In the House of the Hangman 1228

The performance opens (Part 1: Descent) with a theory-fiction-manifesto that introduces the dramatis personae and abruptly drops the goat of philosophy into the abyss. This prologue of a mangled philo-fiction is followed (Part 2: Navigation) by a performative gluing of philosophy and sound in which the auditors become the goats, each completing the chimera according to their localization and navigation of the space. In the final movement (Part 3: Alienation), this personal experience of local synthesis is replaced by an estranging immersion into the impersonal experience of the global, synthetic environment as the intensifying, sonic chimerization moves beyond the sphere of the knowable. But the rocket has to be many things, it must answer to a number of different shapes in the dreams of those who touch it – in combat, in tunnel, on paper – it must survive heresies shining, unconfoundable … and heretics there will be: Gnostics who have been taken in a rush of wind and fire to chambers of the Rocket-throne … Kabbalists who study the Rocket as Torah, letter by letter – rivets, burner cup and brass rose, its text is theirs to permute and combine into new revelations, always unfolding … Manicheans who see two Rockets, good and evil, who speak together in the sacred idiolalia of the Primal Twins (some say their names are Enzian and Blicero) of a good Rocket to take us to the stars, an evil Rocket for the World’s suicide, the two perpetually in struggle. The SunStar 332 has patented S2 Advanced Technology. With thirtytwo body bulbs and three additional face bulbs sheltered by Xtreme Reflection glass, it’s known as the “workhorse” of the industry. A freshly folded hand towel sits on the bed’s lower bench with a peppermint and two coupons rested delicately on top. An acrylic table tent with a blue outline of a palm tree and sun reads: this sun bed has been sanitized. OK. It’s the year of the black water-snake. OK. Look how these consonants mutate into slender mushrooms, their intuitive vowels steaming like cows in the Rio Tinto Zinc Mine. OK. I have a Subaru clutch and an anguish with the weight of a sweaty invocation. Hills boil smears whose rails lead to a grove of whispering oak and a giant paper lobster skidoodling into a hole of safe haven and the foghorns of Portugal that place in Portugal where apples sag. OK. I build a sawdust hop. I cry dive! dive! and my submarine dives. OK. It is a convenient coincidence (some might say too convenient) that Pierre Schaeffer’s initial experiments with musique concrète, John Cage’s first silent composition, and Muddy Waters’s pioneering electric recordings all occurred in the same year: 1948. Did I mention I had a job selling cotton candy at a baseball stadium in my early 30s? “There is blood everywhere in this opera,” said Mr. Kaufmann, a German tenor. “It’s about this wound that never heals, so why not play the second act inside this wound?” I mean, “He was wearing a button-down shirt and slacks and offered a sad smile when he said, ‘Forgive me for not getting up. I have mobility issues.’” “Just being washed out to sea, bashed around” — that’s a mobility issue, isn’t it? Likewise when “The stranger walks toward the children, who walk / into the sky,” or when “The drive was smooth / but after we arrived things started to go haywire”, or when “I am forced to sleepwalk much of the time.” That’s when I meet the “Giant Barabbo,” I meet the Hacs, the Emangloms and the Cordobese. And the Murs: gobblish, goborious crabbots, known far and wide for their orchidaceousness, as the Agres and the Cordobese for their soot and coil, the Orbis for their fluorescent edges, the Smilinettes and Ribobelles for their clairvoyant pauses, the Arpedars for their moss pockets, the Tacodions for their peak-ed bones, and the Eglarmbs for their musical talent, especially on the Strohviolin, which is a kickass machine.

[Note: Sources: “UF20 15 11 12 THE NON-TRIVIAL GOAT AND THE CLIFFS OF THE UNIVERSAL”, at Urbanomic; Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow, as quoted in Benjamin Noys, FB post, 10 Feb 013; Meagan Ciesla, “Hunting Down the Bunny Tail”, at Cimarron Review 182; JBR; Christine Lien, FB post, 10 Feb 013; John Olson, “Art is the Scar of Rain on the Curb of Desire”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 10 Feb 013; Seth Kim-Cohen, In the Blink of an Ear: Toward a Non-Cochlear Sonic Art, at Monoskop Log; Ali Liebegott, “Lady in the House Questions: Ali Liebegott”, at Her Kind, 10 Feb 013; Timothy Morton, “Act 2 Is Inside the Wound”, at , Ecology without Nature, 10 Feb 013 (re “a Parsifal set in a global warming landscape”); JBR; Michael H Miller, describing and quoting John Ashbery, John Ashbery, and Barry Schwabsky, as quoted in Schwabsky’s “Mobility Issues: On John Ashbery’s Recent Poetry”, at Hyperallergic, 10 Feb 013; John Yau, “Henri Michaux’s Disintegrating Selves”, at Hyperallergic, 10 Feb 013; JBR (a member of L.A. Fog, who I saw 9 Feb 013 at the Poetic Research Bureau, played one …); Deborah Poe, various places, found sortes-style, in the last will be stone, too (thanks, Deborah, for the lovely day!)]

Comments

[Ed Baker]

aprappoe to this one
I just got hold of Harold Rosenberg's 1959/196) book:

The Tradition of the New

so far just 'nibbling' on last essay :

The Orgamerican Phantasy

((besides me (according to Cid),
Rosenberg also is the only
one that knows how to spell "phantasy"))

check out this book I will as soon as I memorize
Coomaraswamy's: The Transformation of Nature in Art

[john]

Thx, Ed, Ill take a look ... haven't read any Rosenberg ...

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