sunday 27 february 2000
resembling the body called flesh
sticky segments set randomly adrift in the network
gathering ghosts from the machine
to illuminate an event horizon that breathes alone among others
he says the universe is an hallucination
she says it is a field enfolded
she says she has been captured by a city of ruined children
he says these spaces are eating her savage joys
she says dreams drip away, revealing the indistinct
All post media direct action cells must pursue the instabilities in Technologies-even before they become metaphors.
SPACE IS THE ULTIMATE HIGH GROUND
resembling the body called flesh
segments that have been set into motion as trace
trace which
stains
stains roaming new memory systems in search of a place to rest
the storm is here
the wind from below is coming
time for a new R/reality
Their VR helmets can't see the failure of Reality before the new fundamentalism of the telematic-they continue to believe that the lights they see from the midnight bombs they drop are coming from something that still exists: nation, justice, and democracy. These are now nothing more than the last signs of dead cultural stars.
GLOBAL ENGAGEMENT IS THE APPLICATION OF PRECISION FORCE FROM,
TO AND THROUGH SPACE
she says the stars are slowly disappearing, light becoming dark
he says it is only here that he can exist
she says she is running blindfolded towards the ever brightful
he says there is no beginning, but a circle containing a gap
for the unexpected to enter
she says there are intensities which he cannot begin to understand
she says that here they were chained by the neck
she says she cannot stop weeping when she thinks of it
he says to him all things are less than zero
coma life trawls drearily towards the inevitable
while new forms arise from the ash of future's memory
building their skins, sewing and patching, tweaking and stretching
pushing beyond what many from the comfort zones have drowned in
SPACE POWER IS VITAL TO ATTAIN OUR GOAL OF BEING PERSUASIVE IN
PEACE, DECISIVE IN WAR, AND PREEMINENT IN ANY FORM OF CONFLICT
our dead must come out of the night and the earth
let them dress in the garb of war
so their voice may be heard in the empire of silence
stories that dance in the mountains
in that climbing and falling of red stars
breaking the mirrors of Power
moving into the elsewhere
afterwards, let their words fall silent
and let them return again to the night and to the earth
adrift in the network resembling the body called flesh
are packets of soft recognition
Now they are one in front of the other, any more distance would break the
contact, less distance would make them implode.
Two forms point one on the other, they are staring at each other crossing the
selves.
a scream, yes, a scream
he says that it was a night of intensities and he did not plan for it
she says she
believes in nothing less than everything
he says that theirs is not a mathematical relationship
she says her thoughts are as dark and sticky as blood
The moment of the sexual act I multiply my personae, do you understand?
No, I do not understand.
Do you understand the problem?
No, I do not understand.
I became multiple, animal, innominable power, I hear myself speaking with
other voices, I do things which then I do not remember, you are going to have a
sexual relationship with one thousand persons.
I am worried for your safety.
tremble
DUE TO THE IMPORTANCE OF COMMERCE AND ITS EFFECTS ON
NATIONAL SECURITY, THE US MAY EVOLVE INTO THE GUARDIAN OF SPACE
COMMERCE
shadows of tender fury
the passing of the dead shelters those who have nothing . . .
those who bear the historic burden of disdain and abandonment
those who don't exist
ciphers in the big accounts of capital
the gigantic market of maximum irrationality that trades in dignities
The MESH is busy mapping the human genome to create meme-gene
weapons to target specific genotypes and building self-replicating fleets of
computer controlled molecular weapons. Post media cell must fight the
future with gestures that have no name in the present.
WE MUST BE INSTANTLY AWARE, GLOBALLY DOMINANT, SELECTIVELY
LETHAL, VIRTUALLY PRESENT
ring a ring a rosies
pocket full o stealfies
bend over banker
lights go off
all fall down
she says the Power assassinates and forgets
he says he supposes she believes in goblins and fairies
I become a horse, if you look straight in my eyes
you can see that I have got the eyes of an horses, gaze at me.
You do not look like an horse
Yes, look at me, can you see my eyes?
Yes, it's real, your eyes are transforming, they are big blue deep, a
descendent lateral cut, you are blonde, much more blonde than I remember.
I understand that you look like an horse, but I cannot see what is the problem.
The problem is that in the sexual act my personae multiply themselves
And each one of them pass through me.
Yes, but this is not a problem.
In the sexual act I multiply myself and maybe you will find yourself hanging by
the big toes while I'm cutting your throat with a blade made of tiny wood.
I understand, but this is not a problem
Do you understand which is the problem?
No, I don't understand.
throughout a weary transportation of transmissions
with time so small it stiches itself through the imaginary framework
as a voice revealing the thematics of our current ruin
For too long the specters of hyper-memetic cargo cults have flowed
between the bottom of the third world and the top of the virtual class.
A circuit that keeps the impossibilities of the fifth worlds behind the
eschatology of designer futures for the first world.
CONTROL OF SPACE ASSURES ACCESS, FREEDOM OF OPERATION AND
THE ABILITY TO DENY OTHERS THE USE OF SPACE
she says that she no longer knows herself
she speaks of butterfly wings crushed by a creature with no smell
she says that a devastating glance has rendered her invisible
she says that they have stolen her silence, leaving her only with useless words
she says that now there is nothing left except emptiness
No, my sexuality is a multiple sexuality too, I am moving and changing shape
too, even if I'm often female. Anyway I remember everything.
You will not know with who you are lying, do you understand?
Yes, I understand but for me this is not a problem.
You do not want to embrace me.
We will never embrace, it will never happen
No, I do not understand and I am steeped in stagnant water-lilies.
he writes: i don't know if i can say that i will stay with you one, two or 10 years -- it is very difficult to plan -- i just know that i miss you
she writes: i give up -- its all too hard
Post media cells must travel among strings of inventions that fall
outside of the logomass. To seek gestures that leap over the lines
of flight that our current collective realities or imaginary conditions of
speed and interconnectivity. We must place the impossible and the
unexpected as our counter-dialectics.
these anchors for listening, watered by the tears of the dead, pooling a slow,
eroding trust to a bitter circuit in the lines of power
chemical pale sleep
dreamstained sheets
no centre, ragged edges
zeroing tolerance
gene raiding hyperdecay
fox bites tail
invisible artillery follows nurse with wound
endlessly uncoiling a spectacle of irretrievable situations
intolerable signs
ruined, all ruined
come be my next five minutes
come, she said
destroy, she said
Post media cells must create situations for mutation that can
interrupt and reroute the protocols of acceleration, improvement and
obsolescence that late capital is bound by. So that rational history
will be broken and remade by the tiny hands of the intergalactic
ninos of the fifth world.
In a moment you become transparent and I embrace your framework, a red
skeleton as a radiography, I pass across yourselves and then the palace
comes tumbling down, I lose you between the ruins, I do not see anything, not
anything else.
these are attempts of resembling the body called flesh
this is a cry for new memory systems to address and build despite the lack
of attention given to such building
this tender pain that will always be hope
such are the voices of the body called flesh
'SPACE 2000'
collaged texts by:
Ephemera, Discordia, Liquid Nation (from Identity_Runners)
ricardo dominguez
the zapatistas
United States Space Command
snafu
grafix by: doll yoko, diane ludin
an earlier version of this text, 'SPACE 1999', was commissioned in 1999 by the experimental art foundation as part of their UNIVERSE project