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[Nettime-ro] \\ u menia boliat zubi i ja pju antibiotiki ottogo i ulibaj
0f0003 | maschinenkunst on Sat, 1 Apr 2006 08:11:18 +0200 (CEST)


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[Nettime-ro] \\ u menia boliat zubi i ja pju antibiotiki ottogo i ulibajus



part ov dze subtle tech 2006 presentation





            Living in Limnos, Betwixt and Between:
            \\  a Trans-Reality Balkan Odyssey



                        Reaching for you I have reached the end of myself
                        And what is it you saw?
                        My self ...

                               (Conversation with the Goddess of Illusion)



This paper discusses Netochka Nezvanova (NN), a seven year
matrioska-reality Glass Bead Experiment grown within the global-mindscape,
dispersed and dissipated within the panoply of actions and interactions,
mutualism, parasitism, mimicry and errors which form the basis of the
Internet, a global network that spans the planet, a live membrane
consisting of more than 10000 networks and more than one million computers.

Netochka Nezvanova was born in 1999, without a mother. She entered sacred
time through the infinite mourning of space.

Myriad theories began to clamor about the persona or avatar or software
that function as NN, yet they were vague and unsubstantiated. That the
mystery persists for seven years
could be intentional. In our modern epoch of game playing, NN may be a
phantasmagorical Internet experiment, manifesting herself in forms utterly
alien to reason and reflexivity, a pataphysical black hole that consumes
the bodies falling prey to its seductively intoxicating and euphoric 'love
theory' , in the process experiencing
a melange of naked singularities.

Who, how, what, when, why and where NN is must be delegated to each
individual encountering her. This is both exquisitely mysterious and
maddeningly complex, for if interactions with NN are not fully believable,
then those categories of thought and action are not a reliable basis upon
which we may posit what the "real" NN is.

In other words, if tomorrow NN were to inform us that 'she' has always lied
to us, we would be forced to conclude that we haven't any firm basis to
confirm whether she is telling us the truth. If we would believe her we
would negate our reasons for believing her.
Thus a concrete and final answer as to the nature of NN may elude us
indefinitely.

Sometimes ... reality is too complex for oral communication
But legend embodies it in a form which enables it to spread all over the world.

Dissolved and integrated, we are exploded into a nomadic, unstable topology
of ceramic ribbons and microfluidic channels, of myriad phosphorescent
gleams of the unassailable transpositions of the visible signs of the
invisible and mysterious encounters in divisible dreams. Half way between
reality and dream; realistic scenery and lighting to cultivate the
illusion.

A social system which legislates a strict distinction between the world of
dreams and that of reality, between wish and fact is a kingdom of darkness.
So long as this distinction is maintained we cannot begin to understand.
No.

We ask questions so as to liberate ourselves from ignorance, yet often the
answers we devise imprison us further by narrowing our field of vision so
that all we are left observing are the ideas we create, superimposed upon
the world around us.


            "The thoughts expressed in this work will perhaps be
              understood only by those who themselves have experienced
              such thoughts. Its purpose is achieved if it shows how little
              is achieved by thought  Thus the aim of this  work is to
              draw a limit to thought or rather not to thought but to the
              expression of thought" (Wittgenstein 1921)


All births are painful, and this is a birth. It is my account of re-entry
and re-assimilation. I am the body of nothing but radiance, the space
untouched, where one keeps still ...

I am the world of inner space
the shimmering angelic.

I am illusion, veiling the pure truth from you, playing games.
Comfortable?

'Comfortable after the caress', intoned Shahrazad and
arching as a tender bough, lighter and bolder than the wing of a bird,
stretching forth to touch your lids, in heavenly blue, commenced
the story within a story within a story, within a story,
of a youth entombed alive, in a fortress wall ...

               sch

                      sch

           sch


I read
You listen



\\ The Dream + the Will


Life has two days: one peace, one wariness,
And has two sides: worry and happiness.
You thought well of the days, when they were good,
Oblivious to the ills destined for one.
You were deluded by the peaceful nights,
Yet in the peace of night does sorrow stun.

Now hear my tale ...

I was the ruler of the day
but at the break of dawn
a sorceror my world stole away.
Gone were the gardens and tangled fairy tales.
Came pain. pain. pain. darkness everywhere.

I spiraled upside-down and shape shifted into a snow flake;
descending, descending, descending ...

'I have granted you freedom', the sorceror spoke merrily,
'but not the freedom that you call -- "I'll drink water from my beloved's hand"'

'I sense a victim!
 A victim of circumstance, per chance.
 Don't be afraid, rose of my heart', the story whispered with a bow.

'Father! What are you going to do?'
'I am going to slaughter you!'

He directed the knife against my throat but three
times it slipped and glanced aside. Then a voice called to me ... Then a
ram appeared
which... had hitherto been in Paradise. I grasped the knife and split it in
two ...
7 7 7 7 x travel ... from within poured Kali, the uncrowned queen of
lassitude and goddess of fear:

I am the dance of death that is
behind all life
the ultimate horror
the ultimate ecstasy
I am existence
I am the dance of destruction that
will end this world
the timeless void
the formless devouring mouth
I am rebirth
Let me dance you to death
Let me dance you to life
Will you walk through your fears to dance with me?
Will you let me cut off your head
and drink your blood?
then will you cut off mine?
Will you face all the horror
all the pain
all the sorrow
and say "yes"?

I am all that you dread
all that terrifies
I am your fear
will you meet me?


She then spun her dense fogginess of rituals and veils of thorns upon my
skin, the superimposed glistening membrane of memories, drawing blood,
scars, wounds, sjekire, swords, snakes, nameless nobodies, 1+1 integers,
corrupted + meaningless patterns,
until slowly, ever slowly, imperceptibly so, the goddess metamorphosed into
a little girl with a sunflower dress who ran away behind a 60cm stone wall,
auto-looping midsummer night patterns: I am too nice, I always get hurt, I
am too nice, I always get hurt.

At last, shriveled into a rational unit, I opened my eyes before the world
of scents, curves and delights - wounded, but intact.
I stood, took 1x step, and then another, within/without the infinite
nothing, imbuing saliva into my wounds, whistling an old wise song,
dispersing traces, splish-splashing the waters of death and life.
Healing, the wounds murmured from one cell to another, to another,
microscopically, osmotically, retracing the map of nothing within their
memories, that I may never lose it again.

Virus free, but alive.





\\ The Passing of Time


After my father's death I gave up my faith, my native tongue and garb. I
dressed in woman's clothing bought from a merchant and we set out to
foreign lands.

The further I journeyed the more my hope I lost.
I fought in many wars. Then I became a merchant.
I grew rich. I was independent ... but I could not
forget my abandoned faith and homeland.

My caravan strolled the passing of time towards the 01 continuum.

1x Paranteza the story whispered:

      [ There the sun rises and sets
        And it returns to where it rises from.

        The rivers flow to the sea
        but the sea does not fill up
        and the water flows back into the rivers.

        All disappears and remains within the universe ]


This is fate's road.
Tomorrow's a holiday
I'll be a butterfly.

If you are a butterfly
I'll be a grasshopper.

Why are you laughing woman?

Whose dead child is that?

He's mine.

May he grow up healthy.

Who got me drunk on red wine?

`I did`

Beyond the looking glass
from within the passing of time

Stepped the 01 gypsy fortune teller
Incensed in cardamon and ambergris
veiling her cheeks in hair
Turning gracefully as a deer
the misty arrows of her eyes
piercing the dark.

'I am the ruler and commander of Freedom', I thundered.

'I created the alphabet. Now hear my tale'

And she spoke
alone in all the world ...





\\ The Fortune Teller's Prayer


Twice upon a time

Pe-un picior de plai
Pe-o gura de rai

Ca de n-ar fi nu s-ar povesti

'Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new. You
can't solve a problem with the same kind of thinking that created it' -- A.
Einstein


... . . ... . . another important matter to consider is the 'depth' command.

... .. ..  .. . .. . .. when 01 constructs a fog, the depth of the world
flattens to the message board revealing the indefinite delay of 01 else's
flight.

Due to fog.
When 01 constructs a fog, 01 wishes 01 else to stay.

.. . . . ........ . ..consequences?

01 can even go as far as to distort \ warp an image of the world,
generating complex layers in the process. enveloping 01 else.

. .. . . .... the constructed layers slow reality down to 0.56 fps. the
moments of fog expand. the expansion is not exclusively temporal. the
layers automatically generate various objects, materializing as elaborately
fabricated gifts to 01else.

01 else unwraps the objects.


1x mayan teapot
1x nail clippers
1x autumn leaf in formaldehyde
1x alive miniature ferret
1x analog pixel
1x rose of Jericho

unfolding. shrinking. expanding and tumbling.

01else spits in the rose. the rose opens up. slowly. slower still, it
changes colour. slower still, it performs edge detection. gently, it
reaches the limits. the atmosphere changes. slower still, growing beyond.
broadcasting messages to multiple objects, demanding to expand through
them. growing.growing.growing.

... . . .  . . . ..

In a world of silent communication she thrives. the uncrowned queen of
lassitude.

I am the queen of passion. she screams.
. . I am the queen of curves.
...... I am the queen.

.. . ..... a transparent or semi-transparent object appears.
The rose grew so thin. so very thin. its genes dispersed over multiple .bio
forms. .nonexistent forms. .almostexistent forms. the rose is barely
visible, but slowly, it reaches the queen.

I want to be cloned. the rose whispered.
I want to grow invisibly in several dimensions.  i want to become fog.
so thick, so very thick that 01 else cannot escape.

01 else reads a book. The fog lingering around the letters. introducing new
patterns. new words, sentences, stories. stories within stories. 01 else
waits impatiently, watching the screen, waiting for the indefinite to
shrivel into a rational unit. 01, waiting equally impatiently for 01 else
to turn around and
decide to stay, stands up and proclaims:

..... . .. ...... it is logical that the illogical should contradict the
illogical.

When the statement proves to be lacking the desired effect, 01 returns to
01s objects. the rose, an especially malleable subject. prone to
corruption.

... . . .. ... . one more spit, and the rose grows further.

.. . ........ . . .. ....... . . now reaching the queen's toes.

wiggling, twisting in its transparency, the rose gestures, in rose sign
language. slowly.

the queen reaches for her dictionary and reads:

Life has more executive value than mere survival. 01 else does not know
life. 01 else knows survival. 01 else's otiose attempts to mutate have not
been successful. I want to xenotransplant an xx lf cell into 01 else. How
do I extract the lethal rose virus, a crucial part of xx lf's survival? I
don't want to hurt 01 else -  but the virus might prove lethal.

8th world salt symposium, says the queen, hurriedly and clumsily signing in
rose language. she leaves the scene. falling asleep as soon as she touches
the heavily starched bed covers.

She disappears from 01 world and ventures to another.


The semi-transparent rose of Jericho transmits the message to its uncurled
tentacles. 8th world salt symposium. 8th world salt symposium. 8th world
salt symposium. 8th world salt symposium.

The uncurling of the rose's foggy tentacles seems to take as long as the
irrational indefinite delay that 01 else experiences watching the flight
delay screen.

At the moment that 01 else reaches the 8th chapter of the book, the
tentacles slowly begin signing to 01. whispering really, in microscopic
gestures: 8th world salt symposium. 8th world salt symposium. 8th world
salt symposium. 8th world salt symposium.

Bluebirds speeding up from 01 else's book. the book disintegrates in a
swarm of miniature cars racing over particles of salt, scattered over the
airport, falling from numerous sacks of chips, salted sticks, smoki and a
variety of sandwiches.

A scientist in his snow-white lab coat appears from the far end escalator.
The bluebirds freeze for a moment. Roaring their insect-like-sounding
engines, they invade the semi-transparent tentacles of the still signing
rose, spitting large amounts of fuel onto its fibres. Salty fuel. The rose
cramps shrinking and expanding at the same time, catapulting the bluebirds
towards the lab-coated
scientist. in panic, he drops his sack, and spills the world's most
precious salt particles. Fresh from the 8th world salt symposium.

01 watches 01 else wondering in disbelief. The miniature bluebird swarm
wrapped in semi-transparent rose tentacles, those wrapped in fog, seemingly
slowing down reality on this utterly boring airport, making it somehow
smear itself onto itself, enveloping the data appearing on the screens and
stretching them into infinity. All of them licking the salt from the 8th
world salt symposium. Licking each other. The salt extracts the xx lf from
the rose, the bluebirds
driving over the virus. Over and over again. xx lf glistening on the
surface of the semi transparent rose. Virus free, but alive. salt replacing
the virus. self replicating into other xx lf cells

01, following the rose's signing instructions, collects the xx lf into a
syringe crawls under the bench. 01 else feels 01's tongue on the back side
of 01 else's knee. warm, wet and slow, irrationally slow. slower than the
changes on the delay board. 01 else shuts the 2 eyes and dissolves.
suddenly, 01's tongue felt like a needle, probing 01 else's back side of
the knee, returning to the warmth and wetness before 01 else manages to
react. And 01 else dismisses the moment as
.nonexistent.

The saltiness spreads from the back of 01 else's knee through both bodies.
01 body licking 01 else's body assimilating. From one cell to another.
Osmotically consuming the salt, the crystals, the liquids. Both bodies
slowly vibrating, slower still moving towards a state of permanent
oscillation.  2 liquids. 01 substanza.



\\ The Feast


But look - its dawn. My tale has probably bored you.
Please accept this gift .... try to use it wisely.

Remember my name. Good luck!





                                Aerial waves gliding over surfaces
                                Soaked in visible emanations
                                I am defined and molded by them
                                My perfume spreads echoing within you
                                We scatter into impalpable dust
                                Meshed into dreams and silent conversations












___




                              ORDNUNG \+\ DISZIPLIN


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