aglimpseof 15 . DINNER IS SERVED

Τonight you are invited to an improbable dinner hosted by the French writer Antonin Artaud (1896-1948), with special guests, the Japanese poet Yoko Danno, the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, the French writer Joseph Joubert (1754-1824), the French philosopher Hélène Cixous, the American poet Frank O’ Hara (1926-1966), a character created by the Japanese writer Kobo Abe (1924-1993), and the American poet Evelyn Posamentier.

This dinner could only take place in an improbable space like, for exemple, the installation “I’m Here, But Nothing 2000” by Yayoi Kusama which was presented at the Tate Modern (2012).

The guests talk about tonight’s menu, about the Marvelous, the voice(s), the food, the mind, and a ghost succeeds in communicating with them.

Issue’s 15 source text is co-edited by Yoko Danno, the British writer Ed Garland (extract from “The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert,” translated by Paul Auster), Dimitra Ioannou (extract from “Antonin Artaud, Selected Writings,” translated by Helene Weaver, University of California Press), titles of poems from the collection “Brainiography” by Evelyn Posamentier Argotist Ebooks), extract from the book “Coming to Writing’ and Other Essays” by Hélène Cixous, translated by Sarah Cornell, Deborah Jensen, Ann Liddle, and Susan Sellers, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1991), extract from the play The Ghost is Here by Kobo Abe, translated by Donald Keene, Columbia University Press), and Antonis Katsouris (extract from BIOTHERM (FOR BILL BEKSON) by Frank O’ Hara, Selected Poems, edited by Ronald Allen, Carcanet).

ISSUE 15 (January-March 2014) CONTENTS

~ a poem from Nocturnes by Jane Joritz-Nakagawa is linked to the words ‘caves,’ ‘mind breathes,’ ‘root.’

~ the artwork About the Marvelous by Caroline de Lannoy is linked to the words ‘The mind breathes outside the mind,’ ‘the Marvelous.’

~ the drawing Dinner Is Served by Andreas Kassapis is linked to the words ‘abandon your lodgings.’

~ the prose text Explication by Anne Boyer is linked to the words ‘The recipe tonight. A spoonful of madness.’

~ the poem Inextinguishable Lights by Ali Znaidi is linked to the word “swallow.”

~ the prose text En Panne by Denis LHomme is linked to the words “THE BRAIN SCATTERS ITSELF.”

~ the drawing Jocœur by Denis Lhomme is linked to the words “THE PHANTOM IS HERE.”

Dinner is Served

Antonin Artaud: Leave the caves of being. The mind breathes outside the mind. The time has come to abandon your lodgings. Surrender to the Universal Thought. The Marvelous is at the root of the mind.

Yoko Danno: The recipe tonight. A spoonful of madness, a kind of bait to lure fish or the opposite sex. Phosphorescent simile and a pinch of secret vice added in the broth.

Yayoi Kusama, I'm Here but Nothing 2000
Yayoi Kusama, I’m Here but Nothing 2000

Yayoi Kusama: One day, I suddenly looked up to find that each and every violet had its own individual human-like facial expression, and to my astonishment they were all talking to me.

Joseph Joubert: But the voice is not made only of air, but of air modeled by us, impregnated by our heat and enveloped like some kind of skin by the vapor of our inner atmosphere accompanied by some emanation that gives it a certain shape and certain properties capable of producing effects upon other minds

Hélène Cixous: I was raised on the milk of words. Languages nourished me. I hated to eat what was on a plate. Dirty carrots, nasty soups, the aggression of forks and spoons. ‘Open your mouth.’ ‘No.’ I let myself be fed only by voice, by words. A deal was made: I would swallow only if I was given something to hear.

yayoi-kusama Fruits 1995
Yayoi Kusama Fruits, 1995

Frank O’ Hara:
(MENU)
Déjeuner Bill Berkson
30 August 1961

Hors-d’oeuvre abstrait-expressionistes, américain-styles, bord-durs, etc.
Soupe Samedi Soir à la Strawberry-Blonde
Poisson Pas de Dix au style Patricia
Histoire de contrefilet, sauce Angelicus Fobb
Le réunion des fins de thon à la boue
Chapon ouvert brûlé, sauce Fidelio Fobb
Poèmes 1960-61 en salade

Fromage de la Tour Dimanche 17 septembre
Fruits des Jardins shakspériens
Biscuits de l’Inspiration de Clarence Brown

Vin blanc supérieur de Bunkie Hearst
Vin rouge mélancholique de Boule de neige
Champagne d’ Art News editeur diapré
Café ivesianien “Plongez au fond du lac glacé”
Vodka-campari et TV

Evelyn Posamentier: BRAIN SCATTERS ITSELF

Antonin Artaud: Words rot at the unconscious summons of the brain,

Kobo Abe: THE GHOST IS HERE

FUKAGAWA: (begins writing, repeating aloud GHOST’S words.): “Eight years and six months ago … The place was inside a Shinjuku department store in daytime … Until quite recently haunted the vicinity of Kabuki-cho. Since then … Hobby is riding trains … At the time he enjoyed crowds, but at present has a tendency to be attracted instead by solitude … Chief worry now? … Fear …” (Puts down his pen and nods.)

Antonin Artaud: Fear is poetry.

EN PANNE

de Denis LHomme

Le cerveau est tombé de la calebasse. Toute la noix de coco s’est dissipée dans le sol et lui l’incapable n ’a pas pu réactionner sa bobine. La bobine a glissé sur le sable en emportant l’enfant d’une journée laborieuse. Pourquoi promenait-il sa volonté dessous son bras gauche? Il nous l ’expliquera bientôt à condition qu’on le laisse tourner et retourner sur lui-même comme une toupie endormie à l’intérieur. L’ amour ne veut plus du monde, il s’ en écarte pour laisser parler une plainte infinie qui lui a traversé sa planète. Et depuis tout souffre de panne! Sauf le bébé qui aime et compte sur son maman. Je suis ce mal à ma tête…

WORDS-LINKS: BRAIN SCATTERS ITSELF

aglimpseof 13 . THE JOURNAL OF MULTIPLE I’S

FROM “THE JOURNAL OF MULTIPLE I’S” TO “THE WILD GROWTH INTO ITSELF.”

MARCH-JUNE 2013

aglimpseof 13’s primary source text is the Journal of Multiple I’s , a collage text made of poems, tweets, articles and journals by poets, writers and sound artists, and also some artworks by visual artists and performers. In order of appearance (starting from wed_09) they are: Antonin Artaud, Julia Cohen, Eve Couturier, Julia Chiang, Kathy Acker, Gertrude Stein, Nicole Brossard, xTx, Susan Sontag, David Jhave Johnston, Luna Miguel, Amy Gerstler, Claire Fontaine, Akasegawa Genpei, Derek Mong, Hiromi Itō, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Ashley Obscura. Please click SOURCES for detailed information about each entry of the Journal. There are some disparate phrases too.

SOURCE TEXT I: The Journal Of Multiple I’s edited by Dimitra Ioannou

CONTENTS:

· the poem Multiplicity by Matina L. Stamatakis is linked to the words “The journal of multiple I’s.”

· the artwork TEXTiLE by Matina L. Stamatakis is linked to the words “The journal of multiple I’s.”

· the digital drawing What? by Michalis Zacharias is linked to the words “private 
rituals.”

· the artwork Contemplation by Amalia Vekri is linked to the words “blueberry,” “owls,” and “time.”

· the artwork Taking Ariel For Granted by Nana Sachini is linked to the words “I prefer my graves to be metaphorical.”

· the artwork Reader Without Book by Asako Masunouchi is linked to the words “Reader without book.”

· the prose poem People Staring at Menus by Amanda Ackerman is linked to the words “sterilization, “seawater,” “people are well disciplined from.”

· the photo The Way Out by Aris Michalopoulos is linked to the words “The way out.”

· the prose poem In Pursuit of a Bird by Yoko Danno is linked to the words “owls,” “brain.”

· the prose poem fri-01 by Sophie Mayer is linked to the words “Why I despise my self so in my dreams? I fear I have never used my body. (My dreams tell me…).”

· the prose poem See What It’s Like In The Morning by Ed Garland is linked to the words “I devoured a bird,” “there is no ‘me’ to speak of.”

· the photograph The Ocean Neither Rises nor Falls by Panayiotis Lamprou is linked to the words “the οcean neither rises nor falls.”

· the drawing and text Leviathan by Victoria Deliyianni is linked to the word “flesh.”

· the artwork Dimitris Ioannou by Dimitris Ioannou is linked to the words “The rainbow in the brain.”

SOURCE TEXT II: The poem “Multiplicity” by Matina L. Stamatakis.

CONTENT:

· the photograph To Do With Wild Growth Into Itself by Brett Skarbakka is linked to the words “To do with wild growth into itself.”

THE JOURNAL OF MULTIPLE I’ S

fri_04 

private rituals
quasi-diaphanous

wed_09 

All things touch me only insofar as they affect my flesh, insofar as they coincide with it, and only at that point where they arouse my flesh, not beyond.

The pie in my face, still blueberry
I think.

thu_17

I prefer my graves to be metaphorical.

fri_18

I saw

a menu with plat du jour suggestions of banalities: memory loss, stutter on selected words, sentence minced so fine it has neither beginning nor end, punctuation of digitized effects, random phenomena, it isn’t whom or what I think I see, reference points slipping away, anonymous role, de-indentification, de-territorialization, or try it with this spelling: “sterilization,” arm pull-ups without a gym bar, mono-color blue flat screen without signal, bodies crawling along a rail, to live happy, let’s live hidden, virtual line, mythomania in the world of references, slipping lies, two hands saying: I’m coming, wait, don’t move, I’ll be right back, reader without a book, flat voices, no sequential chronology, entryways and multiple exits included.

mon_21

Julia Chiang, The Way Out, 2012. Eric Firestone Gallery.
Julia Chiang, The Way Out, 2012. Eric Firestone Gallery.

wed_23

I want to return to my birth.
There is no such thing.
I want to return to my birth.
.a birthday was added..

fri_25

It’s late. Imagine imagination like a mother tongue that has just had its first orgasm.
Unnerving, isn’t it?

Owls screech in my throat.

tue_29

Yesterday I Cut Myself With Blood and Watched It Leave My Body and All I Could Do Is Agree

Let go.
Let go.
Let.
Really go.

fri_01

Why do I despise myself so in my dreams?
I fear I have never used my body. (My dreams tell me…)

tue_05

i try to live my life as if anyone cld read my inbox, steal my phone, hack my server, read my bookmarks, have my job & maybe take my life.

wed_06 

Dream

I dreamt that I caught
flying sparrows.

Pressed
their little round bellies
with an index finger.

Scratched
their gray legs
to clean off the sand.

I devoured a bird
on its last song.

On its last attempt
to fly,

it caressed my stomach.

sat_09

I’m a festival of cells.

sun_10

Claire Fontaine, Gather In Multiple Groups, 2011. Metro Pictures.
Claire Fontaine, Gather In Multiple Groups, 2011. Metro Pictures.

sun_17

In the depths of night
So as not to be suspected by anyone
With a scalpel, one by one
Under the swimming beach’s shower
Careful not to do them any harm
I cut off the cells of my body.
My consciousness evaporated bit by bit
And the ocean expressionlessly welcomes in
The little seawater that runs off.
Even with me added to the ocean
The ocean neither rises nor falls.
And I am in there, but
There is no ‘me’ to speak of.
I wonder if you understand.
I am in there, but
There is no ‘me’ to speak of.

But I was just a bit mistaken.

The error of
A too proper
Illiterate virgin.
With too careful preparation
I chose night
And so my becoming seawater and joining with the ocean
Was suspected by no one.
Humans are well disciplined from the time of birth,
Are busy growing up, so
Only while swimming in the sea, is there an ocean.
I mistook the other’s flesh.

Flesh prefers the ocean to humans.

thu_21

SOMA

The Somatosensory Cortex.

The sound of teeth rubbing together: “nerves.”

sat_23

I began to discover the names of things, that is not discover the names but discover the things the things to see the things to look at and in doing so I had of course to name them not to give them new names but to see that I could find out how to know that they were there by their names or by replacing their names. And how was I to do so. They had their names and naturally I called them by the names they had and in doing so having begun looking at them I called them by their names with passion and that made poetry.

sun_24

Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Mot Caché, 1978.

tue_26

I would like to quietly make love to the sun. Trade in all thought for luminosity. Dip my tired little self into void at the center of time.

kisses like bullets, soap-flavored kisses, kisses from lips that feel like wet calf’s- brains.

on the clit of the galactic pussy.

The rainbow in the brain.

Color-breathing.

IN PURSUIT OF A BIRD

by Yoko Danno

I am in my brain,
You are in your brain.
You are in my brain,
I am in your brain.

I feel that time flies faster than ever. Because I digest food more slowly lately? Or am I already traveling around another sun, or another moon? I hope the orbit of my thoughts can be traced more precisely and the geography in my brain explored more in detail. Ethereal fragments of consciousness, along with earthbound urges, should be eventually put together into a meaningful whole. Is there a mastermind behind all of this mysterious integrating process?

I sent a letter to my friend with a wrong address. I didn’t know he had moved. Someone told me he has gone in search of a bird. Where?

In pursuit of the swan, he arrived at the land of Harima by way of Ki, then crossing Inaba he came to Taniha and to Tajima. He followed the bird east-ward to the land of Chika-tsu-Aumi, crossed Mino, chased it through Wohari, past Shinano, and finally in the land of Koshi spread a net at a river mouth…*

The man in the topic was instructed that if he found the bird, the child—an emperor’s son who was unable to speak—would be able to speak. But is it possible, at the present time, to wander over the Japan Island of the 8th century? Let alone to find the bird? I’m told ‘past’ is a mirage, ‘future’ a phantom, and ‘now’ becomes ‘past’ from instant to instant—a flower never stays the same. But then what is the present time exactly? If there’s no ‘now,’ we live only in ‘past’? If so, no wonder he has gone looking for the bird into ‘past’…by the way, I sprained my neck while I was asleep last night.

Ki lies in the Ki Peninsular facing the Pacific Ocean. I once visited there on a school excursion when I was a child. Harima, far down south of Inaba, is the birthplace of my grandmother. Carried in a palanquin, crossing mountains, she married into a sake-brewing family in Taniha, my ancestors’ place. In Aumi is Lake Biwa, home to multiple birds. In Mino cormorants are nurtured to fish for humans. In Wohari I lived with my family for two years. Koshi is present-day Hokuriku, northwesterly coastal area. On my way to Shinano on a sightseeing trip I looked out over the raging Japan Sea through a train window. What has he been doing all the while? Where on earth has he flown to?—the one to whom I sent a letter, I mean.

My letter must be carried around in a postman’s bag in search of his whereabouts. I hope it won’t be abandoned in a box of ‘undelivered mail’ at a post office, since I forgot to write my return address on the envelope. My fatal fault. Once lost, a letter will never be delivered. I may not know whether he has actually caught the bird or not, although I desperately wish to know.

I have recently lost my voice, caused not by a laryngeal cancer, but from hypertension—I need to perform magic in front of old people in a nursing home. Most of the audience is suffering from dementia, but I am warned they are strangely quick-eyed in seeing through tricks. It is rumored they are trained nightly by particular owls to see through the darkness. If only I could regain my voice, I might distract their attention by my mumbo jumbo.

I wonder, however, if we should always expect replies to our letters. Emily Dickinson wisely stored in her small casket the letters to her ‘Master,’ which has kept the world in perpetual suspense and contemplation. Thinking I might perhaps have forgotten to mail my letter, I rummaged all drawers of my desk and cabinet—in vain. There’s no doubt that I posted it—the letter is in my brain.

*Excerpt from “Kojiki” (trans. by Danno), the oldest collection of songs and stories concerning the founding of Japan and the beginnings of Japanese culture, compiled in the 8th century.

DIMITRIS IOANNOU

by Dimitris Ioannou

DIoannouRainbowMindEN

WORDS-LINKS: THE RAINBOW IN THE BRAIN