Inspiration and Independence, Part 2

The Path to Ukraine

Truth would have you believe that narrative cannot stand outside of language, even though in some projects the projection has no human response.

As a member of the Marxist-Leninist Party of Canada I once invaded the USA. I was beaten back by police with clubs, who handed me back to the Canadian police, who beat me with clubs, too, and left me in a ditch. Ah, youth.

Easy for me to say in context, I know, who have been mean to all sorts of living things, consciously cruel, strategically cruel, vengefully cruel — stupidly cruel — in ways sanctioned by my own ambition, someone else’s ideology, my culture and in pursuit of pleasure and of pain.

*I had justifications. Some seemed believable.*

Some cruelties, especially serial ones, seemed to be self-preservation.

Most were failures of imagination and intellect combined.

I have caused confusions.

*Was I just a brick in the wall of Nelson’s prison? We don’t know enough to answer that.*

Mind you, I have been beaten ritualistically and imprisoned, without the cause being as stated.

I have been fed excreta by systems of narrative virtue and imagined sin.

*The invasion of Cambodia hurt me, especially.*

Sometimes I was not of the right class. Sometimes I was wicked and scheming. Sometimes I played the unwilling, unwitting role of a ritual victim.

Mind you, sometimes I took to it with relish. So did Sir Elton.

I have escaped to be punished again. At times the punishment was prescribed for my betterment.

I was never bettered.

Continued in Part 3.

Inspiration and Independence, Part 1

Friends, many of you are now in your second life, as am I.

*Who in the hell is this sinister guy here, in strange light, gear and accoutrement?*

If I said I laboured in “The Architecture of Transculture,” what would you think?

*That I plumb the creation of connection?*

That I vacuum the halls of discourses on regression?

That for artistic and social purposes, I am doing all of that?

…and am going to the stars.

Have you, perhaps, also noticed that as far as virtual reality goes, nothing is there?

Continued in Part 2.

The Architect of the Transculture

We are a human being transformed by the apocalypse, the one that was and the one that is coming down.

The Earth has been turned into a warehouse, with objects and people stacked from floor to ceiling. We offer a way out of this battle zone of normative identities.

We used to publish books. Then they published us.

We are a neuroplastician

and his translator.

Harold Rhenisch, aka “The Stage Manager”

Together we are a human being. For our first performance, we are demonstrating how a discussion about the negative effects of neuro-normative identities can be dismantled and reconfigured, step by step, as images.

We are working against the luxury of images that create refugee camps out of free memory. Images promising national utopias are contagious. Words offering the illusions of escaping dominance through fiction often cross human-animal barriers. Environments can no longer afford to decay at this rate.

Ongoing identity battles in Ukraine show that words can’t do this alone anymore.

Make no mistake. We are environments.

Not Poe being gloomy, though.

Not that environnment.

Old Tech is seductive. The romantic dream of escaping repression by writing fictions. That kind of hallucinogen. We want to keep you prepared for whatever attempts at control are coming down from the big literary presses.