Friday, noon, S. and J. are sitting in The Valley heat, waiting for H. to pass the border into The Land.* Several text messages and about three hours later they take The Yellow Plated Car and leave without H., who was not allowed to enter The Land via The Bridge. The Bridge that day was crowded and functioning normally, efficiently. Two female officers – talking Russian amongst themselves – accuse H. of lying and check The Big Machine and their Secret Files. Entry denied.
Later, S. and J. and M. go drink a drink and play cards to release aggression about H. not being there. Hitting a table with Aces and Queens is not immediately satisfactory.
Saturday, the early morning, J. is sitting on a small bus that drives through The Big Checkpoint. J. looks at a blond chubby male soldier. This Soldier gets on the bus. J. hands him The Privileged Passport after “Guten Morgen, kann ich bitte Ihren Pass sehen” crosses the lips of The Soldier without any hint of German not being his mother tongue. Flipping through the pages: “Sie reisen aber viel.” “Ja.” The Soldier hands back The Privileged Passport, smilingly wishing J. “Einen schönen Tag noch!”
J. is shaking her head all the way from The Big Checkpoint to The Holy. In The Eastern Holy, J. is meeting P., and together they walk to The Western Holy. There, they meet The White Citizen Y. and The Black Infiltrator M. and their Yellow Plated Car.** Together, they now form The Holy Group, and travel south to The Other Border. The desert is blooming, The People Who Used To Have Camels drive on dune buggies, and The Holy Group has coffee in a gas station (the last one?) somewhere still on Road 40 or Road 211 (if you use The Big Machine, you will know where they went!).
In the car, Y. explains everything she knows about refugees and asylum seekers, her work for the undocumented people with uncertain and/or illegal status, the asylum seekers who are being smuggled into The Land via the land border with The Peninsula. M. explains about his life in The Prison, his reasons for leaving His Country, the one where they butcher and butcher The People and where The Leader is Wanted by the ICC and only changes location via countries where the ICC has no say, and butchers and butchers.
J. wonders how and why P. must discuss The Other Elephant on the way to The Prison with such vigour. Perhaps J. has had too many discussions about The Other Elephant in small spaces like Yellow Plated Cars in The Land and fears (… is sure of …) their futility. The Prison, however, is but a Katzensprung away from The Other Prison where The Other Elephant enjoys hundreds of cells for detention and torture, too.
So yes, everything connects to and within The Fucking Shit Reality.
One element of The Fucking Shit Reality is The Theatre. The Theatre also happens in The Prison, which is why J. and P. came. They arrived early. The Prison, which to all eyes J. has, is a fenced in concentration camp in the middle of nowhere in The Fucking Shit Reality, is off limits to visitors, but The Inmates in This Open Prison are – of course – allowed to leave, and 24 hours even, and only after 48 hours can they be arrested. But once back, they will be sent into The Other Prison a Katzensprung away for punishment. The privilege of The Prison over The Other Prison is that they only have to sign in three times a day. And that they can take the bus northwards ho. Besides that, they can walk to The Big Wall South, which is only two kilometres away, and they can sit outside in the sun. All eyes J. has see a lot of men lounging outside, some cook, some sit and talk. There are benches and shade and some kind of boat sculpture made of wine bottles.
The Fucking Shit Reality gets interrupted by things like The Theatre. People come and talk to The Inmates and suddenly their stories are being heard, by people like J. with The Privileged Passport, and by The Media, and Other White Citizens, who all come, in cars and air-conditioned busses. Three spoken languages, bodies that talk eloquently, voices and movements of desolation: A group of ten performers, the majority are Inmates, tell their stories, speak of their oppression and experiences in the language of The Theatre Of The Oppressed.
Big discussion and applause. J. and P. agree it was great, it was interesting. Really. The Fucking Shit Reality continues to be shitty, but they witnessed a group of proud Inmates, who spoke their truth to an audience, who, hopefully, listened.
J. and P. part ways. In one of the air-conditioned busses J. travels to the Spring Hill and in The Black Garden – that is where People Like The Inmates, that is: The Black Infiltrators, gather day and night with nothing but time to kill – meets her friend B. in her Yellow Plated Car around midnight. B. takes J. home. Home is place of The Goodbye Party for the young Q. who is an element of The Other Elephant. His home is a walled in part of An Area of The Other Elephant and Q., who likes to jump on walls, decided he must leave The Other Elephant and The Land of The Yellow Plated Cars and Privileged White Citizens and Soldiers Who Speak All Languages.
Little Q. will travel to the land of J., which once knew division, but is now Clearly An Exceptionally Lovely Country With No Real Problems. Someone told J. that they are bringing corpses now, corpses of The Infiltrators to the Cooperation of Exceptionally Lovely Countries, and that – much like with The Theatre that gives a stage to The Inmates – they will bury them to make a point.
They call it Political Beauty.
The Fucking Shit Reality couldn’t give a shit and continues to be shitty.
J. takes a train. Trains in The Land have Wifi and you can connect to The Big Machine and verify all sorts of things, whilst riding through the ruins that everyone here loves, because they have such charm and they look so old. On the way back to The Holy, big fires consume the greens in a Wadi along the Line Dividing The Elephants.
All that smoke and fire made the smell of shit disappear for a while.
* For reasons of international, interpersonal and individual security all names and places are anonymized and pseudonymized beyond recognition to anyone other than an informed and involved party.
** In The Land and everywhere else, we must name all legally qualifying names correctly, obviously, because those are the names, and they sound best.
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:
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:
the froosh's new lp the empyrean leaked. it is brilliant. oh so brilliant. so conceptual. so perfectly mastered. so brilliantly played. so brilliant. so surprisingly surprising.
to think how brilliant can one bass-line be: dark light
to cry with: song to the siren - what a cover!
antony and the johnsons' the crying light is difficult and beautiful. somehow and that seems weird the old material from the debut is rougher and edgier but still resonates within me far more than these songs here. it seems that the development through i am a bird now was to have structures that are most definitely less edgy. also i am not sure about the whole environment things to be perfectly honest. but - this is not to say that it is not beautiful. i think it is. but it needs replay, lots of replay. strangely enough. ha! and i will see them live in edinburgh :)
besides new music there are many things. many indeed.
i work with the forum expanded of the berlinale this year.
and - next weekend 23rd til 25th the margins student conference will take place at the institute for theatre studies at fu berlin. program on paradisaical states (paradiesische zustände) is online here. i will show an installation sui_site or how to disappear completely. please come and be with us.
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.)
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.
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 :)
i decided to vlog while i am on writing my bachelorette paper. let's see how that goes. probably it gets more theoretically relevant than this one. but as i am writing on production and reception of identity on the internet it must be relevant already.
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:
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.
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)
jennifer, and i would like to quote myself, "who actually has the body and face and age of a to-be-soon-called-topmodel. she is just the apparently only sane choice an agent would do" - is germany's next topmodel! was she my private and professional favourite from the very first look or was she not? i confess that professionally i would have thought vanessa was superb, too, but she went by her own choice, something i have never really lamented about here. so that's my tears for vanessa who looked so incredibly beautiful ........... thereby found future profession. i'll go and cast people. that's right. but for everything, not only just modelling.
anyhow, had a gig in magnet last friday. came back home 6. the beer. p out so long. g- wowwowowowowow!! thanks a lot for coming to c?, fe, fs, jg, ??, mb, pk, sk, sk. maybe chance of breakthrough went by. was nice hearing nothing but birds on the way back.
went to table dance bar saturday. came back home 5. the mirrored stage, the pole, the shabbyness, the "mother superior", the cheap drinks, the easyness of getting inside, the copied dollars, the smell, the us army sergeant who asked whether or not i worked there. good to have talked with m about it later that night. and curious about how we're going to present it in the seminar, because, obviously that's why we went, because of foucault.
went to see my father my lord which was shown in the jewish film festival. if that's a word, 'akin-esque' was maybe the camera, i liked the materiality. i also liked the actors partly. it was quite an easy plot and not overly edgy to be honest but it gave some very brutal comments on "religion over everything". some days ago i also saw ushpizin and that was really funny and beautifully tragic and comic. very old testament-esque if that is a word. went for an insightful drink with y. came back home 1.
was tired monday. slept. was angry about myself for falling for fucking mobile company mo****om. never ever go with that company. it is not usually my urge to bash (well, maybe yes) but this time, seriously, they're not what they're telling you.
edited my film eiszeit which will, and i am devastated about other parts of that arrangement, premier july 2nd at a forum of theatre students dealing with time, surprisingly enough.
after a hilarious annual conference on staging festivity sponsored by her ministery in which i absolutely adored achatz von müller and where yet two other mythical wor(l)d inventions - 'djiddyraven' (me and ruc) and 'agender2010' (ruc and fj) - took place, we (that is ruc and me, now based in an unknown quantity of liquid (slightly alcoholic or(?!?!) somehow bukkake-connected (see below)) watched germany's next topmodel in the huge lecture hall until we were chased away by this immensly muscled security guard in one sexy uniform.
now, to the important facts:
professional favorites (if we were peymann)
vanessa
jennifer wanda janina raquel
personal favorites (betthäschen)
sandra
jennifer
(bianca, sorry, we forgot her, but she usually turns up and you would not let her go, would you?)
hate O/Abjects
carolin
carolin gisele carolin sabine-marie (berlin breakdancestar fuck off mothafucca - aber zum glück raus) carolin (bukkake??? see below or - leave her be, she's just another human being, it is really not fair to be hateful towards her! consider justice and misogyny, please. well, she's really bashable. (i learned another nice combination of words - foucault-bashing - which i would never do for the most apparent reasons))
personal (and everbody's) entertainment
gina-lisa (personal pornprollqueen with likely potential: short black hair and shutting up and less make-up --> visit boris and redirect him to me afterwards) sarah (for cinderella's sake ---> she was such an ugly ugly, like, REALLY UGLY child, you know)
personal braindamage
"wie heest die? die mit der heidi-klum-frisur" (the one with the heidiklumhaircut who is not heidi klum, whereas heidi herself could be on that list for personal braindamage. the hebrew word "klum" means "nothing") - aka aline aka "ich bin mit 4,1 durchs abitur gefallen, aber habs im oralen rausgerissen"
'below'
HUGE WARNING for MATURE CONTENT FOLLOWING
(seriously)
asian bukkake machine - only watch when absolutely sure you're sure. that's for the true men amongst us.
isn't that just juicy??
and, incidentally, there is this major thing happening here on bollywoodsargam that linked one schwarzesnossen vid - i am thrilled that we are one featured video.
it is due to whatever reason that i am spending hours not doing 'rational' things. well, but still, there is not not thinking about what i encounter which is good somehow, i guess. so here we go with some of the nicest things i have read recently and it makes me sick: i especially like the 'female intern' part. ann is very good at outing homosexual politicians. perhaps that is a good job i could go for, too. she called al gore a 'total fag'. and she knows that bill clinton 'may not be gay', but stated the opposite which was not based on personal experience but is a joke, as known in publishing. i so not not not love her! what do you think of her? (she has nice hair btw, really need to send her a note asking where she's having it done, maybe i can be her female intern and accompany her to all things hair and beauty connected and be a little comfort in such horrid times) and - there is chris crocker and his trying to make public the homophobia on youtube. which is a huge controversy at the moment and all the comments he receives can make you sick, i promise. so if you wanna be sick check the comments to his vids. some of my favourites: you haven't checked on chris crocker? well, shame, really. due to that you have now missed the internet boyfriend search, but you can still watch the response vids. funny anyway, vid is gone but response still there. is it like the unoriginated origin of things? wow, like there are traces, too. incidentally, one of the other things i did, was reading high quality literature and now know that the movie is better than the book. congratulations to the storyliners of bridget jones. but, anyways, i was stuck reading rabidly and feel older than my identity card tells me due to being able to identify with so much older lunatic spinster. now it's finished and i can keep on wondering and later watch insect porn with darling isabella. i am so looking forward to seeing her. unquotable sources even speak of scarlett attending the opening. if you wonder, which is alright - when the wonder is gone there is no more child in you to keep on exploring - the arsenal, the berlinale and green porn. oh joy, yesterday's nightie outie was nice, got advances from 60 year old crumply face and wondered. also there was some creating of new words with ruc and jk. i would love to keep in mind the 'metavulväre genouille' which obviously derives from einer hinterfotzigen, das genieren erhöhenden unangenehmen situation wie in der scheiße stecken (aka bredouille) which can easily be translated. but i won't.
ach ja. endlich regnet es. ich habe den affen nicht gesehen. ob das dann so ist, dass man auch zu schlimmen zeiten blind gewesen wäre? ernsthafte frage! zudem bin ich ernstlich irritiert, gestresst, genervt. und habe einen tollen (!) film gesehen - romance. prima. das war's schon.
montag, mal wieder ein montag. heute schöne bibliothekentour. dem ersten buch (nicht) begegnet. tatsächlich ein kriegsverlust! schon erschreckend, dass wissen unverfügbar war. dann heute auch derridalesen und ich werde das gefühl nicht los, dass das ein sehr streitsames seminar werden könnte, was gut ist, aber auch schlecht und vielleicht auch unproduktiv, aber sicherlich eigentlich nicht. angenehm klein auf jeden fall. so wie alle seminare in diesem semester bei mir klein sind. nur die hauptseminare nicht, lustig. naja. da gibt es gerade so eine plakatreihe von rbk und da sieht man auf schwarz-weiß-photos läufer, die irgendwie arg zusammenbrechen und dann so kommentare wie "super, jetzt hast du dich so ausgepowert, das wird nie wieder. run easy. rbk." und das ist dann schön, wenn auf der anderen straßenseite ein plakat einer äußerst sportlich wirkenden dame zu sehen ist, die einen marathon oder so läuft, der damit beworben wird. bin mit dem fahrrad heute gefahren. unglaublich schöne straßenzüge in schmargendorf entdeckt und festgestellt, dass ich mal wieder ausreiten möchte. kurz gelacht und dabei beinahe an ein auto gefahren, als ich mir vorgestellt habe, wie es wäre, mit dem pferd an die uni zu kommen. gibt's gar keine tränke irgendwie. nun gut. so, jetzt werd ich mal schnell wieder weg hier.
gestern hatten j, n, und ich ein sehr schönes gespräch mit dem regisseur luk p. das war ungelogen eine tolle veranstaltung. der hat so intelligente sachen gesagt, da wurde mir zu anfang sprichwörtlich schlecht und ich war arg am überlegen, ob ich kotzen gehen sollte. aber irgendwie hab ich mir das dann verkniffen. ist ja auch doof: "guten tag der herr, ich bin ... buar, ich muss kotzen". ne, das macht man nicht. jedenfalls war das prima. ansonsten waren die letzten tage eher ereignisarm, ich habe viel gearbeitet. sonntag war frühstück und ich hab mit lott gespielt und wieder mal nicht die erwachsenen bespaßt. aber es ist auch ein schickes papierhaus geworden. ja, so ist das, zehn zeilen geschrieben, die man sich hätte sparen können. ahoj
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