Dear constellation,
Baby spaceship navigating through space.
Surfing through asteroids, looping around belts past the stardust.
It is all in the mission to arrive to aurora borealis where I am to deposit an ID chip of the ship.
It all started recently, some time ago.
We are not certain of our exact time of departure due to the different temporal vortexes we have spiralled through. Our exact location remains imprecise.
We are facing an emergency. Once our fleet entered this quadrant. It started.
-our fleet is facing a problem: It is vacationing away from our immediate mission. We are going off course, distracted, the fleet absorbed and their attention spilling.
The Fleet is meandering. They have disposed of their munitions across the quadrant. Some have stumbled upon archives, others have decided to exchange boats and wonder at each other’s marks on the steering-wheels. Two of them have decided to look at their footsteps on a foreign surface. A clump at the back is testing the timbre of their voices in this new gaseous environment. Part of the fleet even exited the quadrant in search of a coffee.
We have sent commanders to spiral through and inspect the region, but they too have been consumed by this condition.
[Me] Pandorabox
[Pandorabox] yes, Lieutenant?
[Me] Find a solution.
[Pandorabox] Ok. Searching for solution
How can we enforce order and organise this situation in order to arrive at aurora borealis?
Otherwise our mission will fail.
I must organise the fleet.
Cut -
Commander, we have a crisis. We cannot redirect. Our radios - we are intercepting; the fleet members just seem to be absorbed.
Too absorbed to be hearing our actions.
[Commander]: Navigate to the left, find the galactic hairdryer and spill the air over to the other side. This might provoke the ship-boats to steer along the dotted line.
I look around towards the hallo-way.
The boat is full of galactic hairdryers, each of which provokes different effects. Not sure which one to pick. So many options, so many possible mistakes. The green hairdryer looks back at me. I look back at it. We look at each other. Our gazes reciprocate. The backspace of the hairdryer engulfs me.
Like this hairdryer, I had another one 4 years ago. Its existence was crucial. That green hairdryer came into my life - it chose me. Thanks to the power of its wind, it blew my ideas into their necessary planes. Each idea’s paint, each with its own texture, was dripping into the direction of its necessary tendency. We just needed to hear their tendencies and follow the drips’ directional prophesies.
T e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c I e s tend to actualise.
My eyes glaze over the black line drawn on the surface of the green hairdryer and realize that that black line had already been there before I had noticed it.
I notice it again.
I notice that I noticed it again.
I follow the electrical cable of the hair dryer and notice it is plugged into the main source power with 5 red lights flashing in counterpoint. Polyrhythm. Poly-centers, Poly-moments. Their alternating groove is soothing.
A hand touches my back. It is Anne. We start to waltz.
1,2,3,1,2,3 (please read all for timing),1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,
1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,- Her breath smells of that thing you just ate.
Now we twirl and twirl and move in space, and twirl and twirl only to realise we are twirling because the centripetal motion of the baby-space-ship has slowed down. We like this sensation. We keep twirling faster and slower, playing with how gravity interacts with our accelerating and decelerating motion on a turning platform. We twirl to the window.
I recognise X and B. We look at each other. They are not looking.
We and Anne follow what X and B have started. We feel each other’s sides. We drink a bit of juice.
Anne, X, and B continue their ways. We stay here. We feel the stay. We like the stay. We stay, unfolding the stay.
Babyspaceboat drops, our bodies float.
Around us, other space boats have attuned themselves to the group, listening to each other. A choreography of floating space-boats emerges. Tuning into each other, they float together as if under the same cloud, connecting with the same galactic music of the spheres - which is silent to us.
They radiate together, pulsing as they collectively swim through the quadrant. The ship-boats hear each other.
_______
Consumed by the frenzy of production assosciating myself to work, labor, directional, forceful, I decided switch approaches which relate to different ethics. Organisation becoming improvisational openings, unpredictability rather than enforced order, relating to a laxed sense of time, and allowing rather than modifying or (to be written better)
or something more like;:
last year I glanced into an archive for the first time. It was semi-unrelated to me. I was forcing assosciation. I had time to make something with it. I was frustrated by not knowing how to deal with this big huge thing called history, how to touch it, how to use it.
Last week I entered an archive, this time with a group of people, and we spent 3 days wandering with it, finding things within it, finding everything equally important and unimportant, sharing with each other what we found. In the midst of finding how artistic labor can both sustain and be vital life, how are these approaches different in relation to institutionalisation or not, the curiosity of finding but at the same time needing to label yourself. Generating openings where things can occur and performance as encounter of the random or not, intentional or not, anything or not.
Baby spaceship navigating through space.
Surfing through asteroids, looping around belts past the stardust.
It is all in the mission to arrive to aurora borealis where I am to deposit an ID chip of the ship.
It all started recently, some time ago.
We are not certain of our exact time of departure due to the different temporal vortexes we have spiralled through. Our exact location remains imprecise.
We are facing an emergency. Once our fleet entered this quadrant. It started.
-our fleet is facing a problem: It is vacationing away from our immediate mission. We are going off course, distracted, the fleet absorbed and their attention spilling.
The Fleet is meandering. They have disposed of their munitions across the quadrant. Some have stumbled upon archives, others have decided to exchange boats and wonder at each other’s marks on the steering-wheels. Two of them have decided to look at their footsteps on a foreign surface. A clump at the back is testing the timbre of their voices in this new gaseous environment. Part of the fleet even exited the quadrant in search of a coffee.
We have sent commanders to spiral through and inspect the region, but they too have been consumed by this condition.
[Me] Pandorabox
[Pandorabox] yes, Lieutenant?
[Me] Find a solution.
[Pandorabox] Ok. Searching for solution
How can we enforce order and organise this situation in order to arrive at aurora borealis?
Otherwise our mission will fail.
I must organise the fleet.
Cut -
Commander, we have a crisis. We cannot redirect. Our radios - we are intercepting; the fleet members just seem to be absorbed.
Too absorbed to be hearing our actions.
[Commander]: Navigate to the left, find the galactic hairdryer and spill the air over to the other side. This might provoke the ship-boats to steer along the dotted line.
I look around towards the hallo-way.
The boat is full of galactic hairdryers, each of which provokes different effects. Not sure which one to pick. So many options, so many possible mistakes. The green hairdryer looks back at me. I look back at it. We look at each other. Our gazes reciprocate. The backspace of the hairdryer engulfs me.
Like this hairdryer, I had another one 4 years ago. Its existence was crucial. That green hairdryer came into my life - it chose me. Thanks to the power of its wind, it blew my ideas into their necessary planes. Each idea’s paint, each with its own texture, was dripping into the direction of its necessary tendency. We just needed to hear their tendencies and follow the drips’ directional prophesies.
T e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c y t e n d e n c I e s tend to actualise.
My eyes glaze over the black line drawn on the surface of the green hairdryer and realize that that black line had already been there before I had noticed it.
I notice it again.
I notice that I noticed it again.
I follow the electrical cable of the hair dryer and notice it is plugged into the main source power with 5 red lights flashing in counterpoint. Polyrhythm. Poly-centers, Poly-moments. Their alternating groove is soothing.
A hand touches my back. It is Anne. We start to waltz.
1,2,3,1,2,3 (please read all for timing),1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,
1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3,- Her breath smells of that thing you just ate.
Now we twirl and twirl and move in space, and twirl and twirl only to realise we are twirling because the centripetal motion of the baby-space-ship has slowed down. We like this sensation. We keep twirling faster and slower, playing with how gravity interacts with our accelerating and decelerating motion on a turning platform. We twirl to the window.
I recognise X and B. We look at each other. They are not looking.
We and Anne follow what X and B have started. We feel each other’s sides. We drink a bit of juice.
Anne, X, and B continue their ways. We stay here. We feel the stay. We like the stay. We stay, unfolding the stay.
Babyspaceboat drops, our bodies float.
Around us, other space boats have attuned themselves to the group, listening to each other. A choreography of floating space-boats emerges. Tuning into each other, they float together as if under the same cloud, connecting with the same galactic music of the spheres - which is silent to us.
They radiate together, pulsing as they collectively swim through the quadrant. The ship-boats hear each other.
_______
Consumed by the frenzy of production assosciating myself to work, labor, directional, forceful, I decided switch approaches which relate to different ethics. Organisation becoming improvisational openings, unpredictability rather than enforced order, relating to a laxed sense of time, and allowing rather than modifying or (to be written better)
or something more like;:
last year I glanced into an archive for the first time. It was semi-unrelated to me. I was forcing assosciation. I had time to make something with it. I was frustrated by not knowing how to deal with this big huge thing called history, how to touch it, how to use it.
Last week I entered an archive, this time with a group of people, and we spent 3 days wandering with it, finding things within it, finding everything equally important and unimportant, sharing with each other what we found. In the midst of finding how artistic labor can both sustain and be vital life, how are these approaches different in relation to institutionalisation or not, the curiosity of finding but at the same time needing to label yourself. Generating openings where things can occur and performance as encounter of the random or not, intentional or not, anything or not.