Shot from a range of camera angles, the projections variously depict only the face or part of the torso; some are in an enlarged close-up while in others a wider view appears. On the soundtrack for each, the same set of phrases — based upon different combinations of the verbs “talk” and listen,” appended by a shifting list of pronouns — is spoken: “I’ll talk to you. You’ll listen to me. You’ll talk to me. I’ll listen to you. … They’ll talk to you. You’ll listen to them. I’ll talk to them. They’ll listen to me,” and so on. They lay upon the sidewalk. Did the circle close? I doubt it. Thus, when it comes to actual curtains, nobody is clear about what the sky means -- where the blue dusk stops. I mean, the entire community was violently displaced and several people were missing for some time while they sought refuge from the violence. Mitch Taylor is reading Ana Božičević, “Casual Elegy for Luka Skracić,” which begins, "So you might be called on / to die for your art. Even a rose thorn could kill. You / might be required to abandon / all other forms of occupation, or else work every job under the nonsun, til / you’re so like the others that all you can squeeze out / is art. I want her Barbie shoes so bad.” You’re here, & here is a lemon blanket, the shortest straw. Now you’re over there, which is a liquid feeling or a plant growing on all fours. You’re not standing or sitting or gliding; you’re immersed. You are ransacked & you are receiving gifts. “And what must break thoroughly is fever into intelligence.” Like what those Agencies collect. Horniness is like talking with your mouth full of images. My name is Erik Sprague, but I am far better known as The Lizardman. I’m that tattooed green guy with the split tongue, or as a young lady in South Dakota once succinctly put it to me: “You're that motherfucker from TV and shit, ain’t ya?” Los Santísimos Hermano is a Messianic sect formed by peasants who fled La Violencia in Colombia during the 1950s and established an enclave in the mountains of southern Tolima. Its members have their own dialect and consider everything to be “holy”, except for the right (cursed) side of the body, which they cover with sackcloth. How can there be so many cliffs to fall off when there are no edges? Or, also, I wanted to obliterate my tweeting and answer my own question in an extended way — “what is the sensorium of struggle / how is this aesthetic /what is the trauma’s clarity?” and “how do those who have never had the clarity that comes from this struggle tell me this vision of the world — vivid, expansive — is, and only because of peril, interest and instinct, occluded, unsayable, animal, crude, and false?” also ”but how is the vision of disinterest, of the judge, so often inadequate and partial?” Meat is meat is how I wanted to respond to the article about cat-eating Peruvians. I wanted to post an image of a fat unicorn. I wanted to say “I dreamed about this the night before it became real” but tho Anne Boyer did I didn’t. “I am pleased at your image: you exist” [insert BABEL Working Group here]. If it is possible to crowd-source one’s life, and I think it is, then I can only say: it happened. “Adopting an especial tone of utmost seriousness, the raven then explained the important subject of opportunity — I am fond. I heart my beloved. At present, I prefer to heighten a word that is not directly derivable from either analyzed incident or the brief and repeating history of myself. I have a lover’s soul and a fowl’s disposition.” From 6.18.2003: Start with the stuff on the ground I mean start with the nasty, then get very very good, the process of getting very very good. See, notice, witness that pile of puke over there in that corner and pick up a spoonful of it and shovel it in with fearless curiosity smeared across it like jelly or oil or the saliva exchanged in a kiss, jars marked and mislabeled for / proper identification / enjambment is a way of doing it.” It resembles the inexplicable compulsions of pica, the yearning to eat the inedible, to taste something beyond flavor. It unveils unanticipated sensitivities in the afflicted, impossible yearnings. The perplexing, vaguely infantile longings threaten shame but also afford the thrill of the faux forbidden. After all, ASMR is on its face a kind of cerebral explosion of the ordinary, offering the sublime self-negation of art while precluding any hermeneutical pretentions. Gentle murmurings in a foreign language, crinkling packaging, meticulous descriptions of folding towels or the feigned administration of eye exams bypass the defense of interpretation to become sacramental, sensuality without sensuousness, separating the experience of intimacy from sexual desire. Instead desire is suspended for a preternatural plenitude. Its triggers can seem like test patterns for the limbic system, the dullness of the surface content a found neutrality, an incidental innocence of signification — pure aurality reaching deeper synapses beyond the impulse to understand, a concrete state of consciousness, a pleasant confusion of stimuli, a smothering overload, a soft suffocation of sound.
[Note: Sources: Janet Kraynak, “BRUCE NAUMAN’S WORDS”, in Bruce Nauman, Please Pay Attention Please: Bruce Nauman’s Words (ed. Janet Kraynak) (Re: Nauman’s World Peace (Projected)); JBR, but see next; Bhanu Kapil, “Ender-night”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 7 Oct 012; JBR; “Latest News”, at Worldwide Echo in Support of the Zapatistas, as seen 7 Oct 012; Mitch Taylor, FB post, 7 Oct 012; Julia Cohen, and Dot Devota, as quoted in Cohen’s “What You Feel Is Space & What You Fell Will Float Away Press”, at $650 Apartment for $650, 7 Oct 012; JBR; William Keckler, “Horniness”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 7 Oct 012; Erik Sprague, at The Lizardman; “Los Santísimos Hermano”, at fakedaniels, 7 Oct 012; JBR; Anne Boyer, “What I Wanted (To Do On Social Media This Morning)”, at ////PATAPHYSICAL INJURY, 7 Oct 012; JBR; Eileen Joy, “Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood, and I, I Took the One Less Travelled By: Why I Resigned my Professorship”, at In the Middle, 7 Oct 012; Michael Leong, The Philosophy of Decomposition, Re-Composition as Explanation: A Poe and Stein Mash-Up, Sawako Nakayasu, Texture Notes, Evie Shockley, giovanni singleton, Ascension, as quoted in “Attention Span 2012 | Evie Shockley”, at Third Factory / Notes to Poetry, 7 Oct 012; Rob Horning, “Radio ASMR”, at The New Inquiry, 5 Oct 012]