Här kan man läsa en liten grej jag skrev. Texten sammanfattar mänsklighetens historia, samtid och framtid. Det var så det var tänkt den där gången då jag försökte skriva den.
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junker på Fredag barkfisknedladdning på Onsdag junker på Onsdag barkfisknedladdning på Tisdag d på Tisdag
”The text summarizes human history, past, present and future.”
And so even before I read the text [in cross-eyed Google translation] I’m thinking about Dog Star Man. Brakhage said [I paraphrase]: ”I thought it would be a little, simple film on a woodsman – myself as the woodsman, the wood-gatherer – but it ended up as an exploration of the whole history of man.”
Then I go to the text and see what it looks like, and I see the illustrative photograph… now I’m remembering Herzog’s Fata Morgana. You know how he starts out quoting the Popul Vuh and then [without making it plain!] proceeds to insert his own mythology?
The face of your words reminded me of his. Still I had not actually read your writing, at that point; I was appreciating it as an object.
[[[And we cultivated a solidified material. Och till sist systematiskt beskurna ligament. And finally systematically cropped ligament. Och våta stöttepinnar på platsen. And wet supported perches on the spot. Och stavades ner i vidderna. And rod into the gauge. Och spelplatsen. And games. Och detta nya sortiment. And this new range. Och det gavs tillbaka i det vita skenet. And that was back in the white lights. Och gav tillbaka vad som var gestalt i oss. And gave back what was the figure in us. Och våra nervösa händer höjda skenbarligen till hälsning. And our nervous hands increased apparent hand to salute. Och varje känsla en form av ankomst. And every sense a form of arrival. Och vi stod där med vårt mänskliga likt ett kalt klot. And we stood there with our human like a bare sphere. Och vi närde en apterad böjlighet. And we nourished an aptera PLIABILITY. Och sandstormar blidkades. And sand storms appease. Och tygerna som torkat ihop vår vrede till honung, en tunn sträng av honung. And fabrics that dried up our anger to honey, a thin string of honey. Och vi tänkte oss handen som en platå. And we thought our hand as a plateau. Och det fanns en fond av slocknade former som fortsatte flöda genom våra fingrar. And there was a fund of passed out forms that continued to flow through our fingers.
Och till sist den sorgligaste formen av händer tycktes stiga upp från en erfarenhet som om vi förlorat. And finally the saddest form of hands seemed to get up from an experience that we lost. Och efter oss följde en ordning som levde i dyner, sekvenser. And after us came a scheme that lived in the dunes, sequences. Och nu är vi klara hårda. And now we are done hard. Och den blanka känslan av att vara det sträva porlandet genom oss själva. And the shiny feeling that to be the aim rippling through ourselves. Och känningen och fingrarna efteråt. And touch and your fingers afterwards. Och nyfuktiga aktiviteter över öknens sätt att sträckas. And nyfuktiga activities on a desert way unstretched. Och ett skikt som vällde. And a film that vällde. Och det fanns inget tidsbundet utöver det som bands i tunntarmen. And there was no time-bound beyond what the band in the small intestine. Och växelvis leddes kedjor genom varandra. And alternately chaired chains by one another. Och genom nedtrappningen av oss själva länkades en rötternas ökenmetabolism. And by de-escalation of ourselves linking roots desert metabolism. Och vårt medlande korrigerade förseelser genom leden. And our mediating misdemeanors corrected through the joint. Och det fuktade. And the wetted. Och det genomlevda. And it lived. Och att ha härbärgerat stoffet som metod. And that harboring matter as a method. Och vi forsade ofta kring spjälade ben. And we are often around the splint bone. Och avträdet töjde rötterna. And avträdet töjde roots. Och en så kallad mänsklig trajektoria tvingade det öppna att oupphörligen förankras i oss. And a so-called human trajektoria forced it open to constantly anchored in us. Och reptampar vällde från vraken. And reptampar vällde from shipwrecks. Och värdet av fixerade hållplatser i vidden. And the value of the fixed stops in the gauge. Och hakarna i berget rann stilla inom oss. And the brackets in the rock ran still within us. Och den gulnade datorskärmen i spegeln av rötter. And the yellow computer screen in the mirror of the roots. Och sand. And sand. Och händerna kunde höras vagt mot det dova morgonkalla sandberget. And the hands could be vague to the deaf tomorrow cold sand mountain. Och rörelsen var som den var bara mellan oss som en utsikt. And the movement was that it was just between us as a prospect. Och den vred oss kringburna som en bricka av sand. And the twisted us around-borne as a tray of sand. Och händerna. And hands. Och genom detaljstudien rörde sig åren som areal. And by detail study were years that area. Och förbindelseled. And CONNECTING LINK. Och rörelsens översättningar i varje tänkbar form. And the movement's translations in every possible form. Och rörelsen som inhägnad. And the movement that fence. Och svallande stoff. And exuberant stuff. Och tiden var ett gytter av grundämnen och avdelade individknippen som tuggade våra förmodade ankomster. And time was a conglomeration of elements and detached individual bundles as chewing our supposed arrivals. Och framvällningar. And Welcome tions. Och vi fördes mot en tung sand. And we were on a heavy sand. Och skiften existerade. And parcels existed. Och fingerleder kryllade genom oss. And the finger is teeming with us. Och enskildheter märktes och kopplades till källådern som impulser. And individual units labeled and linked to the source ådern which impulses.]]]
”AND SAND STORMS APPEASE. AND FABRICS THAT DRIED UP OUR ANGER TO HONEY, A THIN STRING OF HONEY. AND WE THOUGHT OUR HAND AS A PLATEAU. AND THERE WAS A FUND OF PASSED OUT FORMS THAT CONTINUED TO FLOW THROUGH OUR FINGERS. + AND FINALLY THE SADDEST FORM OF HANDS SEEMED TO GET UP FROM AN EXPERIENCE THAT WE LOST.” I hate the imagination, and these words have nothing to do with the goddam imagination.
They are, conversely, a Revelation about our existence, about Creation, about ”our situation in the world,” as Kenneth Patchen would put it. I believe that these statements you’ve made are divined facts; one doesn’t come across shit like this every day of the week.
It is poetry – you were in a trance –
Had you been reading scripture? smoking hash? were you sick with a hangover? listening to sacred music? lovesick?
What did you think when you read what you’d written?
I DON’T EXPECT YOU TO ANSWER MY VULGAR QUESTIONS.
I’m just want to react with enthusiasm, as is warranted.
Thank you Dave, for the kind words. Surprising how many sentences that turn out OK with google translation. Some of them turn out more ‘cut-upy’, but I’m guessing that’s fine with you, and I’m not going to straight-out the confusion. (And also – the text IS cut-upy).
”Had you been reading scripture? smoking hash? were you sick with a hangover? listening to sacred music? lovesick?
What did you think when you read what you’d written?”
I can’t remember what I was thinking of when I first wrote it. I think the text was ”discovered” among some early cut-up things I did a while back. I mean to say I discovered some themes and started to bomb the text with new input of my own that would expand what was already there. More than Fata Morgana and Dog Star Man (that I still haven’t seen) I think the text owes a few nods to BEGOTTEN:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101420/
The text is probably not finished (or maybe it is – I just don’t know exactly what to think when I read it today) and maybe I’ll return to it someday.
ps. Begotten is a silly little film, but it has its moments, not easily forgotten. ds.
I found it lovely, the google transition/translation. A sort of collaborative tact emerge from the conjunctions: Och (…). And (…). Och (…). And (…). A sort of harmonic (it is not the proper word, I know) chiasmus maybe? is that what emerge: Is the one conjunction for the other to be, or is the other for the one to be? Anyhow, thank you for sharing, Dave. Do good – you all.
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