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"I was interested in somebody who had lost his personal memory and was condemned to live within culture alone. It was consciously analyzing a risk that I run - and any person like me can run - to know the world only through quotations. I wanted to make a Gedankenexperiment: what could happen to a person who only lives through, by, within books he has read, without personal, tactile memories. And to show in which way, if it were so, you would be a person with half a soul. Because memory is soul - that's what I strongly believe."(cbc.ca | A&E |Vox Populi Umberto Eco's new book explores the merits of mass entertainment By Andre Mayer )
:: note :: . . . another soul work . . . building memory builds soul . . .
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Dearest Stefan
From your powerful entrance into this world and the first moment
You reached out and clutched my finger with a strength and intensity of purpose & I knew it was to be my honour to follow your passages.
Remember, at five, on the swing and you wanted to jump off. You pumped till it seemed you would create a full circle and you let go travelling so high that the landing knocked the wind from of you. I remember.
I remember these past eighteen years you taught me.
Choose what you do - all your actions and intentions - with care and from the heart.
For you must love what your do. When you love each and every moment then do it with passion.
Do it with a lust to live and grow.
Do it with a determination to fall again and again.
Do it with soul and the deep searching thoughtfulness.
Do it with the courage to fly.
Do it with dreams, vision and imagination.
Do it.
Most of all I remember your embrace. That capacity to communicate the essence of your spirit by wrapping your arms around my being. The fervent hugs of joy and the genuine hugs seeking comfort. The sincere hugs of congratulations and the profound hugs of silence. You taught me the power to hug.
Thank you Stefan for all the adventures and I rip open the sky with a desire to watch you soar with love and passion.
Love
Raymon
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"Roy painted a broad pallet of events, such as 9-11, Global free trade, terrorism and brought them into the context of how the racist interment of Canadian born Japanese happened. He drew on similar Canadian issues such as First Nations redress for Residential schools, and the racist Chinese Head Tax, mentioning how 83-year old Gim Wong is riding his motorcycle across Canada to Ottawa as an awareness campaign."(GungHaggisFatChoy |Re: Roy Miki lecture at the Chan Center)
:: note :: . . . ideas on cbc tonight (monday): issuing redress |THE UBC-LAURIER INSTITUTION MULTICULTURALISM LECTURE | 2005 Guest Lecturer: Dr. Roy Miki Redress: A Critical and Personal Perspective . . . don't miss Thursday, June 30 The Ideas of Tariq Ali . . . or listen immediately
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"Words don't go there: this implies a difference between words and sounds; it suggests that words are somehow constrained by their implicit reduction to the meanings they carry-meanings inadequate to or detached from the objects or states of affairs they would envelop. What's also implied is an absence of inflection; a loss of mobility, slippage, bend; a missing accent or affect; the impossibility of a slur or crack and the excess-rather than loss-of meaning they imply."
"but an improvisation (anarchic) of those principles that sees through infinite divisibilities and irreducible singularities, sites of communications never to be received, rites of affliction, tragedies, bodily divisions, spatial/social arrangements that constitute a kind of philosophical writing enacted and reenacted in the annular rememberment and dismemberment of community, nation and race, the imposition and maintenance of hierarchical relations within these units, the vexed and impossible task of a reconciliation of one and many via representation: Here it is if I could work through expressive singularity, the im/possibility of direct communication, the ideas of writing as visible speech and writing as independent of speech. Here it is if idiom becomes the site where an improvisation of/through these might occur: not in the name of an originary creativity or a grounded and telic liberty, but of a free, which is to say anarchic and atelic, generativity; a reconceptualization or out-from-outside reinstrumentalization of idiom that allows an improvisation through rather than a deconstructive oscillation within the aporia of philosophy."(UbuWeb |Sound in Florescence: Cecil Taylor's Floating Garden | Fred Moten |From Sound States, edited by Adalaide Morris, University of North Carolina Press, 1997)
:: note :: . . . yes UbuWeb is dead . . . some Papers live . . .
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"Literally, 'improvisation' indicates the ability to compose at the same moment in which we perform. In other words, it consists in reducing to a minimum, or even abolishing, the time to prepare, try out and correct. It has to do with the speed of production. What we appreciate in an improvisation, when it is exhibited, is the immediate quality of the result. This means that the many ways of improvising, the 'games' of improvised dramaturgies (dramaturgy of the actor and the whole performance; of the text and the action; of the blending of narrative elements and digressions, of action, music and words, etc.) can be a goal in themselves, but they can also be a means to become acquainted with the basic rules and the elementary principles that preside over scenic composition.
In this sense the practices of improvisation may become mirrors that reflect the range of theatrical knowledge at the elementary level of the craft. Doing an improvisation shows off the mastery of a technical patrimony. Improvisation involves knowing, defining and revitalising a baggage of personal or collective information so deeply incorporated that it may be used without thinking. It is the same baggage of procedures and knowledge that also serve for the planned work. "(Ista | 2005 | Presentation: IMPROVISATION: MEMORY, REPETITION, DISCONTINUITY)
:: note :: . . . improvisation . . . mirrors . . .
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Story of the Rock
(from: Tales of Wandering Imagination)
"Across the evolution of time, mystery peers in the depths of our creation. Where did the rock come from? How long has it been here? For the mystery will forever lie with the land, the sky, wind and rain. For the sake of well being, humans carry the rock, as the land and humans change decade to century. The rock has been carried by wise men, who cherish it and know the history of the rock. The old man with trembling knees, moves towards the river. He comes upon what he feels is the place to lay the rock. He looks to the sky in hopes he has found the place. The wise man gently lays the rock in the water. Now his spirit is set freee. The old man walks slowly off into the depths of the woods, proud of his journey."(Story of the Rock - Kevin Caron|Stories by 2005 SIAST Communications Class)
:: note :: . . . received a beautiful gift . . . writings from the students . . . more to add . . .
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"Whenever she felt lost in the endless deserts of insomnia she would take up the labyrinthian thread of her life again from the beginning to see if she could find at what moment the paths had become confused"(Anais Nin. A Spy in the House of Love.)
:: note :: . . . spectacular night thunderstorm . . . insomnia . . . disturbing dream . . . this bantam paperback has survived every move from teen to beyond half century . . . have started a process of reviewing the books that have followed me . . .
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"'I know your character,' he said to me. 'His name is Erostratus. He wanted to become famous and he couldn't find anything better to do than to burn down the temple of Ephesus, one of the seven wonders of the world.'"(Sartre from short story Ersostratus found in intimacy: the brilliant study of the corruption of love)
(more at American Idealism |Loneliness, Self-Display, Protection & the Nihilist |February 13th 2005 )
:: note :: . . . two years back , while waiting for a car repair, was forced to stay the night in a highway motel . . . in the reading room found a panther paperback with the jacket blurb: "Leaves 'Lady Chatterley's Lover asleep at the post' - PUNCH . . .Sartre? . . . since then it has been the car read . . . read while waiting & nothingness knaws . . .
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"Let me be clear about a definition here: disrespect is in the eye of the beholder. It occurs when someone feels slighted, or demeaned, or undervalued or lied to. There is no absolute measurement, and, because it's relative, people will surely disagree about whether or not it has occurred at all.
...
All the other person had to do was use a one or two sentences and the whole thing would have been fine. Almost all the instances of disrespect didn't have to do with the substance of the transaction, it was the style of it. If the person had accepted some responsibility and acknowledged how I might feel, the outcome wasn't really a big deal.
...People have a hard time with this. If someone feels as though they're treating you technically correctly, they don't want to apologize. They don't want to acknowledge the feelings of the other side. This is awfully short-sighted.
" (curiouser and curiouser | A little respect)
:: note :: . . . at end of school year respect has haunted & is a deadly spectre . . .
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"This sounds suspiciously like the artistic imperatives in television, where participation and reality shows, amateur dancing and quiz programmes have replaced any sense of public responsibility in the hierarchy for supplying an audience with properly funded creative initiatives among artists."(newstatesman | Backstage drama The Back Half Michael Coveney)
:: note :: . . . an argument which disturbed many was that theater had the responsibility to shake up . . .
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"I began this article with an epigram. A quote by Artaud. Artaud -- who later in life went mad, went as far as he could go toward dissolving his own sense of ego -- is the schiz who here provides the point of departure and the point of destination. In 1938, Artaud called for a theatre that would be like the plague. Not a nice theatre. Not a theatre that respects boundaries and limits. Not a theatre that waits for the appropriate time to mount its dark myths. A theatre, an art, that is truly radical and which can, therefore, make a difference. He called such theater the theater of cruelty. The current political regime of the U.S. sometimes calls it a theater of terror."(CTheory.net|When Taste Politics Meet Terror The Critical Art Ensemble on Trial Joan Hawkins)
(via wood s lot)
:: note :: . . . insidious . . . our school bans public performance of plays like Ecstasy of Rita Joe . . . contemplates uniforms . . . school identity badges to be worn by all for vigilant, easy tracking . . . theater of terror . . .
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"Fountain deals with elementals or essences: fire + water = blood. The time is both now, in the industrialized landscape of North America, and in another zone, a time of creation, myth and prophecy. The element of water is represented both as a body of water in the projection and literally as a wall of falling water. Water turns to blood. As befits our times, we don't know whether this is a metaphor for creation and connectedness or an apocalyptic vision."(Rebecca Belmore Fountain | project info )
:: note :: . . . canada's official rep at 2005 Venice Biennale . . . a body of work which demands recognition . . . the picture & description are not directly related . . . but are of course from an artist working along a line of inquiry which connects all projects . . .
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do not choose a blind leaving let whispers sieze the touch
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"That they need to stop giving "answers" (which suggest the discussion is over) and start contributing insights and experiences and questions (which suggests the discussion continues.)"(Weblogg-Ed | Assessing Blogwork)
:: note :: . . . into first few days of summer session directing class . . . struggling to engage discussion . . . patience required along with questions that create involvment . . .
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evening after evening the unwritten messages sound shadows to fly under the pre-script swallowed cold unarchived in the sky falls nightblind behind meaning
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the night and the rain was almost too long to bear and we went to the river to float inside you travel a path where the limits have wintered the fragile wings sewn in the last light of day in the spirit there are no accidents so take care to walk with me home
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