Table of Contents

Bea Schlingelhoff - Public Void Open Crossing Clewbay

Keith Connolly - whaT that is SOLAR LICE

William Z Saunders - Last Ditch Transmission

William Z Saunders - Haggard Caravan

Jeanne Graff - TWMj

Josef Strau on The New World

Karl Holmqvist - Spider Galaxy

Bernadette Van-Huy - Rapture

William Z Saunders - Developmentally Radical Experimental + Adaptive Maintenance

Colophon

public void open crossing clewbay( )The Sweet Trade\Wave Make:

“Drip-Event” at the Powerstation in Dallas.

{

Things of similar nature are in no need for harmony. For those of us who live ashore and are accustomed to the promise of orderly lives, it can be difficult to accept how unruly the ocean has become. In earlier times, people were clearer about its savagery. For most of human history, with few exceptions, the open ocean was simply a forbidden zone, a place of horrors real and imagined, that was only occasionally crossed on accidental trips downwind, dangerously, and with no way home. Most pirates- men or women- have remained unknown to history unless captured and hanged or pardoned. Also the earlier accounts have been so compromised by folklore and legend, there are often few facts to back up the stories we do have. No barrier fun.

This list is just to remind the reader that women pirates may have been few in number, but they have appeared in just every country and time when pirating was scourge on seas. I have only listed women pirates about whom we know more than just a name.

Princess Sela, Rusla, Russila and her sister Stikla, Sida Al Hurra, Jacquotte Delahaye, Madame De Fresne, Mary Harvey or Harley, Sarah Bishop, Catherine Hagerty and Charlotte Badger, Gertrude Imogene Stubbs. Artemisia, Queen teuta, Alfhild, Jeanne de Belleville, Lady Killigrew, Pretty Peg, Charlotte de Berry, Anne Bonney, Mary Read, Rachel Wall, Mary Ann Talbot, Madame Ching, Grania O’Malley.

Grania sailed up to Howth castle looking for a place to spend the night. The ship was rolling more heavily than before, compounding the discomfort caused by the head seas, and it was due to turn 25 degrees to the right at a navigational waypoint ahead, after which, with waves then coming from the far left, the rolling could be expected to increase beyond tolerable limits. The stabilizers were hydraulically powered retractable fins, like stubby wings, that extended, one per side, from pockets in the hull below the waterline. They rotated in contradiction to the ship’s natural rolls, relying on dynamic pressures caused by the forward progress through the water, moving in opposite direction to one another (one up, one down) much as ailerons do on airplanes. Because of drag, their use would entail a further loss of speed. By midnight the waves were rising to twenty feet and the winds to 50 mph- conditions that matched the worst of the forecast, and were continuing to degrade. According to Jutta Rabe, plastic explosives had just been detonated. They had been set against the bow mechanisms as well as against the hull, down below the waterline on the starboard side. The bomb deters; one must deter the bomb.(In the summer of 2000, Sweden issued an arrest warrant against Rabe for violating the sanctity of the shipwreck.)

Time in its course wears away and destroys what is temporal (also, alas, very many things essentially eternal, such as poems and Greek statues, the religion of Druids, etc.). Thus there is more of eternity in the past than in the present, even all things being equal moreover; or rather, there is less of the temporal and consequently a greater proportion of eternity. For all that, at least this is much clear – history is not structured like a biography, the biography is not structured like a story, with an beginning and an end. That was “only” the effect of narrative time, the deception that had to do with the mirror, with the priority of imaginary in general; the heroic saga, the dramatic scenario, the novel, the apocalypse. But the director of this debacle – the imaginary death – loses its power to the extend that finiteness ceases being an essential factor. Generally we think of the tides as induced by the moon alone. But since the mass of the sun is nearly 27 million times that of the moon, even though the sun is about 390 times as far from the Earth as the moon is, it is evident that we shouldn’t disregard the sun’s contribution to the tidal forces acting on our oceans. The softening of thinking began with ideology of candor, the New Philosophers. It continued with the New Romanticists. Lifted values are emerging everywhere again, a moving dynamism, a childish religiousity in which love, too, is resprouting at the surface. For the horde it is a way to draw ranks in again at the moment of their greatest dispersion. What is striking about genuine cases of female sailors is how they were able to fool the men on board for weeks, months and in some cases for several years: Like facts, fiction refers to action, but fiction is about the act of fashioning, forming, inventing, as well as feigning or feinting. Drawn from a present participle, fiction is in a process and still at stake, not finished, still prone to falling afoul of facts, but also liable to showing something we do not yet know to be true, but will know. She articulated a vision, and a vision is meaning. Meaning is historical. Authors make up stories no one person invents myths; myths are found, recognized. The realm that is seen when myth is found, the ream of myth and fairytale, identifies human nature. Here there is no catharsis: from this forest of art, there’s no escape. Notions such as site-specificity or dematerialization and the denial to commodify the work had already become myths that were used by the institutions to rejuvenate their legitimation at a historical moment when their liberal humanist public image had come under scrunity by philosophers and artists alike. Ideological struggle is not like other forms of struggle: I Am a Beautiful Monster: Poetry Prose, and Provocation.

“Have you seen her

The Connacht queen in the field?”

“All that we saw

Was the shadow under her shield.”

By then it was known on the bridge that many of the passangers felt sick- a consideration, however frustrating, that generally causes ferry captains to slow their ships long before concern about hull strength comes into play.

Bea Schlingelhoff

whaT that is SOLAR LICE, six seventeen, twenty fourteen & c.

a DRIP EVENT + jam, juxtaposing BRECHT (george) + PARSONS (ted).

dallas‘ evil light-shine, plop art, psychogeography…

tobias madison: in terms of music i think of the show as a kind of spatial musical composition, as one that is audible to a certain extend to human ears but then maybe also audible for other entities that are being evoked by the ritual of the exhibition and its opening performance. say music for demons that perceive invisible movement as sound, or vapourizing one‘s own water angel, like opening your mind or the characters hidden within yourself to a new kind of experience of music.

FIRST QUESTION:

I recently saw some unearthed footage of the all but forgotten performance artist ralston farina, who insisted „my medium is time“ like a mantra at each performance, + refused documentation. this credo cld arguably be applied to any sound based work, but wld seem specifically relevant to the DRIP EVENT. how do you see time, erosion, dereliction, + memory functioning in this work?

emanuel rossetti: maintenance was a central and public part of the exhibition, which is also why gallery manager greg ruppe‘s daily renovations had become a line in our score. through this, each day the power station opened their front door became a singular event.

(rather a last answer to this first question)

tobias madison: I think whereas time becomes really a central topic in the erosion of the work, the stage structure and the building itself there were also these loops built into some of the works In drip event. like the globes and the tarp work that are both based on water based production processes (concrete, paper mâché), so the dripping water dissolves the material and hardens it again as it evaporates, making the works undergo their production process over and over again while falling apart.

the DRIP EVENT could theoretically be repeated ad infinitude, with the slight differences that occur making it a new work each time.

can you describe this stage structure?

stefan tcherepnin: what was once (remains?) a Chinese river, inverted, becomes an empty stage. transparent + opaque barriers delineating scenes + the transversal of space. the leak (drip) is the unavoidable, without intention, an actuality.

A redaction of space via the permeability of barriers + a testament to gravity’s infallible memory; it is this space in-between, which may only be inhabited perceptually. An allocation; the contrasting agency that is SOLAR LICE…

would you discuss the ascendancy of fluxus vs the lowbrow lure of parapsychology in this work?

stefan tcherepnin: I do not recognize the distinction “fluxus” in real time. it is all about the pursuit + presence of the yeti. any and all hypnosis which may have resulted is an after thought.

what was the musical approach/ influences of SOLAR LICE?

emanuel rossetti: initially we thought about using the visitor movements as a way of editing audio recordings, kind of reverse engineering movements through the exhibition by doing recordings from different spots and then fading from one recording to the next, with reverb and volume diagonally chained. after spending a few days at issue project room we decided to use this idea only for the intros and endings of a couple of tracks and started over through improvisation.

tobias madison: a psychogeographic interpretation of survival research labs? definitely yes, a sort of remapping of machine parts & organs, not necessarily functioning afterwards anymore.

stefan tcherepnin: early SWANS (obvious), slint’s spiderland…

probably what I’ve listened to most, music or otherwise, has been these archived re-broadcasts of art bell’s ghost to ghost, a radio program which has aired every halloween since 1994, where for 3 days (due to time zones) he has listeners call in to tell their true ghost stories. There’s every kind of person you can think of, from scholars to truckers (a lot of truckers) to ex-cops + ex-military, these people all calling in to tell of paranormal experiences that really happened to them. It’s all archived online + you can listen to it year by year. I also have some true ghost stories that happened to me, some of my first memories, things that couldn’t be explained by an adult. to the extent that I believe in anything, I believe in that.

how would you say that this has informed these works?

stefan tcherepnin: what happens I think if you rely on that kind of thing too much, and don’t get me wrong–I rely on it all the time–but if you’re consciously trying to tap in to that all the time, the more that you are aware of it and the more you formulate it, the further away from it you become. at the same time if you try to separate yourself from it the opposite can happen. I used to think that it’s the universe that is always playing tricks on you, and there’s really no right way, or if there is, then I will never know it. maybe the whole failure aesthetic fits in here as well…

recommends:

the last wave

dark water (us version, shot on roosevelt island)

steel pole bathtub unlistenable.

AUBE, etc.

Last Ditch Transmission...

Climate change was evident in 2013 as was the gradual shift in consciousness. The general public had forgotten the periodic table long ago. Now people were merely interested in harvesting the entertainment value of the present, but the trickle down effect was more temporal than ever. Noosphere vibration value was at an all time low. Thought slowed after the vibration change (post 9/11). People no longer connected the dots; they forgot everything but themselves.

Satellite links built into the atmosphere beam back distortion into the noosphere, thus creating the great illusion. Wavelength image frequencies are only broadcast for a short distance and cannot stand the test of time, therefore new images, or even better, second or third run recycled imitations are projected through a variety of filters meant to evoke feelings of nostalgia. Citizens remain grateful for the good times, wandering around aimlessly in a holo-daze, celebrating everything for no reason.

The great magnet was never so activated as it was in April that year. Forgetting the year and the time, a resurgence of insurgents being nurtured by their surrogates, came to stay and began to play in a silent fortress. Once arrived, their youth and perfect spirit led them to erect a sphere that they may revolve and spin so as to honor the missing moon and sun. The area they inhabited was outsourced by the light pollution cluster force. They kept their identity hidden in waves of silence. The gathering was an idea transmitter, or at least it could be without the influence of the controlling beast. And so, it was time for these young rogues to make a stand.

They tried to forget where they were and began experimenting with the ancient techniques of bio-psycho-audio-metaphysics. The true disconnection between the unconscious and the conscious mind could only be achieved and maintained under certain conditions. They were deeply surveilled in the unknown dimension. Limitations were set on decibel restriction. They were not to exceed 90 db, save for the incremental LOUD WINDOW. They were tolerated by the elders, but spent their time involved in these mind altering processes. They learned the ways of their ancestors and filled the Earth with sound and life in time together engaged in ancient rituals.

WZS

Haggard Caravan...

Clean the instrument panel and pick the bugs out of your teeth.

Be clean

like the beak and wings of the emerald owl.

Absorb the energy

from the Byzantine

prophecy.

Deceiving eyes

transparently disguise

to determine

the vermin king.

(((Soaring buzzard meditation)))

Anxiety will be released.

In future days

you’ll need the priest

from this post-apocalyptic

monastery.

Silent deafening

samurai steel,

X-RAY paneling,

marble surfaces,

lubricated Swiss bearings

Golgothan is a

melting, swelling,

pustulating

abscess deriving power.

Get used to the bells.

disintegration

obliteration

*final instructions*

Batten down the hatches.

Reveal the Solar panels.

This whole system was created.

The Solar system is duplicated.

Infiltrate another fortress.

Fill the need to feed.

Be flooded

over the river bank

barreling down the street...

liquid language:

dripping & gushing

Flush it down, yeah.

Another fortress is a fountain

from the third heaven

in deep ellum.

impenetrable foundation:

A band of frightened children

formed a mighty sonic tribe.

We travel in time with specific purpose.

Agents from the original destination

are given a tracking system.

They ask questions.

Quantum neurologists speak in tongues

toward your autonomic nervous system.

Your body answers.

The Zapotecs uploaded memory into

the crystal, emerald, and mosaic skulls...

They still vibrate at higher frequency.

When placing the skull masks against

their face & then licking the insides to

better absorb sublingually.

Water bubbles gurgling.

Halogen cleaning the

antique instrument panel.

Bugs wings fluttering,

shattering glass,

ripping aluminum,

producing light & heat.

Ancient techniques use

technology from the past

& clothing from the future.

Search for a source of energy

that cannot be depleted.

Everyone evacuates into the flooding streets.

Rejoice & partake in the sacred fluid.

Reach transcendence in your own natural rhythm.

WZS

1

Although I used to write for many years some catalogue essays for very different artists, I was never really able to do what I was supposed to do and somehow to reach the final and common goal to write about their works, meaning discussing the qualities of the conceptual or material objects, naming and comparing them etc. becoming quite sensitive and super self reflective about this permanent condition of non achievement, still I believed it was still only a matter of self occupation but eventually I even had to learn that writing about an artist and not about his or her works would be in professional metaphorism interpreted as gesture that means the work would not be interesting enough. It would be an intense case of a very public offence. I even heard this from real good friends with mostly very complex abilities of text interpretation. But it was too late for such an insight, the text were already published. All of them were and I did not produce any exception. And too late I was left with the hope one day I might be able to redeem the destructive failure of my writing attempts. Somehow I am hoping this might be as well read by those artist as one first evidence of the changes I went through which lead to intense desire for redemption. Although my reasons and excuses were purely good-willed at the time, I still learned my earlier text methodology was in fact still a misperception of my intention and redemption would definitely be necessary. What I did was that I misused the examples of their production. I believed that I have to condense their life into an almost abstract model of artisthood, I should say. I wanted to turn them into an example of what I believed was a good model of how to be and how to live as an artist in contemporary time and survive it in a sometimes hard way but still everything feels like the suffering was done to leave the traces of an exemplary life. Still publishing such writing could be fine, but somehow I hoped with the description of these model lives I would in a second step somehow throw this model into the face of the powers that often unfortunately determine the lives of these artist, but even worse so the conceptions and assumptions about artistic life by these participators of these powers were completely false and inhuman. Altogether my determination for good ended in using them and using someone is always followed by misusing. There was no hope for redemption from such mistakes I felt and kind of stopped or in reality only avoided writing more of these until now Stefan asked me to make another attempt for the e-book publication connected to the record he did with a few other friends whom I don’t really know enough to apply such an individualist or even existentialist modes of description and of survey and hope that this empiricist trajectory on one person could be projected on everyone.

Still seduced by the invitation to contribute this text and by thinking I would have understood the issues involved in the production of a text that emphasizes the biographical artists model as medium for compassionate propaganda against everything systemic I should chronologically and most empirical at least start a long text about everything concerning Stefan and the model he and his many different works represent to me, because I consider him as being the greatest model in doing so. -But then I feel that part of this model would also be to even leave this systemic writing by the side and rather tell a story, maybe just about one sound or for me even maybe about americas?

So here is a very little beginning of his huge biography... but let‘s start chronologically...

It feels like trying to catch too many and even too difficult to explain things so quickly and so complex, as I approach my subject here, artist Stefan Tcherepnin. We met at a party far away in Europe the first time, it was a party after performances, party without clear space permanently moving and once very late arriving in the tiniest hotel room I have ever seen. The room had almost only a light wood bed and no pictures on the wall. The place we talked first was the tinier room, as usual connected to the small room but without door. I was shocked about the big amount of biographical information this unknown man put into me in shortest time and I could only think of America as reason and provenience of such speech excess without formality but high amount of information. But that was then when I had made attempts to live there myself and it was time when many things I just could see were determined by the great endless fascinating continent. I swallowed all these informations with incomparably intense attention. In best case asking myself something like what kind of americaness, american experience is this person displaying here to me, what is the name for exactly this one certain human for such party display. I was being very stupid then obviously, but it was very important to be so too.

The sound of talking in the tiny room reflected, resonated the general outside sound I often projected into the sounds that feel so old arch-american maybe in the stories I read even?

2

Like many others I was always extremely seduced by books about early encounters of Europeans with native Americans from Columbus all through to the period of the civil war. There are too many of them that are really very hard to read, to read all the atrocities the destruction the genocide. It is unbearable to read these examples and having to know that the particular violent event you just read did not happen alone and once but happened innumerable times during this period. But there are as well books texts and reports, letters, relations etc that are most exciting literature and often describing the sweetest and most human events imaginable on this earth. For instance when European explorers, jesuits, traders and others would have found themselves completely lost in the immense country, or when they arrived from the long crossing of the atlantic most exhausted, broken half dead and suddenly out of nothing some of the americans would come and see these sick broken individuals lying on the ground just expecting death and even if they had already bad enemy experience with other europeans, even then the americans would take care of them and would feed them and give them their famous great medical care all for free until some weaks later they were fully recovered. The first encounter literature is so full of these reports, whatever, this for europeans so most strange compassion and sweet care of the americans always touched me intensely and now as I for many months obsessively dived into this kind of literature I wondered what kind of subconscious pattern is there in my personality why am I so attracted by these texts. Suddenly I found out and believe it or not it is simply because almost exactly the same thing happened to me in my own life. Arriving once there most broken, sick and exhausted in America but having the unexpected merciful luck of meeting people who most compassionately and most unselfishly started taking care of me and achieving real miracles with me.

One wise Lakota Sioux was writing that living with all these useless self reflexive and self torturous identity issues are result of living far off from the spirit of mother earth

Once in Liverpool in the hotel we did a poster together, recombining the words of from “The New World” movie by Terrence Malick.

Come Spirit!

Help us!

Mother!

Help us to see and to sing the history of our Country

You are the Mother, we are the maizefield.

And from you! we raise up

Mother

Where are you living

In the fields, the clouds, in the water

Show us your face and give a sign

We raise and we raise

But I am fearing myself

What else is life

You suspect anything?

I will be faithful

Truthful

2 not more, 1, 1, I am I am

Or Another Pocahontas Prayer:

While they get hungry they start digging for gold

The real life changing into a false one

Forgive me mother

I cannot come over seeing you die, I am too incapable of bearing it

We speak the last time to each other, we are not any more your child

I ask myself why I obsess seeing the tragedies,

Why again and again

Why does it all appear as phantasy in evil, this martyrdom of phantasy

Mother, you are my power and I do not have any

You showed me your world, now I have seen

And I wanted to find happiness in all what I see

Next exercise: while living quite happy facing the unbelievable dark mercilessness of history and same time keep praising.

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy made a man out of me

Spider Galaxy made me an insect

Spider Galaxy. Open the window

Alternate reality

Spider Galaxy…

Spider Galaxy in time

Spider Galaxy the net, the planets

Spider Galaxy the web

Spider Galaxy the punishment

Spider Galaxy for crawling up the wrong

tree

Spider Galaxy the wrong me

Spider Galaxy personality disorder

Spider Galaxy behavioural studies

Spider Galaxy for growing up

Spider Galaxy forever

Spider Galaxy front and back

Spider Galaxy to explore

Spider Galaxy expanding

Spider Galaxy unknown material

Spider Galaxy in the dark

7VQCK7

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy

S-p-i-der Galaxy

S-p-i-d-e-r Galaxy

Spider G-a-l-a-xy

Spider Gala-x-y

S.p.i.d.e.r G.a.l.a.x.y

Spider Galaxy the catalyst

war imp days court truths rents scum men things

mind men case words hearts homes life boy blood

heart men code truth crimes homes fear men dust

crimes men case gates health scale acts man men

month sod time court health tract mind day time

guns men dock right depths years coup bus world

eve men days hands health words tale son courts

jaws way jail right rights years case day right

court man jail right crimes field laws men sums

rights law dock court crimes funds camp key man

facts men post court things graft camp men dock

cell way mind kinds clique tanks guns man roles

man men cell faith months times head men nights

life men life truth things hands week men death

court day cave hours hearts names code men head

breast day foot facts stream words camp men law

times law fact walls stream dream fort men jail

mind way jail house street years guns men cards

men law name court thanks court rank war groups

role law ease world troops death name man facts

night law mind court thirst funds time men cell

groups man dawn posts scenes pride edge men man

hands man dusk faith branch funds hour war food

time men boys truth clique faith week war truth

law law room night troops thing camp man truths

room law laws court courts price skin way times

Spiral Spider Galaxy

Viral Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy the thrust

Spider Galaxy the thrust with sea animals

with mammals

Spider Galaxy evolution

Spider Galaxy the senses

Spider Galaxy sitting in front of laptop

Spider Galaxy reminiscence

Spider Galaxy knows how to spell

everything

how to spend it

Spider Galaxy the machine

Spider Galaxy auto correct

Spider Galaxy i mean

Spider Galaxxxy

Spider Galaxy self determined

Spider Galaxy man made

Spider Galaxy word invention

Spider Galaxy word wide

Spider Galaxy intervention

Spider Galaxy the slide

Spider Galaxy rampant economic crime

Spider Galaxy alcoholism

Spider Galaxy prostitution

the code

Spider Galaxy id

Spider Galaxy the outfit

Spider Galaxy non-reversible

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy ID

Spider Galaxy i have an idea

Spider Galaxy spacing out

S p i d e r G a l a x y

Spy der Galaxy

worldwide

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy copyright

Spider Galaxy diffusion

Spider Galaxy vaporised

Spider Galaxy

Spider Galaxy off-time

Spider Galaxy talent

Spider Galaxy over-night

Spider Galaxy colleague

Spider Galaxy extra spidery

Spider Galaxy under the table

Spider Galaxy hard to reach

Spider Galaxy skin condition

Spider Galaxy multiple maniacs

Spider Galaxy skyscratcher

Spider Galaxy milk and sugar

Spider Galaxy getting off

Spider Galaxy re-loaded

Spider Galaxy double meaning

Spider Galaxy season

Spider Galaxy end of season

Spider Galaxy visit

Spider Galaxy trip

Spider Galaxy strip

Spider Galaxy shirtless

Spider Galaxy asian

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy thought and feeling

Spider Galaxy share

Spider Galaxy shirtless

Spider Galaxy skirtless haha

Spider Galaxy like that

Spider Galaxy balance

Spider Galaxy harmony

Spider Galaxy music

Spider Galaxy music of the spheres

Spider Galaxy bubble

Spider Galaxy water

Spider Galaxy wind

Spider Galaxy machine

Spider Galaxy machine

Spider Galaxy machine

keeps on going

Spider Galaxy machine

Spider Galaxy the machine you're in

Spider Galaxy the machine hall

Spider Galaxy all

RAPTURE

I was drunken and overall miserable and I crashed into him—the unforeseeable x-factor, wild card, that revolutionizes, that wreaks magical transformation on, gets into the water systems of, a system. It was a ridiculously improbable match—no one would have thought it.

Back home after our ‘first date’ I lay in bed the next days (because in those times I wasn’t well). Extreme things were taking place in me, but I, (I should make a distinction here), Conscious-I, didn’t notice. I started obeying unconscious drives, out in the open, during my waking life, but Conscious-I lay there senseless to these events, except in the most passive of ways. Even though I was awake, Conscious-I still felt diurnal and Unconscious-I still nocturnal, and diurnal missed nocturnal (almost) exactly as if they really were separated in time, though they weren’t. Conscious-I became a senseless fool watchman to Unconscious-I’s frolicking trespasses.

What’s more, I had been severely depressed for a long time, and when you have been that, you don’t notice much about yourself. Heavy, long-term depression dulls and deadens you, in both directions. It acts on you this way, but it is also your response to it—very reflexively, you power down, reduce your heart rate and your senses to not feel the awfulness. Like an animal playing dead before a predator, you take on a non-living state.

I started looking at the videos and photos of him over and over. And these periods, before his image, were like being caught in a thick reverie or slumber or fog.

I remember on the fourth day… a voice suddenly spoke in my head, startling me from the unconscious reverie and I tried to shake myself free of it. “I can’t be like this,” it said with determination, “daydreaming all the time like this,” and then I observed myself, third-party-like, getting up from the bed, going into the other room to get my phone, dialing his number and saying to him, “I need to talk to you,” without knowing what I was doing, and understanding only then as I heard myself speak the words, the same time as he was. And we arranged to meet in a few days. But then, a day or so later, another or the same voice appeared in my head, and reversed the previous voice’s decision. And so when we met again, it just became our second date.

For that date we met in a rain mist under the awning of Kellog’s diner. I had just come from the unconscious reverie before his image of the last several days, but when we walked together from the diner to look for a bar, I was stealing glances at his still not very familiar face, asking myself if I liked him. If ever there was proof of how dumb consciousness is. How small it is. How oblivious, ignorant, uninformed.

The activity was compulsive, and seized me several times a day. The need arose, and I had to quench it—my body would just act, head for the videos and photos, open them up on my desktop, and set them playing.

It took a while for me to even perceive this activity. Because of all the unconsciousness. And even when I did start to piece it together, and did start to realize, and tried to hold on to the pieces and look at them, handle them, they almost always slipped through my fingers. If not right away, then days later, months later, years later.

I could eventually realize what was happening to me only because of the disturbances that interfered with these spells, shaking my consciousness awake. These disturbances would form part of my consciousness, and became like pieces of raft, land to stand on and survey from, the surrounding unconsciousness. Like how when you are awoken suddenly and are granted a view of your dream, that you wouldn’t otherwise have been privy to, I was gifted some ghost-memories of Unconscious-I.

A ghost-memory is like a mysterious path. The conscious bit marks the entrance to the path. Without it, the path doesn’t exist. Like with what I just mentioned, caught in a thick reverie, and on the fourth day, a voice speaking in my head, startling me from my stupor. It is only this disturbance, that formed part of my consciousness, and only when and if that conscious part floated back into mind, with a little view of Unconscious-I attached to it, could I ‘remember’ the extreme somnambulant stupor of those days.

So whatever I came to know, was in this roundabout way—the disturbances were bridges that led me backwards to these ghost-memories, which are so tenuous, and tend to dissipate immediately, or if not immediately, if I am able to hold on to them, to write about them, ponder them, for a time, weeks, months, years, they always in the end erase themselves, slide back into oblivion, leaving very uncomfortable holes, very unnerving problems. It becomes disquietingly difficult to re-stitch back together any kind of past. The hole contaminates everything around it, because so much is no longer tenable without it, all the thoughts related to it, the understanding built on it, the days spent thinking about it.

What I know about it all also comes from writing—because writing is a live and direct line into the unconscious. I started writing of my experiences about a year into them, and sometimes it would inadvertently trip something, upset a stone, causing a door to quietly open, and a ghost-memory to become available to me. That’s how I gained a few more sightings into my unconscious. But always, the opening would quietly close again, without warning, taking the ghost-memory with it, and leaving no trace of ever having even existed. Except for the writing. When there was any. Twice, I have come back to my desk to pick up what I was working on, and rereading pages and pages, several days’ worth of notes, in my own hand, I would chillingly realize that I suddenly no longer possess the memory. That the heart of my notes, of my past few days, has been ripped out, leaving a very uncomfortable hole. Making my own notes, feel eerily alien.

For a long time it felt like, I understood it as, I had seen something of too great wondrousness, that my consciousness went blind, and that I had to undertake endless hours of ‘work’ or ‘training’—compulsively setting up the images, pressing play, inducing the rapture again and again, pressing the vision onto my eyes again and again, to become accustomed to it, to deaden its impact—in an unconscious drive to reconcile it with my conscious self. For a long time, I thought of it as ‘work,’ that I performed mechanically, like a job, because I would only be aware of myself going for the images, setting them up, hitting play, but once they were playing, I became unconscious and never had any memory of what I was experiencing in that lost time. I had the memory of doing something, repetitively, over and over, but I didn’t have any memory of any ‘feeling’ associated with the activity, so I believed I did it mechanically, without emotion. But one day, in writing, I unwittingly overturned something, and for a minute, had access to a ghost-memory of the teeming emotion I feel in those moments, while before his image. My consciousness ceases, but everything else of me remains, lovingly, ecstatically wrapped up in tracing every line, taking in every detail… his profile with lowered eyes, his hair matted beneath a mesh baseball cap, the grooves in his long sleeve t-shirt, the cut of his figure against the stage, the slight glimpse of his eyes behind the sunglasses...

Also for several days another ghost-memory opened up to me, of having experienced another consciousness—of being un-individualized, not yet born or already dead, just cosmic material in outer space. All was luxurious black womb, pulsating with one heartbeat. It felt absolutely joyous.

The original rapture (the event) occurred the night before our ‘first date,’ while I was looking at photos and videos of him online for the first time (researching him a little, so as to have some things to say to him). It must have, because this was the act that I would unconsciously revisit as if under a spell, again and again, all told thousands of times again. These were the grounds that I haunted like a ghost, and kept returning to, the original site. And that’s why the black cold terror that sickened me going to meet him for and throughout our first date. I was scared to death. And that’s why an abnormal nervousness inflicted me on all the following dates well into our relationship. Since the night before our first date I already knew unconsciously…

Entering these episodes, it feels as though my body and my conscious freeze in their tracks, as much as if fantastical creatures had stepped through thin air, before my eyes, transfixing me to my spot, so intense is my fascination, so acute my emotion. For those first months especially, I was caught in a rapture and reverie so thick and total, like in a movie booth transfixed by softly unfolding dreams.

I am so far away in these moments, (in my unconscious, which in these experiences is apparently far, far away), as if in a spaceship hurtled deep into outer space. If someone addressed me, it was like coming to mid-transport, I saw and heard from a different atmospherics, from suspended somewhere else in another galaxy, over an ocean, over earth, sound and image coming to me all warbled, through curtains of space-time.

The conscious seems to only be capable of a passive awareness of unconscious things. The rapture exceeded what my conscious could handle, short-circuiting it, leaving my unconscious to take over. Like as well in times of unspeakable horror or fright. From there on out, my conscious had only the most passive and vague awareness of the extreme goings-on and behavior. It couldn’t consider or incorporate that awareness, it couldn’t even remark upon it to itself, even though the extreme things trespassed so flagrantly into the integrity of my normality.

I had a sister activity to the unconscious rapture-inducing activity, daydreaming. I took every opportunity of idleness—riding the subway, waiting in a doctor’s or counselor’s office…—to indulge in it. I would almost run to the subway seat, the waiting room seat, in joyous anticipation of the idle minutes to come, not wishing to waste a second of them, sit down, open up my store of memories of him, quickly select one, and set it playing—and I would experience a total washing over of ecstasy.

This store of happy, blissful memories was like a cache of drugs. It’s as if the mind’s eye distills the memories, isolating only the loved one and all the attendant happiness and adoration and love, removing everything else, till you have left only the purest form, amazingly refined, a pure nugget, delivering the most joyous rush of ecstasy.

About two years into our relationship, I took over the care of his cat. It started because he was going away for five weeks, touring a play, but then I fell so hard in love with her, Bebek, that even after he returned, she remained with me, for some more months, until she sadly died from cancer (she was very, very old—but she remained till the very last, the most magical, dead-pan cat that can be). I loved her so immensely and I found that I could do the same thing with her. I could open up her memory and experience ecstasy.

Each night, right before sleep, even when he lay there next to me, after we’d said good-night, I would eagerly turn the other way and open up a memory of him, or later, of Bebek, and be awash in ecstasy.

The daydreaming was obviously self-stimulation, though non-sexual. It was a means, at my disposal, and inexhaustible (for the longest time), to attain exhilarating, ecstatic pleasure. And I did it constantly. Every chance I got.

The daydreaming would outlast the rapture. After about a year and a half, they both started to lose their potency and to subside. At around two years into our relationship, the raptures were finished, but the daydreaming persisted a little longer, like a cherished habit, a child’s clinging to her security blanket or thumb-sucking, that one repeats even after it has lost its function, because it is so deeply associated with comfort and pleasure.

A lot of times in my daydreaming I chose to go back to, to try to approach, the original site. Like a haunted house, or some other off-limits forbidden grounds, this border, and getting as close to it as I could, exerted an intense fascination over me. Of course there, I always went blind. I never returned from it remembering having ‘seen’ anything.

Dumb, stupid, smart. It’s about electrical firings.

The dumb are excessively stilled by some one thing—mostly the insignificant, the inconsequential, the maybe not even real, overwhelmed by something internal or useless.

The stupid just don’t have a lot of connections or firings, either internally or externally. They just don’t feel or sense much.

The smart are super-connected to the here, their bodies prickling with connections, responding to everything, attuned.

The dumb are ones who can’t get beyond even their internal sightings, tripped up already by something there, on their way to here. They can’t even get here. They can’t even arrive.

Smart people are fully here. Their internal life is pressed into perfect connection with their externals, and everything sings. Whereas the dumb’s internals / externals connection is faulty or not working. They can’t port. They’re adrift, departed. The flesh abandoned.

When a subject experiences intense emotion—excessive fright, horror, awe, love…—s/he pulls sometimes a not-here. What s/he leaves behind is a body that fascinates me. You run up to it, like up to the empty box after a magic trick, examining it… Where’d s/he go? This body is the site of a disappearance. You shine a flashlight onto its dumb face, into the wide eyes…

S/he has absconded from the present. And what’s here is the body at the very instant of absconding—the expression and pose are that of the subject when s/he was caught by the overwhelming emotion, and now the face-overcome and body-mid-gesture are frozen like a mask. Stopped in its tracks. You shine a flashlight into the open eyes. Nothing. No reaction. And you admire this strange scene.

Like Star Trek’s beamer chamber. The body is left behind, the remains of excessive feeling. As the portal. A site for the subject to exit and enter the present.

So it’s the body of a sudden deduction. An abduction. Of a hole in the present. Flight. Of other dimensions, durations.

It’s diabolical.

Once the visions came to me while I was in the company of others, having a work meeting. Out of nowhere they appeared. I no longer remember what the images were. I just remember that they weren’t even full-on, like they just broke through a little (from their world into this one), that they appeared as from on high, and that their colors were so rich and saturated. When they appeared, which was the only time they broke through into my reality spontaneously (which actually allowed me a kind of side-by-side comparison—I held both reality and visions in view simultaneously), even only partial as they were, they were still so magnificent, fixing my attention to them unbreakably. Reality, whose colors are drab, lifeless, gray, in comparison, receded and faded to the background of my vision. I tried to pull my attention away from the visions and back to my work meeting, but I couldn’t.

This has never happened to me before. Where I’ve experienced rapture, religious-vision-sized rapture, and over a regular person, someone that I see every day, that I have a normal relationship with. I’ve never experienced rapture before. Never expected to. But I do have a tendency to become fixated or stilled. For example in my work, I can look at something, or think upon a subject, a small area, almost indefinitely. It doesn’t matter how slow or long the process is. I do everything slowly. It doesn’t matter how irrelevant the thing is.

For the last few years I got hooked on one pop music star, and then subsequently, another. I am a typical fan in that I will look at every new performance, interview, photo. But even more fanatically, I tend to watch things, mainly only performances, over and over again, dozens of times, my fascination never diminishing, except after some years. There’s a magic and I want to grasp it. And with great performers and great performances, you never can. Something always exceeds your eye, your mental abilities.

When you fix on something, it grows fuller and fuller. I’ve read how wrong it is to posit that we share an objective duration. That we’re travelling along at the same speed and trajectory, enjoying the same views. View is relative to rate. I have a hard time moving away from something. I like to return again and again. Like a refusal to move forward in time. When you fix on something, it opens up and gets richer. It changes.

Triggering the rapture—I did this heavily, several times a day, for a year, more lightly for another six months, after which, the drive diminished more and more, finally extinguishing itself.

The daydreaming I did as much each day and for even longer, by some months.

Total years and hours spent—for almost two years, thousands of hours, I sat, lay or stood spellbound by visions of him, thoughts of him, UNABLE to move.

Bernadette Van-Huy, February 2014

Developmentally Radical Experimental + Adaptive Maintenance

Sometimes the side effects are the only benefits.

Cell regeneration is possible in humans like a starfish grows new arms or a lizard grows another tail. Deer shed their antlers for new ones too. Musculoskeletal ecosystems are resilient to natural fluctuations in environment or sudden events that cause a disturbance. This is all due to asexual cellular processes. Metabolic alterations can be performed, but never reversed. Cellular regeneration techniques and homeostatic electricity immersion therapy are the current options for treatment. Aversion to stimuli was disproven in the last four clinical trials.

The clock in the city center chimes twelve times. The final clanging sustain followed by police sirens that are, at present time, the universal language. Rushing, hurrying, ever more frantic and then they seem to dissipate, falling away in the sunshine. FDA recommends a minimum of 5-10 minutes 3-4x daily, not to exceed daily recommended dosage vitamins K & D exclusively. Wear appropriate clothing for facing the sun long enough to get the recommended dosage. Disregard side effects for benefits. Light sensitivity is common with our agents. UV protection required.

Three jet streams forming a pattern seen in runes, two lines meet at a tight intersection. X is two empty triangles. The sun is risen higher and more jet streams have appeared. These are parallel with one another. Two lines are drawn beneath the brightness. These lines are leaving. Someone’s going somewhere else. All directions point away from here.

Listening is a skill that requires practice. The average listener does not compare with the latest transcription software. Audio transcription is like a tumbleweed catcher in a Thai museum. It functions as a dead cell gathering point.

ALWAYS BE LISTENING.

“Press in deep with your fingertips, and... release. Good. Now again. Press into the keyboard with your fingertips, and... listen...very good. Now release. Again. Very good. You are a natural. Do this at least once daily. Be sure to look in one direction and always listen. Listen closely to tune into the still clear, and vibrate gently. Continue this practice until you are finished. Do you think you can do that? Good.”

Operatives arrive in concrete bunkers. They materialize to serve as electric mixing machines blending in suspended conscience. Spectral hovering maintains chemically induced 3 dimensional holographic hallucinations in the frontal, temporal, and parietal lobes by a series of infusions administered daily into each hyperbolic cylinder. Location of cylinder storage is decided upon redistribution of intended energy transference. Faction formation is decided upon arrival and assessment standards of criteria are rigid. Once a line is drawn it shall not be moved unless the movement can be backed up with empirical data. If the trajectory changes, then a new set of coordinates will emerge in your perspective view finder. If you cannot decipher the instructions without primitive tools you may refer to the schematic as we are aware that alterations in consciousness will cause temporary loss of autonomic control and disturbances in motor muscle memory function. If a potential candidate qualifies they receive a summons. If notification is ignored, they will be discharged and memory is wiped. Once the invitation is acknowledged, access is granted. A surrogate will escort them into the dream.

Welcome to the sexy ghost hotel. In the lounge you will notice our collection of hides hanging above the bar. You may try them on if you insist, for we are no longer attached. They serve as a reminder, mere souvenirs of our former host selves. Waking up is a choice, but not an option. It is only a matter of when. TUNE INTO AND GET OUT OF YOUR SELF. Your reflection is the first thing you will see upon waking in the dream state to serve as a reminder. You must maintain your vehicle. You are no longer a ghost here. You are a human being. You must be kind to your host self. Bodily/vehicular maintenance is not your primary objective, nor is it secondary. Self propulsion is necessary to initiate the motivation to achieve and maintain harmonious balance. Self care is a practice that will in time become second nature. The more you practice, the easier it will be.

Various methods can be applied in conjunction with the finest fuel available in your present state. Utilize both isometric and plyometric shock methods in constricted and noise restricted spaces. If you cannot comply for any reason you will receive an injection. The injection site will go undetected. An associate from the network will accompany you for the duration of your stay. Interpersonal communication opens the channels where barriers occur, and will alert the agency of any modifications we need to make in the future.

Maximum hydration ensures sustained lubrication and effective transport. Dehydration is a necessary component in supranatural rituals. Rehydration although mundane is essential to exaltation. Excellent hydration practices are lionized in the higher order and held in the same regard as sanitation. Prolonged alcohol consumption will lower your vibration. Moderation is recommended, but compotation is also prescribed for operatives with hyperactive reception.

Suspension of consciousness is a necessity, but various states can only be occupied if requirements are left undefined. Your present state is to be transcended not endured. This is why homeostatic electrical immersion is recommended. Consciousness level separation is attained when heterodyning occurs wherein distorted frequencies are absorbed and processed. Signal interpretation is simplest in the unconscious mind. The behaviour of the signals will direct your ascension. If a signal is misinterpreted, debris separation will recalibrate the high powered consciousness shifter.

Final trajectory is not predetermined.

Everything is a trial. This is not escape from your lifetime. Regulatory institutional practices father depression, but employment of the mechanism can be liberating. Ideas born here are not original. Negativity accumulates between dimensions IV & V when the rituals are abandoned. Image projections are ignored temporally and redistributed throughout affiliated systems. Spirit catchers set the standard for dream filtration systems. Current operatives are notified of relocation, levels of involvement, engagement, and the varying degrees of interest of hosts in our assigned location. Notification will be subtle, for there is no severity index for lack of enchantment at the time of this transmission. Updates are communicated via holographic sonar interruptor. It is your responsibility to disengage every hour of each day. Be sure to limit your consumption of illusory connection technology. Myopic distraction increases anxiety and softens interactions in the present dimension. Water purification ritual can be followed by the sublingual absorption of herbal supplements for enhanced potency. The acquisition of necessary supplements must be approved by the agency, and obtained from a dispensary. Daily intake of an opioid agonist is now required for your participation in the program. Low dose maintenance creates inner conflict with orgone energy and other cellular regeneration techniques. Proper administration technique ensures efficacy. Daily microscopy is necessary, and routine urinalysis will be performed by the agency to measure metabolic levels and monitor all pathognomonic characteristics detected. Infections are environmental. Tolerance for pain will increase over time as levels of nutrients diminish.

Stimulant intake must be monitored. A reduction is not advised unless the host displays withdrawal symptoms. Signs of withdrawal may include, but are not limited to memory loss, night sweats, extreme thirst, diarrhea, spontaneous ejaculation, nocturnal emissions, nosebleeds, muscle pain, and restlessness. You will be compensated for your cooperation by replenishing the substance your mind requires least. The results of your involvement will be available to you in the next dimension. What we learn comes from the data compiled in previous studies, so your participation is a must.

Due to the impending (bio psycho social) crux of neurotransmitter depletion, all fluids are subject to metabolic analysis. It flows through a sonic rotating vapourizing filter, and any 3 dimensional bodies are removed. Recirculation occurs in the abdomen of our facilities. Small biological canisters are filled with individual doses of a synthetic neurotransmitter that are dispersed intermittently and then metabolized according to spatial relation, timezone, and biological origin. Dark matter is a delicate subject.

You will be issued a master cylinder and two cartridges containing both sets of instructions. In the cylinder you will discover a series of discs. Each of these discs contain ultra dynamic soundwave promotion. We have provided all of the necessary sound suppression equipment and imposed volume restriction so not to disturb the neighboring occupants. The universal heat shield requires a transponder key, the use of which can be acquired for a small donation of bodily fluid. We have upgraded the projection room with and internal entry code defragmenter for your convenience. Once you are seated inside, telepathic esthetic harmonious graphics distribution begins. Disregard all digestive disturbances. This is common as sound wave surges mimic and reduce the level of neurotransmitters that are responsible for feelings like happiness and cause the sensation of fullness.

Personal use of the tachyonic antitelephone is prohibited, but as illusions appear and fall away you may recognize these events as memories from a former self. Do not be tempted to listen too intently, just give yourself to the state. Trances are induced for a reason. You will never have enough open space and free time to ponder the universal truth and grasp understanding. Private displays of emotional intelligence are discouraged. Always maintain rigid boundaries while interacting with subordinates.

ANTI FABRICATION LAWS ARE ENFORCED AND LIGHT POLLUTION IS MANDATORY.

Regimented consumption of these promotions will be monitored. Any deviation from the schedule will be subject to scrutiny. Some areas of marked interest in the field of ideas, imaginative technology, and philosophical concepts. Your personal history is tracked in real time. Any attempt to conceal your history, or distort the frequency of our transmissions will be diffused. In the beginning there was a budget of precisely Z E R O. We employ every method at our disposal to protect our vested interest.

William Z Saunders for Haggard Caravan, an exhibition in Wakefield, later published by Monofonus Press in Austin, TX. April 2014

With an illustration by Emanuel Rossetti

DRIP EVENT

Published by The Power Station

The Power Station

3816 Commerce Street

Dallas, TX 75226

www.powerstationdallas.com

Produced on the occasion of DRIP EVENT by Tobias Madison, Emanuel Rossetti & Stefan Tcherepnin, an exhibition held at The Power Station April 10–July 12, 2013

Text copyright © 2014 by the authors

Compilation copyright © 2014 by The Power Station

The Power Station is a not-for-profit initiative dedicated to providing a platform for contemporary art projects in Dallas, Texas. Housed in a Power & Light building constructed in 1920, artists are invited to respond to the raw character of the architecture, offering an alternative to the traditional gallery and museum context. Geared toward an international audience and most immediately, the community of Dallas, the bold programming serves as a catalyst to provocate public discourse around art and culture.

Projects and publications at The Power Station are made possible through funding provided by The Pinnell Foundation

The Power Station and the artists would like to thank the following people for their contributions:

A special thank you to Rob Teeters, Michael Capio, Karolina Dankow and Marina Leuenberger, Tarek Omar, Flavio Merlo, Jeanne Graff, JD Collette, Lawrence Kumpf, Jennifer Schooley, John Pugh, Matt Regula (Telecult Powers), everyone at Issue Project Room and Homecoming! Committee