SOL deltog på Folkemødet i Allinge 16. juni 2023! 3 performances kurateret af Malou Solfjeld for SOL Nexø.
Mycelium var allerede gået i jorden længe før træerne opstod, og Mycelium vil være her længe efter, at lyslederkablerne ikke længere leder lys, og satellitterne på himlen lukker øjnene i. Mycelium var det første internet, ubegrænset af firewalls, protokoller og muromkransede haver. Mycelium bryder bjergene ned, netværker mellem arterne, og flytter næringsstoffer gennem ruinerne. Mycelium er en kombination af æstetik og aktivisme, der kan påvirke samfundet og verden på måder, der først vil vise sig grundlæggende. Mycelium er en åben og fri struktur, der inviterer alle til at deltage og bidrage med deres ideer og visioner. Biomineraler er mineraler produceret af levende væsner. Dit skelet er et biomineral, der har din ryg. Computerkredsløbene, der styrer alt fra din bil til verdensøkonomien, selvom de ret beset blot er lyn indskrevet i sten, er en form for biomineral produceret af menneskelig intelligens. MYCELIUM udvisker grænserne mellem det mineralske og det animalske rige.
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE,” it says on the door.
We attended Logen’s wonderfully bizarre MONSTERBALL:
You wait to be let in through the door. Two figures come lurching toward you. One is hunchbacked and dressed in a snow-white gown, wearing a disfigured zombie mask. The other is a tall, clumsy creature clad in a flesh suit; its head is made of plumbing parts, taped together with hair and plaster.
They welcome you in an unintelligible language of growling sounds. You are asked to read a manifesto aloud. It states that humanity’s supremacy is drawing to an end, and that the monstrous will pave the way for a new era. The bizarre and the occult will seize power from the rational.
Powerful reading by Den 4. Væg and very relevant thoughts on the potential of art. Thank you so much for that.
“Becoming Bird træder helt over tærsklen med dette ritual, der markerer en nyslået pagt mellem naturen og mennesket. Jeg beundrer folk, der lider for det, de tror på, og det er ikke for lidt sagt, at Becoming Bird rækker helt ned i lidelsens afgrund. Med både audiowalk og den rituelle pagt rammer forestillingen en øm nerve og demonstrerer, at kunsten kan være langt mere end bare et tilflugtssted fra en fucked up verden. Kunsten kan og bør være et decideret konfrontationsfelt, hvor alle overflødige lag bliver skrællet af, så det eneste, som står tilbage, er, hvad det vil sige at være til. Kun ved at stille det spørgsmål kan vi som samfund ændre den måde, vi ønsker, verden er på. Men det kræver, at vi kan se hinsides os selv og forstå, at naturen er den sande evighed og altid vil være her, selv når vi som mennesker er væk.”
foto: Martin Høyer
“Becoming Bird steps fully across the threshold with this ritual, which marks a newly forged pact between nature and humankind. I admire people who suffer for what they believe in, and it is no understatement to say that Becoming Bird reaches all the way down into the abyss of suffering. Through both the audiowalk and the ritual pact, the performance strikes a tender nerve and demonstrates that art can be far more than merely a refuge from a fucked-up world. Art can and should be an outright field of confrontation, where all superfluous layers are stripped away, leaving only what it means to exist. Only by posing that question can we, as a society, change the way we want the world to be. But this requires that we are able to see beyond ourselves and understand that nature is the true eternity and will always be here, even when we as humans are gone.”
We are fucked. The climate catastrophe is already happening, and the birds warned us during the lockdown. We must form a pact with nature, say the romantics. We must sing with a wagtail, a robin, or a swallow! Or we must gargle like decapitated, headless battery hens and roll ourselves in tar and feathers. BECOMING BIRD is a performative sound work that drags us through the mire. Chirp chirp, Gaia-fuckers.
How can we establish a new pact with nature in the light of the pandemic, climate change and the demand for growth and production? The answer seems to be through sacrifice. However, sacrifice need not be ascetic. It can be an act of overflowing generosity, transgression and excess.
It is probably doomed to failure. So, yet again, we fail to reach nature! Let’s fail better.
Medvirkende PATRICK BAURICHTER, CRISTIAN VOGEL (musiker) og kunstnerkollektivet MYCELIUM Iscenesættelse og scenografi NATHALIE MELLBYE Tekst og koncept MYCELIUM Komposition og lyddesign CRISTIAN VOGEL Filmværk MELLBYE/BEHRENS
Solen er blot én blandt uendeligt mange stjerner, der kredser om et gigantisk sort hul.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
En gang vil den dø. I sin dødsrallen vil den vokse sig enorm og sluge sit solsystems planeter.
Den røde kæmpestjerne vil omsider trække sig sammen og blive kold, hvor den efter oceaner af tid, der overstiger vores fatteevne, vil blive opløst, blive til en indifferent masse og fortabe sig i alt andet. Intet.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Ifølge pessimisten Mainländer er kosmos guds fortsatte død og rådnende korpus. Bevægelsen fra enhed til opløsning til intet. Vi lever guds død. En stadig tiltagende entropi.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Vores solen er blot en blandt utallige. Et forsvindende kort blink omsluttet af et uendeligt mørke.
Som gnister af et bål der ikke er.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Nyplatonikerne betragtede solen som et billede, en sunthemata, af en bagvedliggende sol. Bag billedet af solen var den egentlig sol og bag den egentlige sol, det éne.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Jeg har sol i mine øjne De stråler som ild Jeg har sol i mine årer Den flyder som blod Jeg har sol i mine arme Den griner som børn Jeg har sol på mine læber Den tier som ord
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Ifølge Proclus var heliotroperne, når de bevægede sig i overensstemmelse med solens bevægelse over himlen, i en tilstand af bøn. At bevæge sig i samklang med de kosmiske bevægelser var bøn.
Således var det ikke “jeg” der bevægede mig, men hele kosmos der bevægede sig i mig. Men kosmos emmede endnu af evighed.
Efter guds død er kun bevægelsen tilbage.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
At bede er at dø.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Aldrig så et øje solen, hvis det ikke allerede var sol-lignende (Plotin).
Solen er vævet ind i øjets biologi, som fluen allerede spiller med på edderkoppens net. Solen og øjet er slægtninge. Øjets blinde punkt er solen bag solen. Iris et sort hul.
Vi kan ikke stirre på solen, da den således vil kalde sine slægtninge tilbage i branden.
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Jeg har sol i mine tarme Den nedbryder som lort
Jeg er solen. Jeg er det, der dør.
Myceliet spreder sig som lysende nervetråden under jorden.
Snart vil det skyde.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Kan man bede i et kapitalistisk samfund? Forbrugeren beder og realiserer sig selv i forbruget. Den fastholder jeget i sin bøn og fornægter dermed døden. Jeg kan kun rage til mig eller gå under.
Just do it! Impossible is nothing! I’m loving it! Because I’m worth it.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Både kapitalismen og fascismen approprierer sol-energi. Den førstnævnte ved at transformere det til forbrugerprodukter, eksempelvis olie og kul, og den sidstnævnte ved at koncentrere den i en førerskikkelse, en inkarnation af det suveræne hinsides. På forskellig vis antager de begge sol invictus, den uovervindelige og udødelige sol. Kapitalismen antager sol invictus implicit i dets krav til uendelig vækst, og fascismen, i førerens hellige suverænitet. Hverken fascismen eller kapitalismen har afskaffet forestillingen om evighedens opnåelighed.
Men solen dør. Den forbruger sig selv. Og i processen fortærer den sig selv uden at få noget igen. Vi, alt liv, er alle afkom af denne selvfortærende proces, der generøst uddeler sin egen død, på en måde der understøtter livet. Indtil den ikke gør det mere.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Efter guds død: Også forrådnelsen er en tilstand af bøn.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Vi slikker den salte sol af fremmede prostituerede kroppe på fjerne strande.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Den syriske solgud og romerske kejser heliogabalus blev hyldet som anarkist. Han klædte sig i kvindetøj. Dannede par med sin kusk som kaldte ham sin dronning. Giftede sig med tempel-jomfruen. Han dyrkede offerritualer hvor blod og vin flød på tempeltrappen. Han spottede magten og undergravede institutionerne.
Forstod han blot at solen var alles og ikke kejserens, forstod han blot at den ikke var udødelig, da var han måske blevet en sand anarkist.
Fascisterne er de sande anarkister, siger Sades libertinere i Salo.
Uanset hvad var Heliogabalus nok stadig blevet begravet i lort.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Midnatssol.
Også natten er en sol.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Efter guds død: At skide er en tilstand af bøn.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Du har sol i dine maskiner De glinser af olie Du har olie i dit plastik Det fylder dit ocean Du har oceaner i dine øjne De dør, de dør
Hengemte somre i umindelig tid Smører vores stivnede lemmer
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Europas hjerte fremsiger sin bøn: Ich liebe meinen Kanzler. Sårets lysende rød smittes af rust, og bløder med tiden en betændt sol. Først: Et Dannebro strukket uden korsets vinger. Et stille, tresomt heil fra Kurz over Netanyahu og Frederiksen. Jeget elsker sin kansler. Kriegst eh alles, was du willst. Solen går ned over alt, hvad du vil. Medicin mod en aftagende himmel.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir
Kunstig sol: EAST Tokamak
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
THE GREAT PACIFIC GARBAGE PATCH
Sol omsat til organismer omsat til olie omsat til plastik. Single use invictus Evig sol i tupperware, i plastikflasker, omkring dit grønne udvalg Omsider i årerne, i alt oceanets dyreliv, i alle myrer på jorden, i modermælken. Plastik sol invictus Plastics make it possible
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Okkulte nazister tilbad den sorte sol, men det var deres had der skyggede for deres udsyn.
De så ikke at den sorte sol var en stæreflok og at deres dans på himlen tildels var en strategi mod rovfugle.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Solbørn sidder i en syrisk fangelejr. De går i menneske tøj. Men kolde plastikhjerter vil også begrave disse i lort.
Solen i zenit. Solen i nadir.
Myceliet har fortæret sit hjerte i en kannibalistisk festmiddag. Det skyder sine frugtlegemer i vejret hvor dansende fødder trådte.
Hekseringen har solens form og kalder sine slægtninge tilbage i branden
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Det rødmende: Et slag med flad hånd. Et ansigt under elskov. En himmel bag den kommende himmel. Skyerne og vores kinder, når vi møder en elsket. Vi slåes ihjel. Vi kan og vil ikke lade være med at dø. Blodet der søger ud. Mod lys. Mod. Lys.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Vi ser det ske og vi behøver ikke længere bede. Vi er ikke længere. Jeg-opløst. Vi-opløst. Dét sker. Afbrænding. Et bål i mørke. Nu skal du se. Skær dine øjne ud.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Utopi?:
Voks dig stor og rød Som solens død
Slug alt på din vej.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Såret holder solens form. Puds, betændelse, blod og skidt samles i skorpens runding. En ivrig negl kradser solen af huden og en ny kan opstå. Smagen er let metallisk.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Sårdannelse er også en bøn Arvæv er også en bøn
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
På den flossede himmel over vejlerne hænger stæreflokkens billede. Én for én stjæler de solens stråler få meter fra den endelige jord. Og flyver videre i dansen. Motivet er værdiløst.
Under stammedansen trampes jorden så hårdt sammen, at intet vil gro igen. Vi stjæler solens kanvas. Vi fortsætter solens død. Stjernerne er lyset mellem vores sorte vinger. Vi kan flyve.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Og stjernen er stjernerne, og månen er alle måner. Stille! og vi kan høre dem fløjte.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.
Efter guds død: Også at elske er en tilstand af bøn. At danse er en tilstand af bøn. At synge er en tilstand af bøn.
Vi er solen. Vi er det, der dør.Myceliet ber til intet. Solen tier på læberne
Instruktion, kamera og klip: ANJA BEHRENS Musik, lyddesign og klip: CRISTIAN VOGEL Second unit kamera: CARL JOHAN SENNELS og MALIK GROSOS Tekst: MYCELIUM Konsulent: HANS CHRISTIAN POST
Medvirkende: CAMILLA MUNCK, KAJSA BOHLIN, MILLE MARIE DALSGAARD, FREYA EMILIA BEHRENS
Filmen er en selvstændig videreudvikling af filmmateriale skabt i samarbejde med Sydhavn Teater til værket Requiem for en tidsalder, som blev opført i Sydhavn Teaters kapel i 2020.
Mycelium contributed to REQUIEM FOR EN TIDSALDER with the text NECROBIOSIS by Mille Maria Dalsgaard & Anja Behrens
Read the full text here:
Necrobios
Acherontia atropos, the hawkmoth, also known as the death’s-head, lives among nightshades. On its back it carries a skull. It was baptized in the river of pain. It thrives among carcasses and where epidemics rage. On a leaf of nightshade, an egg hatches.
The sacred is nothing but an egg that hatches.
On the empire state building, an egg hatches On the dow jones index, an egg hatches On Creek Tower, an egg hatches
A glowing yellow body born, like a star in the night sky, like a flash of light that briefly displaces the shadow. Life seeks nourishment and fills its fat deposits. Sun converted to tissue, blood and fat.
Exchanged into capital, infrastructure and highways. A luminous globe seen from space. A dull starless sky seen from the city’s illuminated night.
In the process, it digs its own grave. Rich with accumulated sunlight, it seeks an underground chamber where it can pupate. In its self-chosen grave, its dark exile, it undergoes histolysis, i.e. that the dissolution of its tissue. Also called phylogenetic necrobiosis. “The larva undergoes the same process of death in the pupa as the body in the grave that turns it into ammonia fat.”
The sacred undergoes the same process when it enters matter, which first flourishes, in order to slowly dissolve. The sacred is nothing but this descent and dissolution.
Necrobios: Life and Death. Death and Life.
Nature draws its veil over its offspring. The mirage of the sun in the sky. And everything is fire. The sacred is nothing but this fire
The shimmering air makes every building dance.
“The larva is dead in the cocoon it has lost all form consists only of masses of fat! But how can he live? How? He’s dead, but he’s alive! Maybe there is no death? ”
“Why should the luminous dots on the firmament be less accessible to us than the black dots on the map of France? As we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, so we travel with death to a star. It had been thought that the earth was flat, but that does not prevent science from proving that it is round, which no one today would doubt. But still it is believed today that life is flat and extends from birth to death. But probably life too is round and stretches out with a scope much larger and richer than the half measure we know today. ”
What process does it undergo in the cocoon? The breaking down of tissues! The larva is completely dead. But a new life is nourished by this death. The death of the larva is a new beginning, a new conception.
Virus attacks the lung tissue. Respiratory impairment. The world is put on a ventilator. The memory slips. The air gasps for world. Have we finally entered the our pupal stage? A new geological grave? Antroposema
Maybe that’s why the winged moth rises from its underground tomb marked by death.
What life is there when we have dissolved the tissues of this world? Who weaves the silky wings of the decomposed masses of fat?
Naturally, the winged life is an extension of the dead larva, but they must be understood as two different individuals, as no individual can reasonably be said to preserve itself during the transformation.
Born by its own death.
How do we break down the tissues of capitalism? The oil industry’s burning of accumulated summers? The artificial ventilation of the economy? Hyperventilation! Hyperventilation! Whitewash The cell wall is so hard and keeps its sacred judgments hidden.
Histolysis, phylogenetic necrobiosis. Break down the tissue. Dissolve, make new patterns. Make constellations across the dark. Give birth to new zodiac signs With no meaning other than the one they reveal: Celestial bodies in a celestial dance. Connected and reborn in the swarm.
We weave ourselves into each other’s arms, out into umbilical cords.
Woven together
Into my arms, my love
Dissolved
In tears In dance In laughter In love
”Through loss we can regain the free movement of the universe, we can dance and swirl in the full rapture of those great swarms of stars. But we must, in the violent expenditure of self, perceive that we breathe in the power of death.”
On our backs we carry the mark of death.
How much does death weigh? And who measures?
We must weave death into our motif. Only life gives it gravity And life must be born.
But what does the winged one know about our mythologizations? Necrobiosis: That something must die in order to live. That something is living death.
The sacred is nothing but that, that life is death and death is birth.
Cosmic death masks are the flicker of life Cosmic death masses are the flourishing of diversity
One of the most popular Google searches in the wake of COVID-19 has been variations on the question “Are birds louder now?” Therefore, Mycelium have been looking toward the birds to revive the art of augury, the art of reading birds. However, today the most prominent signs are not found in the majestic eagle, but rather in the poultry factory and the wet market. Also, to listen to the birds is to listen to the absence left by the coronavirus, the raspatory gasps of a dying race.
The spoken text is a tapestry of cut-outs, ready-mades, quotes, original poetry and prose written collectively by Mycelium.
The video is a “becoming bird” ritual, a desperate attempt to engage with nature, which involves the self-inflicted painful process of being rolled in tar and feathers.
“And the birds are getting louder” is a short film made in collaboration with Mycelium, Anja Behrens, Cristian Vogel and Nathalie Mellbye. Starring Nathalie Mellbye, Anja Behrens and Freya Emilia Behrens.
It was originally made for Pythia’s Journals during the wake of the pandemic (13.05.20-16.05.20)
It has later been picked up by additional festivals: Lift-off Network Film Festival, Miracle Film Festival
Watch the movie here:
Idé, tekst og realisering: MYCELIUM Lyddesign: CRISTIAN VOGEL Medvirkende: ANJA BEHRENS, FREYA EMILIA BEHRENS, NATHALIE MELLBYE
Additional festivals: Lift-off Network Film Festival, Miracle Film Festival
Full texted used in the movie:
AND THE BIRDS ARE GETTING LOUDER:
One of the most popular google searches in the wake of the COVID-19 has been variations on the question “Are birds louder now?” Phenomenologically, birds are louder due to less human activity in cities which makes them bolder in song and territorial approach, but we are also better able to hear them with much less noise to distract us.
Augury (or oionistike (οἰωνιστικὴ) in ancient Greek) is the art of reading birds. A divine madness, an erotic endeavour. The birds are messengers The eagle looking for prey The poultry waiting to be transported to the slaughter house The vultures circling a corpse The trash-eating seagulls The pigeons in the yard The magpie stealing shiny objects The black sun of starlings The peace carrying dove The raven that does not return The aggressive swans The parrots in the ruins after the apocalypse The canary in the mine
And the birds are getting louder
“These are the birds you are to regard as unclean and not eat because they are unclean: the eagle, the vulture, the black vulture, the red kite, any kind of black kite, any kind of raven, the horned owl, the screech owl, the gull, any kind of hawk, the little owl, the cormorant, the great owl, the white owl, the desert owl, the osprey, the stork, any kind of heron, the hoopoe and the bat.” (Leviticus 11)
And the birds are getting louder
In the Iliad, the plague strikes as birds of prey, deadly arrows and aerial assailants. A godly sneeze. Achoo (bless you) In ancient literature and philosophy, the eagle was the most majestic of signs, since it was Zeus’ favorite bird. Today the most reliable omens have come from the poultry factories. The so-called Fowl plague of 1878 is considered the beginning of the recorded history of avian influenza. The signs were clear already then.
And the birds are getting louder
The PREDICT project was launched in 2009 in response to the 2005 H5N1 “bird flu” scare. Its funding ran out in September 2019. In that period they gathered specimens from more than 10,000 bats and 2,000 other mammals. They detected about 1,200 viruses that could spread from wild animals to humans. More than 160 of them were novel coronaviruses. Reuters writes in 2020, “Piglets aborted, chickens gassed as pandemic slams meat sector”. Don’t kill the messenger.
And the birds are getting louder
“Great Understatements in History: Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow — ‘just a little stroll gone bad’ Pompeii— ‘a bit of a dust storm’ Hiroshima — ‘a bad summer heatwave’ AND Wuhan — ‘just a bad flu season’” Bolsonaro — “So what?”
And the birds are getting louder
Ritual for a community of absence:
Wash hands carefully
Sneeze into your sleeve
Keep distance – at least 4 meters
Don’t gather
Stay indoors
And the birds are getting louder
Don’t join hands across America. We are not the world. We are not the winds of change.
And the birds are getting louder
Birds are primordial erotic beings. The offspring of Eros. The plague invites erotism. Wet markets – wet dreams.
“And how are we to explain that upsurge of erotic fever among the recovered victims who, instead of escaping, stay behind, seeking out and snatching sinful pleasure from the dying or even the dead, half-crushed under the pile of corpses where chance had lodged them?” Artuad asks.
The plague invites in death and therefore erotism. The bird is but the messenger. The poultry factory a Sadean wet dream.
“It is the story of the magnificent banquet: six hundred different plates offer themselves to your appetite; are you going to eat them all? […] choose and let lie the rest without disclaiming against that rest simply because it does not have the power to please you. Consider that it will enchant someone else, and be a philosopher.”
And the birds are getting louder
The highest creation on earth is a bird
The most powerful symbol, a two-headed bird
And the birds are getting louder
Ritual of cleanly absence:
Rinse doorknobs in alcohol
Rinse buttons in alcohol
Rinse primary surfaces in alcohol
Rinse partner in alcohol
Ingest alcohol
And the birds are getting louder
WHO (Trump pulls out)
And the birds are getting louder
The American president suggests that we inject light into the body. Perhaps it should be the other way around. We should inject the body into light.
And the birds are getting louder
From the billion node thousand gender perspective of the mycelial ontology – realtime inverted – the drone strike on Bolsonaro – from the lungs of Nature into the lungs of the antagonist – unknown collateral damage – realtime inverted.
And the birds are getting louder
Religious fanatics in Iran are licking doorknobs to demonstrate their purity and trust in god.
Religious fanatics in the USA are protected because they are covered in Jesus’ Blood.
Amazon wishlist: Doorknobs and blood. Out of stock.
And the birds are getting louder
This is the Parable of the Yeast The yeast from which thy kingdom shall expand Holy yeast Stay on guard It may be the Evil one, disguised as yeast Therefore, be careful where you lay your yeast It starts small and insignificant But suddenly it grows It bursts Out of control For a long time There has been no shortage of unleavened bread
And the birds are getting louder
… we cannot gain insight into the birds’ continuous collective flight across the sky, by comparing the flight paths of every single bird. Their dance over the sky on the whims of the wind forms a body in which the individual is subject to the movements of the totality. Therefore, we cannot grasp the totality of the deed without tearing it to pieces and distancing us from it, and from a distance the totality has already escaped us. (mycelium #7)
In theatre, as in the plague, there is a kind of strange sun, an unusually bright light by which the difficult, even the impossible, suddenly appears to be our natural medium. (Artaud)
The mycelic sun is the communicative dance of the birds of the autumn sky, it is the activity and intensity of mycelium, the sums of the suns within within. (mycelium #7)
And the birds are getting louder
Ritual for injecting the body into light (for one):
Immerse yourself in light
Become sun
Photosynthesis
Become earth
Emmanete as an earthly sun
And the birds are getting louder
Ritual for injecting the body into light (for more than one):
Sing – it’s contagious.
Dance – it’s contagious.
Fuck – it’s contagious.
Laugh – it’s contagious.
Rebel – it’s contagious.
And the birds are getting louder
Doorknobs and blood Blooddoors and knobs Bloodknobs and doors
And the birds are getting louder
Pythia, púthein “to rot”, the name of the high priestess of Apollo and oracle at Delphi. The Sickly sweet smell of the body’s decomposition, Mediating the sky with chthonic earthliness, Python, after she was slain by the falcon-headed god, Nature in all its splendour, the sign of our time
And the birds are getting louder
“Do you think the end of the world is coming?”
Yes and no.
‘The pandemic is a portal’ Arundhati Roy says, “a gateway between one world and the next.”
What do you mean?
Well, birds and bears and blue waters are all returning to us, to our world, laughing at us from the other side of our windows, thankful.
April is the cruelest month Lilacs of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.
After the bombings of Hamburg in 1943, nature regenerated herself within the rubble, filling the open spaces with chestnuts and lilacs. Right now, wild boars and other wildlife roam the towns of northern Italy. Gangs of starving monkeys brawl in the streets of Lopburi, Thailand, no longer fed by the tourists. Sheep, horses, and deer in the streets in Japan. Whales gliding in the waters of Marseilles.
So, do you think it is funny that the oil industry is collapsing? What’s next, you laughing when investment bankers get laid off?
Yes, actually, it is funny. After all, April is the cruelest month. “Gasoline crack of history” as Burroughs says “the last of the gallant heroes.”
Is the coronavirus itself a Green New Deal?
….
And the birds are getting louder
Amazon faces legal scrutiny over workers’ safety disease and desist Calls to evacuate Greek refugee camp disease and desist New York City nurses on Front Line call it a Suicide Mission disease and desist Amazon Indigenous tribes facing genocide disease and desist As the wealthy quaff wine in comfort; India’s poor are thrown to the wolves disease and desist If the coronavirus doesn’t kill me, hunger will disease and desist Wuhan fish market and Cargill meatpacking plant disease and desist
And the birds are getting louder
The nightingale sings for the poor and the emperor alike The nightingale escapes the cage The nightingale is forgotten for want of finer things (foese nightingales clad in diamonds, mechanic songs that can play endlessly – until the mechanics break down) The nightingale returns to ward off death with its song The nightingale reports on the sufferance of the poor to the emperor in his castle The nightingale asks but one thing: to remain a secret
And the birds are getting louder
Black blood, dark webs Black marks, wet spots Antibody Antibody
This is my blood This is my flesh
Antibody Antibody
The spider is the fly
And the birds are getting louder
05.05.2020
USA 68.934 And counting
Italy 29.079 And counting
Great Britain 28.809 And counting
Spain 25.428 And counting
France 25.204 And counting
Belgium 8.016 And counting
Brasil 7.367 And counting
Germany 6.993 And counting
Iran 6.340 And counting
Netherlands 5.098 And counting
China 4.637 And counting
Canada 4.003 And counting
Turkey 3.461 And counting
Sweden 2.769 And counting
Mexico 2.271 And counting
Schweizerland 1.784 And counting
India 1.571 And counting
Ecuador 1.569 And counting
Russia 1.451 And counting
Peru 1.344 And counting
Ireland 1.319 And counting
Portugal 1.063 And counting
Indonesia 872 And counting
Romania 827 And counting
Poland 700 And counting
Philippines 637 And counting
Austria 606 And counting
Japan 536 And counting
Denmark 493 And counting
Algeria 470 And counting
Egypt 452 And counting
Hungary 363 And counting
Colombia 358 And counting
Dominican Republic 354 And counting
Ukraine 316 And counting
Chile 275 And counting
Argentina 260 And counting
South Korea 254 And counting
Czech republic 254 And counting
Finland 246 And counting
Israel 237 And counting
Norway 215 And counting
Panama 203 And counting
Saudi-Arabia 200 And counting
Serbia 197 And counting
Bangladesh 183 And counting
Morocco 181 And counting
United Arb Emirates 146 And counting
Greece 146 And counting
And counting
And counting
And counting
And the birds are getting louder
Music is the pleasure the mind experiences from counting without being aware that it is counting. And the birds are getting louder. Counting as they sing. Counting the dead? Counting down? To what?
og man vender sit øje til om natten er pupillen et sort hul der vender vrangen ud af sig selv omslutter sig med sit camera obscuras indre vægge krænger sit glaslegeme ud gennem et nålehul i strålelegemet en gelatinøs atmosfære om nethinden hvorpå Macula lutea stiger op som en gul betændt sol
Gennem periskopet kigger kampvognsfører ud med night vision og ser en håndfuld flygtninge komme gående ad en af de mange menneskeveksler, som over en tiårig periode er blevet trådt op gennem Jylland. Ingen grund til at vække nogen længere oppe i hierarkiet, så der bliver givet besked til at åbne ild øjeblikkeligt. Få sekunder senere larmer det ikke længere, og der går heller ikke længere nogen flygtninge. Nu er der slet ikke nogen flygtninge. Her. Længere. Længere er den ikke. Ikke? Natten blev omdannet til lys i et kort sekund, lys som en ondartet synaptisk slutning: Hvis man har sagt a, må man også sige dehumanisering! Fra toppen af Himmelbjerget lignede det en glitch i skoven som resultat af en forældet algoritme, som om vesten endnu inderst inde kørte på koder fra forgangne epoker og sunkne sekler.
Hvad siger de lænkede på bunden af hulelignelsen og strudsen med sit hoved i sandet om den vestlige tradition? At man ikke kan tænke under jorden. Sindet er en blomst, der vrider sig nastisk mod solen, ud af træernes overhæng.
Når du skal udenfor, skærmer du instinktivt dine øjne med højre hånd. Hver eneste gyde har en vagt med morgenstjerne i den venstre. Solen går aldrig ned over lysets imperium. Det er ikke til at bære.
Hvis du en dag finder dig selv boende i et palads, kan du blive nødt til at male loftet over med himmel, som en form for besværgelse eller troskabsed.
Tænkning er lys og lighedstegnet mellem dem er en underjordisk passage, et ormehul der gør forskellene mellem os til skamme, ligesom lyset og dets 299,792,458 meter i sekundet får universet til at rødme.
Vi gør holdt, hviler i passagen.
Vi stirrer ind i det døde træ og hallucinerer. Kan Vesten mon køre DOOM? I den tid det tager at gøre tanken til ende, er jeg dig og omvendt. Bagefter banker vi vandrør og deler erfaring. Det føles som at blande blod. Ved middagstid kravler skyggerne op i træerne igen
og The Washington Post siger the truth dies in darkness vi ser og forhøjer vores indsats under stress kan sandheden overvintre i den mørke muld tættere ved jordens kerne
nænsomt hvisker træerne deres kritik ud i den lysning i skoven, som er deres plenum en brusende larm som af stemmer i panik bader det endnu tempererede landskab i sus
Næste gang man finder noget i jorden af virkelig værdi vil det ikke være horn af guld eller mumificerede teens, men derimod Mycelium og, kære finder, på forhånd undskyld. Der gives ingen dusør. Mycelium er ikke danefæ, vil aldrig blive udstillet i glasmontre på selv det mest velmenende museum.
Vi findes ikke, eller rettere: Vi vil ikke findes og når vi gør, er det som kollektivets skjulte liv, skizofren omsætning, kannibalistisk stofskifte, modoplysning, sort magi og heksering.
Mycelium som modoplysning hvilket ikke vil sige lysets negation men et hvidt hul, signalet for en anden tidslighed. Sorte huller er rumtidens tålmodige åbninger mens de hvide udmattes efter at have udspyet universet på et planck sekund
