ISSUE 12, CONTENTS

FROM THE “MEADOW” TO “ALICE LOOKED UP THE GLASS EYE OF THE MICROSCOPE AND SAW ANOTHER EYE”

SEPTEMBER 2012 – JANUARY 2013

SOURCE TEXT I: Neuronic Universe, a hybrid text edited by Theodoros Chiotis, Dimitra Ioannou.

SOURCE TEXT II: Ashes by Harold Abramowitz.

SOURCE TEXT IIIDelay by Dimitra Ioannou.

CONTENTS

· the photo of a “Meadow” by Panayiotis Lamprou; linked to the Neuronic Universe’ s ”God.”

· he drawing “From high above” by Chrysanthi Koumianaki; linked to the Neuronic Universe’ s “control method.”

· the poem Before The Breakfast by Iordanis Papadopoulos; linked to the words ”sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things.”

· the poem Unprotesting Flavourless Tongues by Ed Garland linked to the Neuronic Universe’s “unprotesting flavourless tongues.”

· images from the series Out Of Nothing by Mariagrazia Capozzi; linked to the words Every piece of signage will come to mean something else. and Salute and pass, there, the Matter ends.

· the drawing An Unsolved Problem In Physics Exercise by Kosmas Nikolaou is linked to ”An unsolved problem in physics exercise.”

· the prose text Ashes by Harold Abramowitz is linked to the words “trapped”, “breakfast”, “to keep still”, “song.”

·  the prose text Delay by Dimitra Ioannou is linked to the word  “day” found at “Ashes” by Harold Abramowitz.

· the poem Poem #2 by Antonis Katsouris is linked to the Neuronic Universe’s “twin” moment.

· the collage-drawing And Then It’s Too Late by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the collage-drawing Seemingly Insignificant by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the collage-drawing With Small Bites by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the collage-drawing Of Short Duration by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the collage-drawing On The Same Straight Line by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the collage-drawing In Continuing by Antonis Donef is linked to the “Delay” by Dimitra Ioannou.

· the prose text Without Touches by Urban Belina is linked to the Neuronic Universe.

NEURONIC UNIVERSE

Between codes and networks, in this very instant, in time gone by and during the era that is yet to come, the things that we are and the things we are yet to be come through, collide and transform. Is it realism that is killing us? We exterminate realism using metadata. We store the futurisms; we cross fields both visible and invisible, we modify that which we are and that which we are not; we change the things that make us what we are; we change our colour, our body parts; we change every single condition of our existence.

Τhe first source-text of issue 12 is made up from a patchwork of phrases from a variety of sources: Kathy Acker’s speech “The Killers”; Mark Amerika’s “Meta/Data”, a diatribe on textuality after the advent of the database; Antonio Negri’s “Art and Multitude”,  an investigation into art’s revolutionary potential; poetic works such as Rae Armantrout’s  “Up to Speed”; Theodoros Chiotis’ “Container I: Codes & Coordinates”,  “040619. Names and Locations / 406190.Empire (enantiomorph)” and “Windmills (as vast as time-machines)”; T. S. Eliot’s (Burnt Norton) from “Four Quartets”; Janet Holmes’ “The ms of my kin”; Andrew Schelling’s “Road to Ocossingo”; Susan Slaviero’s “Cyborgia”; Billy Marshall-Stoneking’s “Passage”; prose works such as Kenneth Goldsmith’s “Traffic”, W. S. Burroughs’ “The Ticket that Exploded”, “Western Lands” και “Cities of the Red Night”, Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”, Reza Negarestani’s “Cyclonopedia” and Jeff Noon’s “Automated Alice” and last but not least, Lena Platonos’ song “An unsolved physics exercise”.

Editing/Curating: Theodoros Chiotis, Dimitra Ioannou.

complex assembly

chain reactions emitting from ligatures,

hieroglyphs and defixiones

an unsolved problem in physics exercise

you might be trapped in a liquid nitrogen enchantment for a hundred years

Alice looked up the glass eye of the microscope and saw another eye
– a giant eye

an almost human eye–
looking back down at
her.

God may be dead, but the king is not, and he is trying to rebuild Leviathan and to stifle us through the reconfiguration of identities.

Our nervous system will detach itself from our bodies and

In this boundless space we will pick spots where there will be no reflection

When something reaches the speed of light it will appear to freeze

a prophet that looks like a hologram but isn’t

“Is it safe?”
“Is what safe?”
“Our ability to communicate?”
“It depends on your programming. I dare say you haven’t had much practice”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I feel like we’re under surveillance.”
“Yes, wasn’t that the audience?”

Particular mechanisms arrange awkward in neural network. An error of handling language becomes an error of error language

                                               a voyeur in hexadecimal: one can’t believe impossible things

Galaxies run from us. “Don’t look!”

The objective is SPACE

Here is a place of disaffection

                 sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things

before breakfast.

Take it in like a translator
copy it down

there are names and categories and other things becoming visible after a considerable amount of time has passed:

moments carrying no special weight  at the moment revealing themselves in the future.

unprotesting flavourless tongues

conforming waterproof voices

emaciated feet in a race to keep still

Investing form with lucid stillness

…a fixed image is the basic mortality error,

a ME

that cannot be allowed to change, certainly not to change color.

Realism:
inductive and dehumanizing.

Realism is simply a control method.

Don’t forget the alternate side of the street parking rules, if you do manage to drive into the city, will be suspended for the duration of the holiday, but you’ll still have to pay the meters.

the echoes shall become autonomous;  every piece of signage will come to mean

something else

sticker ads will seal off the fractures where

the cities join with one another

WHEREVER YOU ARE, BE SOMEWHERE ELSE.

This story should rightfully end upon this very moment.

In a fit of repugnance
each moment
rips itself in half,

producing a twin

and the future is now and things take on names they have chosen themselves

fever-tinted glasses

fear probes

bioflesh guns

polyvinyl wombs

NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.

This is the Law.

Alice would feel a terrible itching inside her skull…

 it was as though a thousand  termites were running

hither and

                              thither with telepathic messages
Neferti is dropping his Ego, his
Me,
his face to meet the faces that he meets.

He denies the story

a telepathic being with greenish skin smokes a cigarette

smokes plutonium cigarettes on the starboard side

learn the tinkling metal voice of space paper

This is the power of the  Song .

This is nothing but the machinery but the machinery of
a black revolution,
twisted from the beginning,
epidemic to the end.

Salute and pass,
there, the Matter ends.

I.T. – Identity Transfer

WITHOUT TOUCHES

by Urban Belina

Photographer Radovan Čok.
Photographer Radovan Čok.

Even when you came, on what ever occasion, there was a Name. And we danced, if only between words squeezed out of two intra-spaces, from the within, where nothing is. And we danced (talked) and we danced (talked even more). And my world transpired and tried to taste yours and we danced, it was still transpiring and curving, and we danced, we danced nevertheless even though there were no touches and worlds were curving back into self, in front, from side in and out, and the hum of words was bending language, and we continued dancing even though we had no words for touch, even if there was no site between all spaces, even if the world was bending, and the world was bending, these two spaces never really touched and we remained alone in the intra-spaces where nothing is. And we danced. Word was running and running, was high-spirited and glorified, we despised it this word. It could not give us a look in the eyes, it could not bend us so that one could be touched, seeing the glow in the colour of other one’s eyes. Did you long to be a word; caressing the touch of dream? Did I long to be a hum that would give the word the wooden roughness of a maladroit touch of two rugged membranes of worlds? And language danced, trying to penetrate into one experience before oneness. And we danced (talked). At times it seemed like one world managed to stretch the world membrane just enough, one could hear soundless resonance of crackle of two leathery skins rubbing: coarse, warm and strident. And still, there were too few. Too few words, lots of words reside in languages, yet still they are not numerous enough when I long to be touched. And we danced. And words were dancing in a ring, the magical chant was long forgotten and you forgot how to call it to life. So all we could do was to dance (to talk). Intra-spaces were numerous, they are countless, yet still I find myself alone in every single one, even if I see many thoughts touching one of the countless intra-spaces of dreams, oblivion or no-time.

Photographer Maja Uplaznik Pantar.
Photographer Maja Uplaznik Pantar.

Always alone. And we danced. And there was water. And sun. And images of oblivion and no-return. And circle. And we danced. But my water did not know your water-state. And my fire was closer to your sun, whilst my sun was shinning on the wind of your trees, yet never reached the trees as such. And we danced, whirled (talked and chitchatted). And there was river, a living river. We both knew it. My river was filled with wateR; your river was filled with water. Yet water is not the same in my world, as it is not the same in any of the countless inter-space visions, each has different water. And my water never met your water and your water shall never bathe me. It seems it would be nice to swim in the river we both know, filled with your water.

But I would more likely manage to swim on smoothed boulders of dried out riverbed, than find your water: words, words, dancing never show the way to your water although I know the way to the river, the water is not to be found. I often go to the river. I often long to swim in your water, yet I always find water known to me, there is never an unknown one there. I had met many waters, I encounter many, yet yours remained and shall remain hidden, the magic charm had been forgotten. I might come to your water when you will come. And you will not forget the word without words any more. And dance; the memory of dance remains (Speaking had once been). Worlds still try to stretch out residing in such expansion that I lost myself within my world and you lost yourself within yours. The world of singularity was supposed to exist because of one person. How could it happen that we both, me and you, got lost in the space of individual world? And I got lost. And you got lost. And the world continues to expand driven by its own volition separated from my volitions and wishes, under the pretext of the mission it had emancipated and is now trying to conquer space, time and word that gives primordial creation. And it conquers words, word after word it is conquering language and more it is becoming his, this language, less it is mine. And more it is becoming his, less power it has to expand. But it does not notice any more, I haven’t noticed and you haven’t noticed that the word, which once had been the source of all creation, now de-creates, destroys, gnaws through.  It sucks power, the word, which is too expanded and used up, emptied out and now takes power, my power, your power, power of the world, that still vainly expands in undefined directions; in self-moving try it extorts closeness, you say touch and the word touch takes the magic and power of touching away. It still wants to touch the other world and always as it comes close, the other world arbitrarily expands to the other direction of space. And my water keeps flowing in my river and your water peacefully rustles where I can not see it, where I can not touch. And worlds conquer time and space and language, they are learning of  sense, growing, living, and all they long for is one single coarse moment of touch, not longing for eternal unity, not longing for hieros gamos, they only wish to feel one fleeting skim on the random point of endless membrane of longing. Sometimes I seem to hear, at least for a moment, the rustling crunch of touching, it seems the worlds had made it. Yet it is just the rustling of used up thoughts of my world, sadly jumping into the River of Oblivion, desperate, emptied, bled white, sucked out by word, abused by language, giving up and for a goodbye resounding only a replica of the thing the whole immense world is tending to. Resounding only a sound approximate of the touching incident, born out of longing for touch with another world, then betrayed, worn out and humiliated, call the last crackle for goodbye and rebound to oblivion.

Photographer Radovan Čok.
Photographer Radovan Čok.

I am thinking of your water and of your fire, and my sun shines still only on the wind that sways crowns of your trees which are surrounded only by the shine of your sun. Maybe your thoughts are crackling also, desperate and alone? You may be lost in your world that exceeded its own purpose and now exists only for existing, and you wander around fragments of a world too vast in search of your own pieces, thoughts that used to be you, meeting with images that had elongated and had been mutilated to such a degree that they have become unrecognisable. And you are thinking of my wind, my sun, the glimmer of my water, thinking of all what will never become yours and keep longing without touches.

WORDS-LINKS: Alice looked up the glass eye of the microscope and saw another eye.

NOTE

Translated from slovenian by Urban Belina.

POEM #2

by Antonis Katsouris

a love story in THE SPEED OF LIGHT
a hate story IN A FIT OF REPUGNANCE

desire moves / eros is verb
tenderly traumatic / tenderly I tremble

a love story in which EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED
a hate story WILL BE SUSPENDED

flesh pink / person-to-person pink / heart of pink
mauve poppies / at the heart of the adonean garden

a love story THROUGH THE RECONFIGURATION OF IDENTITIES
a hate story by AN ERROR OF HANDLING LANGUAGE

on this page / I will wait for you / you will rewrite me
from the south of your mouth / from the I of my eye / from the pose of your nose

a love story RIPS ITSELF IN HALF PRODUCING A TWIN
a hate story FOR THE DURATION OF THE HOLIDAY

echo / you always make me / doubt
when is it late /  when is it too late?

a love story TWISTED FROM THE BEGINNING
a hate story EPIDEMIC TO THE END

a passive activity / an active passivity
my poor Daphne / how did you end up / a little green bush

Κοσμάς Νικολάου . Kosmas Nikolaou

ΜΙΑ ΑΣΚΗΣΗ ΦΥΣΙΚΗΣ ΑΛΥΤΗ . AN UNSOLVED PROBLEM IN PHYSICS EXERCISE

ΛEΞEIΣ-ΣYNΔEΣMOI: μια άσκηση φυσικής άλυτη


WORDS-LINKS: an unsolved problem in physics exercise

Από τη σειρά «ΑΠΟ ΤΟ ΤΙΠΟΤΑ» #3 . From the series “OUT OF NOTHING” # 3

ma_kapoka@yahoo.it

Λέξεις-σύνδεσμοι: Xαιρέτα και πέρνα, εκεί, η Ύλη τελειώνει
Words-links: Salute and pass, there, the Matter ends

Από τη σειρά «ΑΠΟ ΤΟ ΤΙΠΟΤΑ» #1, #2 / From the series “OUT OF NOTHING” #1, #2

by ma_kapoka@yahoo.it

Λέξεις-σύνδεσμοι: όλες οι πινακίδες θα σημαίνουν κάτι άλλο
Words-links: every piece of signage will come to mean something else

ΣΗΜΕΙΩΜΑ/NOTE

UNPROTESTING FLAVOURLESS TONGUES

by Ed Garland

Hello he drooled – wet flurry of bland magic clutching tremendous whatever below a lot of and-thens – a row of soggy tufts above the idea of doing something. Some strenuous tomorrows later we flat-mouthed see-you-arounds.

BEFORE THE BREAKFAST

by Iordanis Papadopoulos

WORDS-LINKS: SOMETIMES I’VE BELIEVED AS MANY AS SIX IMPOSSIBLE THINGS

AΠO ΨHΛA / FROM HIGH ABOVE

της Xρυσάνθης Kουμιανάκη / by Chrysanthi Koumianaki

Λέξεις-σύνδεσμοι: μέθοδος ελέγχου

Words-links: control method

ΛIBAΔI / MEADOW

του Παναγιώτη Λάμπρου / by Panayiotis Lamprou

ΛEΞH-ΣYNΔEΣMOΣ: ΘEOΣ / WORD-LINK: GOD

ASHES

by Harold Abramowitz

I took a walk in the alley. I turned, thinking that I would see you standing next to me. It

was funny. I thought there was going to be a fight. I wanted to ask you a question. I put

my hands out. I thought about a million different things at one time. I took another long

walk. I tried to find something that I’d lost on the ground. I was certain that something

was going to happen. But what was going to happen? I kind of needed to know. I put

my hands out. You were growing up very quickly. It was a brand new day. I put my

hands out. I had to keep still. It was a more or less ordinary day. There was nothing

special about the day, at that point. I looked up and down the street. I tried to get a good

idea of where I was standing. I wanted to ask you a question. It was morning. We took

a walk and talked to each other. I was going to ask you a question right before you

started talking to me. I put my hands out. Unexpectedly, I had to steady myself. I stood

on the street, near the alley. I put my hands out. We stood very near the alley. There

was something I wanted to say to you. I put my hands out. The day was cold. I put my

hands out. It was a golden morning. It was going to be a very beautiful day. You put

your hands out. I stood on the street, right next to the alley. I wore a long coat. I asked

you how long you had lived in that part of the city. You could see me from where you

were sitting on the couch in the living room. I had waited a long time for just the right

moment. In fact, it was a perfect opportunity. I put my hands out. I asked you a

question. I was able to keep very still, at that point. There was something I wanted to

ask you about. I put my hands out. The morning was cold. I stood in the alley and

waited for you to come home.

~

It was funny. It was like I could hear everything you were thinking, at that point. I

turned and told you that it was like I could hear everything you were thinking. It was

funny. I put my hands out. I looked at the sky. We knew each other very well, at that

point, I thought. It was funny. We sat on the chairs in the garden. There was a song

playing on the radio. I asked you if I could come over. I wanted to come over. It was

funny. I was still not quite awake. I wondered what we were going to do that evening. It

was funny. I liked the song that was playing on the radio. It was funny. We were

thinking exactly the same thing at the same time. And I could have said just about

anything I wanted to, at that point. I was feeling a little bit frustrated. There was

something I wanted to ask you about. I put the music out of my mind. There were very

many things we needed to discuss. I looked around the room. I wanted to ask you a

question. It was a very nice day. The day outside was very bright. I could see you from

where I was standing in the hall. I put my hands out. It had been a very long day. It was

funny. It was getting later and later, at that point. I was feeling a little bit frustrated. I

wanted to ask you a question. It was going to be a beautiful day. There was something I

wanted to ask you about. I put my hands out.

~

I was waiting for you. It was a bright and beautiful morning. I put my hands out. I was

going to say. I was going to tell you. There was something big coming on the horizon.

You wanted to ask me a question. If I were to wake up early enough in the morning to

eat breakfast, I thought. I could see that we were not going to get a lot done that day. I

put my hands out. The sun rose over the canyon. It was a question of privacy, at that

point. There was a bird in the tree in the garden. I saw that it was going to be a very

beautiful day. There was much to think about. There were very many things to consider,

at that point. I put my hands out. I put my shoes on. I could see you from where I was

standing in the hall. I couldn’t hear myself think. I wanted to ask you a question. I put

my hands out. I was sure that the world was going to explode, at that point. I was sure

that there was going to be explosions and hands and arms flailing. And this was the

world, I thought. It was a real part of me, too, I thought. It was like I was standing in a

corner. I was not going to let myself think of anything more important than that, I

thought. I put my hands out. Yet I was in charge of that moment of the day as surely as I

was in charge of anything else, I thought. Like I was in a circle. I couldn’t believe in a

cloud, though. Could you believe in a cloud? I wanted to ask you a question. I was

feeling a little bit frustrated. I put my hands out. We were never wrong. You said as

much, too. You said that it had been a long day, and that we only ever made matters

worse. It was funny. I wished that I had a plum, something healthier than what I had

been eating, for breakfast, at that point. The summer was going to be warm and

beautiful, I thought.

~

It was going to be a very beautiful day. I put my hands out. It was summer. If I looked

across the canyon, at that point, I might see a million little boats in the sky, I thought.

You said that you were not going to complain, that complaining only made matters

worse. I only asked that things be kept in good order, I said. Everything was going to

happen in due time, I thought. There was no question of running late, of making a mess,

you said. It would not have occurred to me to challenge the way we were doing things, at

that point. You sat on the chair in the kitchen. I put my hands out. The sun shone

brightly in the sky. It was a brand new day. I wondered what we were going to do that

evening. It was funny. The day was brand new. I looked across the canyon. There was

definitely something new in the air, I thought. It was summer, a brand new season. The

sun shone brightly above the canyon. There was definitely something new in the air, I

thought. I wanted to ask you a question. I put my hands out. You wanted to ask me a

question. There was a song playing on the radio. I put my hands out. I was in the house.

The day was going well, at that point. Things were going well, in general, I thought, at

that point. I felt good. I pointed my finger at the sky. I wanted to ask you a question. I

put my hands out.

~

The sun rose over the canyon. You stopped what you were doing and asked me a

question. I thought that I’d put my best foot forward, at that point. I put my hands out. It

was going to be a very beautiful day. In the meantime, time was going by very quickly, I

thought. I could have done a lot of things differently, at that point, I thought. I took the

ring off my finger. I had begun to look at the canyon in a very different way. You said

that you agreed with the way I felt about the canyon, at that point. It was going to be a

very beautiful day. I put my hands out. I wanted to ask you a question. I looked at the

scar on my stomach. I could see you from where I was standing in the hall. You were

something of a fixture in that town. It was hard to think of asking you to move, at that

point. However, I took the coward’s way out. I was feeling a little bit frustrated. I felt

good. I was in the middle of the house. It was a brand new day. I took another long

walk. I pointed the shovel at the ground. You smiled at me. It had been a very nice day

all around the canyon. It was a brand new day. You looked at me. It was like the very

first day all over again, like the world was brand new. However, I was concerned that

you might have felt a little bit   trapped, at that point. It was a brand new day. I wanted to

ask you a question. We drove the car to the edge of the canyon. I put my hands out.

NOTE

DELAY

by Dimitra Ioannou

There must be one  –  sometimes it’s accidental  –  sometimes it’s precocious  –  must be one  –  like all things necessary.

To get help –  to find out what happened  –  some days better, some days worse  –  so many inexplicable.

And yesterday even less  –  if facts are false –  it’s likely to start today.

That whisper before the elbow.

Will be close  –  it will be calculated in application  –  the way it always happens  –   of short duration .

It will be quiet – in 24 hours  –  at least a little more –  the slightest use –  and other possibilities.

Any help is precious  –  there are lots of unlesses –  like all the rest.

That whisper, a few times a day.

And then it will be exactly the same  –  and then it’s too late  –  it’s a bit slow –  most likely.

There will be an  inversion  –  in whatever position  –  seemingly insignificant.

That whisper behind the forehead.

Not to hear  –  not to hear anything  –  they shrivel – with small bites –  in a few seconds of absorption  –  on the same straight line.

That cavity and that cavity  –  on a return move past the lobe, the neck, the collar bone  –  kind of silenced.

That reaction on the skin.

The eyes are getting wet  –  with  rawness –  with raw tenderness  –  that particular silence  –  in continuing.

I have you in my mouth and if I spoke now, if I said all the things that I haven’t said until now, my words would not transcend the tongue.  These parentheses.  That enclose, isolate, pull tight.  You are included in their opening and closure.  That mouth with no organs.  That becomes appetite,  excessive secretion, rejection. There’s hardly any sense.  The words become saliva, a series of vowels, wet vowels that are flooding; imperatively, and you raise yourself slightly.  And what happens now, happens from mouth to mouth.  That correspondence.  That complexity.

KAI META EINAI ΠOΛY APΓA / AND THEN IT’S TOO LATE

του Aντώνη Nτόνεφ / by Antonis Donef

Antonis Donef "And then it's too late." Courtesy The Breeder, Athens. Παραχώρηση The Breeder.
Antonis Donef “And then it’s too late.” Courtesy The Breeder, Athens. Παραχώρηση The Breeder.

ΛEΞEIΣ-ΣYNΔEΣMOI: Kαι μετά είναι πολύ αργά
WORDS-LINKS: And then it’s too late