem ausm andern hof, der dann schrie, dass wir uns GEFÄLLIGST ZU FREUEN HÄTTEN, WENN ER MAL TROMMELT und frau h. herz besprühte weiter ihre stiefmütterchenbeete im schatten des hauses und des langneseschirms.
ich war eher so mit entgleitendem mund (lachen oder prusten oder oh gott) und hab es als ästhetische erfahrung verarbeitet und werde bestimmt was über die nachbarn mal arbeiten, am besten eine installation: H.HERZ UND DER TROMMLER

well well. there we go.

l and i have been doing this audio-walk-installation during the first time ever hörspielfest altzella . we made a lot of signs in the park and sent people equipped with an mp3-player and a little leaflet to spend some time walking. at those signs we encouraged them (before) to stop and pause the sound collage and to just listen what sounds they could hear without any artificial background at all (meaning our sound collage). anyways, there were also a lot of 'actions' they could do at those spots like yelling, singing, hugging a tree, writing down things they would never want to say or hear, finding such papers and reading them aloud. it was lovely to see how many people came back and listen to what they said about it. from "it was too much, i couldn't listen" to "it was relaxing" to "i felt like a blind person" to "it made me think" there was a wide range of opinion. we liked to be there and here you can walk'n'hear (well, maybe not the walking side of things, but still, ah, and don't be irritated, just wait)


unknown members of schwarzesnossen did a trip to the countryside:



i started moving :)

so there was terminator

it has ended, the formal part at least. we're going to have curry later on.
so, every group this afternoon presented their work which either dealt with terminator (us), the wizard of oz or battleship potemkin. we had the idea, as posted before, to kind of create a visual duetting screen that subtexted the whole thing sexually. so, we went to that fancy second hand shop (massive!) and bought 80s style clothes ... we then decided on shooting right there in a small gateway. it was quite funny, though nerveracking at times to cut in camera. our frames basically showed the lower body parts and in there we had wuite the sexual tension (or healing) going on. several quite remarkable movements within that scene of terminator we shot in a kind of music-video, very bright kind of way. it was too funny and i hope we'll get a recording of it. there was sexual healing sung by sarah connor (why does she has that name?!?) on top of it :)
our film was projected right under the projection of terminator.
i liked it a lot.
during the discussion afterwards i felt a little silly because what i really wanted to say, couldn't seriously be said without exposing me or the person i was speaking about.
let's just say that all in all it was an amazing group of people i met here. some of them i would not really want to work with again, but the majority just really puzzled me by their brilliance, humour and ideas. lovely.
there is this wonderful cemetry closeby, i think there will be one new schwarzesnossen vid quite soon featuring that.
as for the weekend. let's just say there was no time until now to really see a lot of what nottingham might still be having for ust, so maybe we will jsut explore a little. and i need to have some shopping done. i already bought mint and tea tree oil shower gel and was reminded of a and my lost brochure somewhere in bedfordshire. well, the times when things seemed possible ...
i like being here a lot.
will shower now although that might not be of importance to you. but i will and now you know.
luv frum tuna.

leaving. again.

i am just about to go to the airport where a plane will wait for me to east midlands. whoa, i was never there and it still feels like "finally, i am going back (home(?))". i'll be working with an international group in a workshop by performance collective gob squad and it'll be great!

well, preparing always makes me wanna scream. so i did, internally.

by the by, saturday we had this conference and eiszeit was taken very well and discussed quite interestingly. the forum itself was quite relaxed and there was a very nice exchange of opinions during and afterwards with the afterwards slightly less polite which i liked. well, not impolite, don't get me wrong, just probably a little more on the honest side of things and that is something you can always catch me with.

lg and i started recording for our interactive audio walk which can be heard during the hörspielfestival in klosterpark altzella, close to dresden the weekend of 19th/20th. to put it simple, people will walk with mp3players through the park, which is lovely by the way, and will hear sounds and do things which we propose them before on a piece of paper. like hugging trees and telling them their secrets. or leaving traces on the floor. or whispering a confession of love. we'll see. but there are really quite interesting intermedialities at ear- and eyesight, i presume.
well, i guess i should be going.

bought fantastic shoes today by the way, and a shirt, and a pair of trousers. as being sensationally priced and needed i could not seriously resist. well.

and - my room is rented, at last. great.

i had a horrible dream that ended with me fighting some very good looking person on a staircase about who would fall and be dead. i won.
nothing compared to the one dream lately where i couldn't help but experience a sexual encounter with one person who accidentally really is not unimportant these days. well, we need to dream, right.

ah, and i packed, right. but just for nottingham.

not for the new apartment. this whole move is going to be quite disastrous. too many things and too little i would like to get rid off.

whhhha, i am going nuts over that person from that dream. that second. and i can't help it. and it can't be helped.

partly read. levinas "die zeit und der andere".
"Dies gehört also zusammen: Freiheit des Ich und ihre Materialität. Die erste Freiheit, die davon herrührt, dass sich im anonymen Sein ein Seiendes erhebt, fordert als Preis: das Definitive des an sich selbst gefesselten Ich. Dieses Definitive des Seienden, das die Tragik der Einsamkeit ausmacht, ist die Materialität. Die Einsamkeit ist nicht deshalb tragisch, weil sie Entzug des anderen ist, sondern weil sie in die Gefangenschaft ihrer Identität eingeschlossen ist, weil sie Materie ist. Die Fesselung der Materie sprengen heißt, das Definitive der Hypstase sprengen. Heißt, in der Zeit sein. Die Einsamkeit ist eine Abwesenheit der Zeit. Die gegebene Zeit, die als sie selbst hypostasierte, erfahrene Zeit, die durchlaufende Zeit, durch die hinduch das Subjekt seine Identität trägt, ist eine Zeit, die unfähig ist, die Verbindung der Hypostase zu lösen." (31)