E. by T.A.
The Bodies Artist
E/Scrementificazione of the Thought
They are more than ten years that I accumulate material on this stuff. I believe to have skipped few or nothing. It is my body to speak from what it is decided to come to head of these things, entirely you appear on the surface never yet entirely you regress never inside of me. Suspended. Waiting for resolution and you now edit. For what they are worth, for what they are. What are they? Inside language? Certain, of sure. Creative action? Certainly but it is a tautology. Are they expressed words? But to which need of my body you/they make reference? Is there a specific need of the body this sense or it is an optional? Need to make a precise statement. When I sleep I dream even if I don't remember him, if I eat then I digest and subsequently my body expels the cinders of that that have eaten, otherwise I am badly! Of accord? Also in the respiraton I inhale and then draught out of the bellows carbonic anidride. Chomsky has explained that to learn at least the first language we are formatted. We already have the incorporated drives. Is this so difficult to admit later that for how much it concerns the cerebral activity of the body we are programmed to expel how much we store in terms of information, experience and how much other? In all I say really in this whole conclusion it flutters, it is read among the lines, from Frye, to Vigotsky, from Proust (also when he wants to show everything the contrary) to arrive to Alfred Jarry when he affirms that the art is masturbation. In everybody however at the same time (alone Vigotsky would perhaps deserve a discourse to itself) he/she remains so in the air, implicit, to half air or as in the case of Jarry a provocation. What is it that prevents them to draw logics consequences from this truth that it seems to persecute them, that it is slipped in their discourses, that it is inserted? Not certain the intelligence of these characters. Do we have to continue but what is it that frightens? or does it disturb us only? Now this expulsion than do we store it happens in our body in way similar to the to eat, to breathe or a his I has treat peculiar? We say that it is similar as referable need to the body and that it is peculiar in how much every bodily need has its peculiarities and differences in comparison to the other needs inside every bodily equilibrium. We don't have a body, we are a body: Merleau-Ponty and we possess only knowingly a part of it limited anchor, I add. We are what we eat. I don't remember who has told him/it. Spinoza? Correct me if I am wrong. If I don't produce excrements after having eaten or drunk, old a certain period of tolerance of my body, cannot live. If I am as in apnea you/they can bear my bellows (briefer tolerance) I suffocate poisoned of carbonic anidride. If I accumulate information and experiences without ever withdrawing out one of it (period of great tolerance) risk an information shock. That's all, even if this type of consequences you/they could be described beginning from a threshold of less extreme lack. We see from this side. If I don't regularly produce excrements my body it will run into problems type renal intestinal and/or. If my respiraton is not perfect neither they will have to hear again the bellows and the heart, above all. If there is not equilibrium and recognition among possessed information, assumed and expelled information I will be with a lot of probability a person psychically disturbed and surely a person that doesn't participate in the creative product of the community, as to say speaks for your facts, as to say fills with verses the boundaries of this cell, as to say crowds of sketches the ravines of this cave, however at least it is not died. Established this let's penetrate a little more us. The quality of this expulsion of information and experiences. We know in the case of the feeding this is called dung, urine, excrement generally. In the case of the respiraton the quality of the expulsion is we have said carbonic anidride. In what interests us the quality of the expulsion that is produced by every body that it assumes information it is not able whether to be defined, both immaterial and material, art, better still art of the body. Body art. The whole reasoning makes to trespass inside this denomination, body art, art of the body, any demonstration of artistic expression, from the sketches rocky facts with the stone from the prehistoric ones, to Goya, to the Orlan. It is not escaped, art of the body, archaeology of the body, escrementificazione of the human thought, oggettuale, not oggettuale, to remove as the sculpture (the only one that maintains the characteristic of the native expulsion from the body), to put as the painting, always and only art of the body. To extend entirely the Machiavellian concept is political to the everything it is art, art of the body, out of the body there is no art, as there is not political. The art is an excrement of the human thought, a testimony of the body, of the body for a long time. Possible that nobody has ever thought that Peter Manzoni with his scatolettes of shit wanted to tell only us this and nothing of the pop one? Strange! Jonh Cage. I don't have anything to say and I tell it. Classical affirmation of a need to be expelled.
The Theorem of Godel
Highways are opened, endless horizons, to me. I need material. Shock. Of other information. Turin. Raced of logic mathematics. Possibility of falsification, to try to make to die my theory to my place, Popper. A thing has always left me perplexed when I felt to affirm from an artist I concern its work, from an admirer by the way of the picture of its preferred artist or from both envoys together with to serve as applause the one to the other: is perfect cannot be added to remove nothing of it. It's complete! . This way, the usual music. It was indeed after all beautiful. At all the concept is also a swearword. Who would have courage to add something to the chapel Sistina? A crazy person. Correct? Yet to me has always left perplexed this sketch. I are found it to me of frequent in front of the eyes. To the shows, to the cinema, after a concert, in gallery and ring is never me. Above all when to serve as background to the scene they are of the masterpieces, more it is discussed of masterpieces and more it plays badly to me. That films it lasted more ten minutes or ten minutes less and it would not be the masterpiece that is, on that picture a drop of color in more would have ruined everything, that riffs only to that point of the piece it could be. And is true accidents, is true stramaledettamente! Already and then? Ist Teorema of Godel. The predicate logic of Frege is complete. There is not more nothing to be removed neither to add. It is eviscerated everybody. It's a simple but complete system. Or complete and therefore it systematizes simple. To the simple adjective with a lot of probability Godel didn't attribute from immediately a decisive importance or at least up to when it didn't try to apply the theorem to the whole Mathematics related to the logic of Frege. Vth Teorema of Godel. Mathematics is incomplete not because something it misses to add or to discover to its inside (that would be the least one for Godel) but because anything can be added to it is incomplete in how much it systematizes complex and not simple. Wow Stricken. The nature of the complex systems is incomplete, that of the simple systems can complete him. The sketch of first it starts to play to me. However beautiful the masterpiece of first it belongs to the sphere of the Ist Teorema, the chapel Sistina is the equivalent of the predicate logic of Frege, what the art has produced till now has been conceived as a simple system, however beautiful, also with how much you strive can have been conceived it belongs to a phase of the human thought in which the simple term, complete that defines it is not able whether to be to identify not a really evolved moment or (we are benevolent) evolved not at the most any same thought. And every time that the author of a work of art of the past (everything has passed after this) it observed the completeness, the maximum completeness, the equilibrium, the fixity of its job didn't do whether to also admit if unconsciously the lack of complexity of every creative effort of his. The most beautiful assimilable human creation to the I° Teorema of Godel cannot compete with the ugliest referable human creation to the V° Teorema. It cannot compete us for lack of incompleteness, for lack of structural complexity, of complexity of the intentions. To that kind of human creation corresponds a referable complex system to the V° Teorema of Godel? To which filaments of the human thought it will be associated a type of formulation that does some incompleteness the borderline of his complexity? What type of escrementificazioni can be produced, do you think, done realize by an incomplete complex system as the human body? A body that nevertheless it is still too fettered in the predicate logic of Frege, that he/she doesn't know to live incompletely, that has tasted only till now consciously simple systems yet. Let's not know him. We have opened a door and we have to see where it is leaned out. The premises to her some panorama you trespass. It could scare, It could almost convince us to close again the boundless door to leave to lose. Hard battles attend us against the defenders of the predicate logic, of the I° theorem of Godel, of the simple systems. The first one among all that against the system of norms that anchors serves as ditch to the I° Teorema and that him to pass by law under the name of author. We continue the siege to the fortitude of the I° Teorema holding well tall our banners of the V°. Let's not lose us heart. The imagination this time can have the best. Luckily we don't have avant-garde that mark us the footstep. Hey Galileo the world doesn't perhaps turn only anymore for a toward.
The Bodies Artist
How can we define the actual phase of our processes of escrementificazione? Pessoa has warned that every clear scheme is clear really why indeed not exhaustive. I have the V° theorem with me however that it will help me to remain borderline. I have eaten a light egg and convinced birth of my incompleteness. Ensign's game. I have with me four characters that can make the idea of the moment. Me, you, the Moth and Picasso. Each of us 4 to the actual state are a Body Artist. That is a single body that escrementifica thought through a specific line, a style (as what regards I think on the concept of style rhyming to another job, I don't now have time to take back the concept). Me and we are aware of it, the Moth no and Picasso doesn't want to admit him. Or you and I are trying better to cross a door to see that there is later, the Moth won't follow us or he will pretend to do it, Picasso will try to hold well closed the door. Boundless. To the moment the moth is worse of us but Picasso gives a footstep to us or at least still all they seem to believe him, even you. However you come. They are the two extremities of the phase of the Body Artist and us the medium one. Hardly envoy the nose out of the door however we try to make the thing more disposition of the world: to become Bodies Artist. Human that unite their process of mental escrementificazione giving life suddenly. The MIT comforts us even if we don't need it. Every human being can manage at the most alone 50.000 words. You and I already in two we can hold under control of it 100.000. The Moth in the meantime follows us to distance hello to betray us, Picasso we don't see him more, he arrives there some voice but we have not already seen him for months. You and I extreme on the right part of the line, Picasso I complete datum for lost. Medium moth of center left. And it is here that by now we live from over ten years, with the Moth to our outskirts that attends the course of the events to decide whether to do. We are met in these ten years with others there you and I that to them it turns other Moth they were brought in the near. We have become a community of Bodies Artist and one of Moth. Of Picasso we will never like alone legends for other sustained only from the Moth but to us the purgations and therefore we live shoulder shoulder with the Moth. A tribe always existed, from the night of the times and that, even if not he to be seen, has had his part in the evolution of the kind. We will speak later better of it we now return to ours ten years passed together by Bodies Artist. We have done of it of all the colors (the sinestesia is a frequent illness among the Bodies Artist), we have had a good time and we have discussed so much, we have tried to recompose, we have succeeded there at times. Someone would like to pass others one hundred years in this phase, someone no. You and I no. We think for a long time that it is possible to go further without rubbing of anybody, even of the Moth that so much will probably follow us to distance wherever. Ready to betray us damn him. And then I don't want at all to abandon anybody, cannot ever be abandoned as cannot be been ever corresponded, do I want to think only and do you agree. I confide You that it is a few times that I meditate to make plural also the adjective. Thing? You I am meditating on the Bodies Artists. You retire to think, the Moth listens to our shoulders but he doesn't understand, Picasso has died. Of him not even legends. It is an idea that fascinates me and you retire to think, studies tronica. Bodies that escrementificano not with a line but with endless, bodies that they talk to thousand styluses, don't use her this word, with thousand different lines. What nobody can say anymore I recognize them in this expelled expression. I think that perhaps it is impossible that lately say always the MIT of it optimist on the human possibilities (as me of however). I Think that what I have thought is never able human being. I'm stunned at times by this concept when continuous to see in my summary escrementificazionis of the lines even though transitory of riconoscibilità. I cry and I laugh. I laugh at the end. It is me more congenial. You in the meantime make a discovery main point. It has been for a long time as usual there. We are spent nearby there thousand times. We have not realized of it, never. You tell me that my hypothesis according to you is possible but that I have jumped a passage. A passage that is so much main point in how much it constitutes precedent in comparison to my hypothesis. You speaks, speaks, the Moth to this I aim it loses every hope to follow us, also listening. You say that so much a long time ago, when the boundless door it was not opened, a human entirely unconsciously and believing to be who knows prey of what esoterism, escrementò in admirable way like a Body Artists, from ortonimo and eteronimo. In life he didn't confess this faculty to anybody. The chronicles, tell me, they bring that this anomaly of his was discovered only after its death. In life it published the ortonimo and his eteronimis without Nobody was hastened of nothing. It built biographies, the places of residence of its eteronimis, reviewed them, it raised them and it contradicted them. It's difficult to everything today to establish if the ortonimo were better or worse than its eteronimis, you say that it is only perhaps a matter of tastes and that us, me you and who we think, we would owe ripercorrere, this time knowingly, this road to make I count us some expressive possibilities of that that I have glimpse. You are sure of it, it is the omission of this phase that made difficult to imagine my run. Azz. I say me but the name of this genius. Sssss. You do. Nobody has to know him, there is the Moth in the parts. That pretends to support to us and then zac. We are you and I, extremity and medium, to 18 billion frantunesimi from a Moth that it tries to follow our traces: Anybody to the horizon. Terrestrial arid. Reality anagogica. Four escrementificazionis later to east of. On the. We meet two bodies. They ask the road to us, you/they have killed their Moth but of the road we don't even know a penis us. It is gone together.
The Consolatory Gesture
The experimentation makes mental victims. It hurts me say this and today to the place of the head I have a story of Carver. One of those toasts. I had warned to you. I had told you him that my experiment was bad, it was on me and that I didn't want around anybody. But you nothing you are wanted to remain under there. You have sworn me that nothing would not have done you and that you were ready, aware of, what I didn't have to worry me for you. I won't be you of weight, not to make any scruple to you, you go before, we will experiment in two. We are programmed for forgetting, help me not to forget you, to modify my program, leave street. I am gotten used to be only, it cannot be me of any weight what I have to do, leave me alone too soon. I will estrange my children by myself, I won't move anymore, I will stay completely immovable for the whole necessary time, leave from me, you disappear, help me not to forget you. I make case to a thing. For the whole life I have received conditionings. Strong, of those that tell you what you have to do or not to do, that they bring away you, that they don't make you be what you are or that you want, that make to you return home embittered, without hope, incapable to tell yourself I am what I am. Then a kiss, a caress, a sweet word of your children, of your mother or of your woman, a laughter with the friends and all restarts afresh. The program is restarted. To now restart the computer? You. We cannot rebel to this state of things because it is a program with so much of references to his inside, corrective, extensions to his operation. I have thought this, I have acknowledged this. We cannot live without conditionings, as Fromm says we have fear to be free, we are not programmed for being me I tell it, but at the same time this need of conditioning us worn-out it creates collateral effects that make us return home as you tear, human larvas. Here the program induces us to the consolatory gesture (caress, kiss, laughter, word) that it reorganizes us, it detoxifies us from the lack of hope in ourselves, us shiny to new ready still to suffer to suffer in the following day that conditioning which we pant up to the death. There is no revolution, social removal that can make us go out of the program, has to see her to us with ourselves, to make the accounts with the program. It is necessary to put hand to the source and it is not easy. I don't know from what it departs to start if not from the program of which I prepare. I risk the zero resetting of the Hard-disk and then it would be good night to everybody. I risk strong and you have to leave me alone. I don't want to jeopardize anybody in the experiment. it is not joked with the life of the others. I give up the consolatory gesture. Nobody can touch anymore to me or to say a word of comfort. I want to ascertain as the program it reacts and to understand better the rising mechanism of it. I won't feel anybody that tells me anymore I love you or I love more simply you, I thank you for the words that you have told me it was as that I didn't feel her, we depart for a trip, we visit different places, we do something. The shivers come me to think what we are doing, you are wanted to chase within for strength there. We are worse and worse, the program does it labors to restart alone him and my attempts of change don't allow to hope for nothing. We are icy, we start not to recognize the keyboard anymore. 491 A.Cs. it is more than a week that the armies are faced by the shores of a stream without deciding him to fight. I am a simple oplita from the part of the Greek and I don't know why. I know only that will make them win on their rival Persianis. E' the month of boedromion of the calendar metonico. Reformed. Among a few times there will be the battle and me I am on the shore miming that that will happen soon to the Persianis. I have a good time doing him, also them on the other side they make ritual of war but they don't know how it will go to end. Me him and it is even more what I do. It arrives on the right side of my shore, a child with a pitcher to pick up water from the stream. Simple water to be brought home, really next to me. A blonde child with a braid, is you from child, that is bent to pick up water from a stream, next to me, in front of the Persianis that look. You have not even made case that I am nearby you. You have just ended to fill the pitcher and you throw on to yourself. You don't even have the time to understand. You see a helmet and a short sword, wide that slips the stomach, it rises and it makes beautiful show of you to the Persianis on the other bank. Don't make a moan, you are seemed light to me, light to lift with my sword. You continuous to turn in circle with my iron and I utter free cries of war to the enemies that I already know to defeat. They look us to Them to dance. I have the legs in the stream and a flag pierced on the oplita sword. I put down you in the stream, I do work to free you from the sword. I get further while your braid follows me along the stream with the Persianis that look. They have premonition of what it will happen them of to little there. Days and days. You have lost the drives, reseted the Hard-disk. I don't know thing anymore to do. I had told you him help me not to forget you. My program has started over marching with some change. You there is not you have done her. I now choose alone my conditionings, without resorting to external ram, more for the time being I have not succeeded in doing: I am free however to condition alone me and I have completely can live without the consolatory gestures. I have found again even the taste of riparlare with my children, my darlings, it is not a selfish action of rerouting of the program anymore. I impose alone indexes of legibility you fix, runs and meetings, conditioned feedings (today only potatoes), meetings sexual convicts with women that nothing don't tell me, books to be read to every cost, repeated words to my inside obsessively, schedules of standstill and exit, everything alone. Free. Of you an only scepter I remember, a caress on my face that I have not granted then to you you have released. Zero. Something to the alimentatore, something tells that I will meet you, again. On another shore.
In the war in progress between the defenders of the I° Teorema of Godel and the supporters of the V° the use of the technology in the artistic expression is not a borderline of the line up in field. There is whoever it says that is not luckily today opposition between kinds and artistic forms and this it is true. The hybridization is by now an obvious constant of every process of escrementificazione of the thought. The informal ones are not in opposition with the figurative ones, the traditional painting is not antagonist of the anymore web-art, the written poetry is not it with the more forms experimental of music and visual poetry and street talking. I could continue for one whole year. The opposition however it is very more substantial than that that is commonly believed but it is traceable in thin way, it is almost set shutter-litteram and post-litteram, in comparison to the form (if we still want to continue to use this ugly term) that of time in time it assumes the artistic expression of the body. It's in effects only a manoeuvre of whom currently manages the circulation of the ideas, the defenders of the logic of Frege, to make to pass the ruling hybridization as absence of opposition, antagonism of the subjects. But it is not so the war there is and it is seen if only we want to use the eyes to do it. It is necessary to be careful, it didn't stuff to englobe from the work of mystification put into effect: type that beautiful peace boys, everything and the contrary of everything is all right this way. It is necessary to understand the adversary, to study the true differentiations that prefer us to him, to experiment, to unmask him and to go ahead for ours. Remember to you for first thing that the apologists of the I° Teorema use technology at least how much us. You don't believe that behind their line the reactionary and obsolete parts of the community are only hidden. Even pits alone so we would have had already departed defeated, does put an end to the siege. Which it is then difference, the line of border between them and we, between the other part of us and we, as is it manifested? Every referable expression to the V° Teorema of Godel is first of all a masterpiece of human share, in the intention, in the result, in the spatial contours that it assumes, it receives and it gives, you/he/she has not handed dams, it is not contemplative it is effective, it pants of addition, it is the vigil of Joyce, it doesn't have curriculum, it risks life, it is set bulky to the refusal of the humanity or to its epifania, community is always done both that is the expression of a body or million, he/she pants to this it is anagogica. Spread in the time. Never firm also in the immobility. it Throws back and it digests. The technology that employs is a mean as another to reach this. It would know how to also reach to this in case of absence of disposition technology. The contained expression inside the I° Teorema is always instead a system adabatico. Any form assumes. Whoever is the author of it, also when it is disguised behind a Multiple-Name. An isolated system essentially remains, concluded, it doesn't receive and it doesn't give energy, it is contemplative. it is refractory to the humanity. It is right of author. it is never given. It cannot live without the technology, its new suit, is to the footstep with the times incredibly but it doesn't need anybody to its inside, it is independent as resulted final, it is also immovable in the movement, it does to competition with him same. It works on the incredulity of the people on their insecurity and the perpetual one. It wants power not share. You trench often inside a presumed divine character of the art and the immortality, it is mystification and above all it is not to the course of everybody. It is a simulacro, an icon, beautiful, a chapel animate sistina, is a hymn to the style, to the individuality of the genius, it is cold, alone. Punishment almost does me... Do you want to make company to me in this jail today? Tell me of a man. Me? You you. Of whom? Of me. Because I should ever tell of you, me, today... I don't know it... it is that I don't know if I have always been good with your mother... lately I often think it... I have even been always good with her... And that you think... What I am not able anything it stuffed... I am sorry it... it makes me die... I am also sorry it, but that I can do, now. Is it necessary to live this way? With the remorses? You. I don't know if I make it. Not even me. How are you now? Here or with the remorses? Here. I listen to the time, I eat me work to be, abundant breath and I sleep. As me. Don't you miss liberty? No. Are you sure that are well? I have not been well never, dad. Don't tell this way me. What do you want that tell you? Don't tell this way me. Do you want that I tell you of a man? You. I light up of immense. System traditional adabatico. Do tell me if you like this poetry? Endecasillabo loosened referable to the V° Teorema of Godel.
Crisis Of Rejection
In my rare apparitions in public known in my comparisons the same attitude that is reserved to a rotten watermelon. The wedge, tastes it and the spit or to the limit I throw back it. Perhaps it is my primitive aspect that determines this or perhaps I am me that I want to appear a rotten watermelon. Retrograde. In any type of discussion can come me to find in these exceptional occasions as a rule me I couple to be the retrograde one of the situation. For the one whom he listens and for the one who is chatting with me. I have to be to discuss at least a couple of hours to hope for to capsize the situation there and it arrives the watermelon. I don't know if Apollinaire was serious when he affirmed that it is beautiful being primitive without being him. I was, a couple of months ago, to a show near an ex syndical center, to Rome. An ugly show as little. I was letting to Alexander that accompanied me noticed how much beautiful instead those walls were. White shiny. Without look. Anagogiche. A teacher of history of the art, present there, also him, behind us, feeling my appreciation on the walls thundered: the work are important not the walls. All were turned verse of us as to say: but it looks how Barbaric that have happened in this temple. Good Teacher. As if the walls were not also them human work, as if the walls came from another I husk to serve as witnesses to us while we are giving near to us in continuation. I had to throw in dance mathematics, Mandelbrot particularly to reestablish the things as they were. Of however the poor teacher had been being for the times of Afro that was not occupied of escrementificazioni and it was me enough easy to make to retract who listened us, in circle, around us. Cazzo the primitive you have seen that has thrown above to us from the walls? him it is really strange, really strange. The teacher's daughter, also she sat down in circle, saw a rotten watermelon and it told me: Why don't you explain better her to me this theory on the walls? I asked to Alexander to deal with the teacher and I slipped away it to me with his daughter. She cut me, she tasted me and it spit out me for earth. I have seen Valentina graft a small heart painted by one friend of his on a cloth inside the abdomen of a thread-like woman created by her. A self-portrait and a transplantation of work of art, human. You/he/she was frightened by the possibility of rejection and it didn't say a foolishness. Also in the transplantation of organs this risk subsists, I told her, but not for this transplantations are not made. Rather he/she thinks to when the science will have set I can shake my hand to you in exchange for your orbits, I can see how you and you you can touch the things that surround you trying what I try me. He/she thinks how beautiful. But will they ever make it do? But I don't know it, we will move without putting them to the current one, we won't ask permissions. How is your self-portrait? Survivor seems. Has not you/he/she thrown back? No. Do you want my orbits? Legionary from an apprenticeship near Sol LeWitt, Valentina decided to expose his transplanted self-portrait. Only that. The walls of the turned space redounded of white. It seemed a marriage without monogamy. She asked to me if I wanted to expose with his body something of mine or somebody else. I realized a sequence of 15 digital frames that they withdrew her in the most disparate ways and I stamped them on a transparent surface with the plotter in way of not ruining the marriage of the walls. I put every lines of the sequence on CD-rom and I delivered the whole Valentina material. To the show everything almost went for the best. Happy walls to have married, dense public, animated Valentina, master of the space bendisposto, sonorous column of the discreet environment. Only the words exchanged with a lady spoiled me the mind. Initially it seemed to me as to already have her known. Good, in draught, shoes open with a small callousness on the right little finger. For this when it was approached for asking to me some information on the suspended things in wall I was prodigal of words. I explained to him that the side CD-rom of every transparency would have allowed to each invent again or to integrate to his/her taste the transparency, to decide its oneness or less and beautiful company. While I was waiting for his reaction the little finger it told me of yes but her furious it started to tell me that it didn't have anybody desire to invent again of it, to integrate of it, to do nothing of it, to me a thing if I like I buy it and enough. Who tells you that me or whoever we have all these desires towards an object. If I wanted to be an artist I would not have come here to buy. She was calmed and seeing that the only one unprovided of side CD-rom was the self-portrait of the small heart in abdomen that she bought. She asked to me to excuse her for the tone of first but when it is too much it is too much and if I thought she had made a good acquisition. I answered of him, as always when these questions do me and above all I didn't reveal to him that also its self-portrait had not a CD-rom to side but transplanted inside. In his eyes I didn't see rotten watermelons and we left each other this way. Three days after the master of the space asked a little bit strange to us with a voice for telephone to pass from him. Also me? I told Valentina. He is thought that you are my agent. A half trouble has happened it told us his master. A person (so much for well it seemed) with the excuse to see to monitor the transparencies of Valentina he is brought away all the CD-roms. Is it possible to reprint the CD-roms? Otherwise for the authentic ones it touches to make the photos of the plotters and it is a disgust. Valentina said ah. I responded. Stupid, I am the agent, the authentic ones you have him in hand you, the pictures if the gentleman is brought away them. The lady that had acquired the self-portrait transplanted of Valentina, called the master of the space to have the number of Valentina. It told Valentina that one of his two children had dirtied the cloth to the height of the abdomen small heart and he/she wanted a restauration. Leave it so lady answered as Valentina it's accustomed to be transplanted.
Song for a Plain Moth
The Moth I am a sub-cellular kind. They are not identifiable to a physical person up to that you/they have not remodeled her everybody. Not for this they are absent in all the others, in form of microorganisms, inclusive me. We always do in time to become some Moth and if we don't become him/it, there is nearby always a Moth to each of us as a guardian angel, to remember of it to us the existence. I have not socially known still an active person that has not had never to whether to do with a Moth. You can be said that it has accompanied the history of the man from his appeared to today, from the discovery of the fire to the era post-atomic bomb. It perhaps exists there from pria of us and he/she anchors we don't know it. We don't know entirely still his anamnesi. as microorganism is recognized by little. Lives for eras without knowing its existence. He doesn't have need to show. He worked better when nobody spoke of him. In the history it never makes mention, even distantly the suspect. Yet in every more important action of the human chronicle he has always had his part. The part more main points. In every bankrupt revolution, in every tied up familyquarrel to the attribution of roles of power and their exercise, in every place of job every time was tried you a redefinition of the human relationships to the inside, to end in every type of personal relationship where is had somehow to establish a hierarchical staircase of affections, affinity, likings, reciprocity, even in the relationships of couple. You will think that I am saying a stupidity but he have had more importance the Moth, in the failure of the Cultural Revolution in China, that Deng Hsiao Ping. Him more than Stalin in the involution of the Revolution of October. it is not the capitalism that englobes us as Black Tones it says it is the Moth. What then you should see him. It almost always has the aspect of the most harmless person of this world, what never says of no, but not even him, what always makes good part of our road next to us, that it is not shown, that if there is to say something he/she thinks twice always of us and at the end it doesn't even tell it, what always allows the good women to us for then to recover her when you/they have abandoned to us, that stays there friend, that never says a word against us, openly, that doesn't put darnel, that search always to make peace, that at times makes us feel straight scanty, intrusive, that has good sense more than us, that nobody would do him so deleterious for the human kind and his generous attempts of emancipation, that almost it would come there desire to speak well of it. And instead to fact more damages him of Hitler without nobody has ever realized of it. He has made to die a generation to the life sentence, he is passed above every injustice committed on the face of the earth, he has made to pass the spies for good people, he has deliberated the definitive defeat of every passion of liberty marking it for illusion, he has combined more than Charles of it in France and us silent there to speak or better thinking that without the change of the economic structure it was not possible any other type of change. Idiots and the Moth there to laugh. To everything there is today who anchors it is questioned on the economic structure and it individualizes in the exodus in progress toward the most advanced countries from the men of the other world (I don't refer to the hell or to the heaven eh) a contradiction in degree to put in crisis to revolutionary level constituted power, while the Moth rages and without to make the accounts with it. Do you want to send to died another generation of angry men? This time you won't succeed there, from your so paid desks. We want first to make the accounts with the Moth, at least. Tony tell us that difference there is between your Social Worker and the Der Arbaiter of Junger? The microorganism of the Moth is to me as the sick of hepatitis it is to the carrier of epatosi. The wrap of the microbe. I am a healthy carrier of the microorganism and I know so many of it as me.You can give to him that we have defeated the microbe without realizing of it (as it happens for the toxoplasmosi) or in us he has not found the better ground to develop and at the end he is calcified. Done it is that me from what I remember I don't have any particular type of feeling with anybody any of those demonstrations of life that go under the name of exercise of the power, applause of the strongest, elitism, exclusion of whom doesn't agree with us and it doesn't make the choir to us, etc... From little boy I have always broken the face to the small moth of turn that cut out of the game, what didn't use his expressions or that had not made a penis but he had to be cut out and enough. It was stronger than me. And I have continued with so for the whole life (apart some small moment of confusion in which my body was evidently fighting the illness). I don't have a relationship to be able with the next one, with my children that so many times, for this way of of mine, I are stunned (excuse me but I am not able it stuffed nothing), I have never imposed an only thing to my wife (that instead for this it was a happy to woman to be with me), I am always in the things in first person, ready to hurt me if necessary and nobody can remove from me this being in the world, any economic structure that however coercive (and I know something) he can remove from me this spiritual patrimony of my body, any disappointment, any poverty, doesn't care. I will never practice some power towards anybody. But in the destiny of each we have said there is a Moth and me I have decided to give the publicity that deserves to him. Two words on the Cambogia. Late revolution in an underdeveloped country. The poor Khmers had not a historical picture in front of them really encouraging. Had not Lenin succeeded there, Mao-Tse Tung, does the Common of Paris, Have Who Min, could succeed us them so small, limited, with a country full of malaria, done hunger, devastate by the war and by centuries of colonialism? Where was it the problem that had made to fail everybody? Pol Pot thought that the problem had a non economic base, in the bonds that we bring behind us and that they also recreate inside a socialized economic structure the relationships of production of which they are the reflex. He thinks well about separating the brothers from his/her/their sisters, the cousins from his/her/their mothers, I am making confusion, but in short later fifteen years in Cambogia if two relatives were met again the greatest part of the times they were not recognized. Besides this the original contribution of Pol Pot to the revolution was that to turn upside-down the normal relationships that usually in any type of society they are established between young people and old men. Old wise man, a little experienced young people. It turned upside-down all old men contaminated by the mental mechanisms of the precedent relationship of production, uncontaminated young people. In every decision as an adult that had lived in the pre-revolutionary society it contradicted a young picture of uncontaminated party he pecked at a pellet in head. The young people to the power. There is no denying it too often the experience of the red khmers is liquidated in easy way and scandalized, for the most part for false buonismo. But it was contained there, sinned a slaughter is revealed only. Pol Pot: the khmer-moth is a germinal microorganism that strikes all over the world the single individual, independently from the family bond and from the reminiscences sovrastrutturali of the relationships of production in which the individual is grown. The revolution is in my bedroom, had been dressing for night and it is not had to tell her of no. In E. by T.A. we have decided to launch this initiative that is already giving his fruits. An advertising country for the Moth to make executes him, to clarify the importance that he has had in the history and the star that it is to the whole humanity. As testimonial of the country we have chosen the image of my personal Moth, one of my good friends of infancy. He has always lived as if it had to live two hundred years, he has also been always to the side of every country house remaining in the parts (he is never known from what it departs it throws the wind) and he has collected, not to wear out or duty to think as to someone, less love stories of my father that my mother only has loved. A perfect Moth in the mean of the walk of his life. We are bled for the country there, us poor, but we wanted to make him the honor that deserves. We have posted his manifesto on all the walls of the city, on some stadium to payment, (sigh us poor), we have made to speak its radios, the mass-media, the net. We have opened a site devoted from to him where it receives applications of suggestion from the whole world, we have still spoken on the occasion of the song that we have devoted to him of it and that (but we are still undecided) it will probably entitle the whole album. we are given a lot There to do. My personal Moth has become one of the more people notes of the city, he has fear to be recognized for road, his mother tells him to be careful, he is refused to listen to the song that we have devoted to him (Mark's music mainly) and he refuses to answer to the questions that arrive him from the whole net, in all the languages. We will have to answer us to his place and in effects we have already started to do it. Certainly that applications of suggestion arrive him on all the types of problems: from the insecurity, to the job, to the philosophy, to the music, to the friendship, to the love even to speak of it. Will want us a heap of time but at the end we will answer to everybody. Song for to Plain Moth.
It is the time of the thanks and then I don't want to make to wait to anybody. The first one, the more felt perhaps to James Joyce to have defined his odyssey an epic of the human body. Certainly with the vigil you have combined a beautiful country house but at least you have removed from us the vice of The Chings. Now in E. by T.A. we open at random the H.C.E. and we put in music of it a part, in original language obviously it is our way of reading him, and to write again it. The second credit certainly the dueeest to Fernando Pessoa I would not have known how to draw nothing of good person, without you, from my lack of style. Now a particular credit to my Muse, Valentina. Stop her to also make pippe to the Moth, them so much they are never revealed to you, and then heck that Muse you are. To John Cage I want to express a special thanks to have pushed us from the part of the noises in music, Russolo had not convinced entirely still us. To Alfred Jarry and Antonin Artaud to have lived for chosen a human condition to the limit that has been instead a found daily situation for me and that I was not surely prepared to live or that I would not have liked. Thanks still to have strengthened in me the conviction that can be survived, to everything, both when it is imposed there, as in my case, both when we set it as I sue, as in yours. A thanks giant collective I have to like to tell it Mark, Alexander and to the silicon that uses, to a home poetess that doesn't want to ever appear with his name (it says you know I have not studied to school), to Northrop Frye that even though unwillingly he has admitted that the art extends to abolish the classes, to Sergio that he has also put us the nose in this job, to Godel, that to say, enough the quotation, citation, to Raymond Carver, Ezra Pound and Gianni Toti. In small tone but always with affection I want to remember the help datomi from Dziga Vertov, Andrew Tarkowsky, Abbas Kiarostami, Serghej Eisenstein, Karl Dreyer, Werner Herzog, Otto Muehl, Jim Backrage and somebody else, after all what I have written was born, initially, only from one idea of mine of cinema, of videoimmagine that you have helped me to you to retrieve and to put to fire. A still engraved for Peter Manzoni, Jana Sterbak, Vigotsky, Alan Turing, Orlan, Noam Chomsky, Marcel.li. Antunez Roca, to the experience of the Living Theatre of New York and the whole theater of avant-garde American of quegl'anni (what you owe to John Cage I owe it to you), to Stelarc, to Charles Bukowsky and our drinks of wine, sweet, to Marinus van der Lubbe that has set fire alone in 1935 the reichstag in Berlin with a box of matches, to Yukio Mishima for his gold Tent and finally a thanks small but particular to the shit that I am. I will never succeed in practicing power some towards anybody. Believe me.