Yukio Mishima

I have discovered another Japnese suicidal that intrigues me. I discovered him after reading about a Daniel Menche album inspired by this novel, Sun and Steel. The first japanese suicidal that I dicovered was Yutaka Taniyama. Mishima commited seppuku, the ritual suicide of the Samurai in 1970. Just as in Taniyama's case I was drawn into his world. They both gaze back at me from whatever feeble photograph was taken of them, and a plane infintum shoots through their eyes, and continues through my own. Taniyama emphasizes if not symbolizes the power of combining two seemingly diseperate parts. Mishima has done so with the idea of physical transformation, similar to that of Taxi Driver and Fight Club.

HERMANN NITSCH (scares me a little bit)

Hermann Nitsch Homepage

Transcription: 1/28/06 Goat Island Workshop Writing Exercises

GOAT ISLAND WORKSHOP
LINK’S HALL, CHICAGO, IL


( I am asked to describe my self in an a motion, actual or imaginary, possible or impossible.)

(My initial entry is a drawing resembling wood grain or cellular tissues of the brain drawn diagonally across the page)

As I sit, never still, the same place
is always different, made different.
I swell, I start, I bur, I jump
in my skin and leave memories
of myself in my container, my
atmosphere. I twitch and
pulsate, I sweep, I am striking
out in extensions of my movement

(I am now asked to describe an unexpected interruption of this movement)

(there is a small letter sized scribble and “I” scratched out by a 11/2 in. long scratch. Also, written lightly and diagonally over the above text is “VIBRATE”)

A swift turn and my
movement sinks quickly
into me like escaping
octopi. A streak
of the …

(this is where the drawing interrupts the text, the following is written diagonally, below the drawing)

…head meets with the bold streak of another. My eyes
fly from behind me and enter unto their rightful place
then exceed it and streak. My heads turns sideways
on a vertical axes, cocked. The eyes vibrate. I throw my
head into a space and as it plummets back towards me
my neck catches up with it and I am hurled, I return
to my undulation, My frequency shrieketh.
I wrap around. I am forceful, I glide
with a curving upward thrust and
steam with my reaction. A
strong wavering follows my
head in it’s motions.
( I am now asked to write about an occurrence that is the opposite of the previous accounts as one)

(I scratch a line below the previous text, below which is an arrow pointing right, below which is written “over” The following is on the backside page of the above, written horizontally)

A slow rush is gathered up in my (small scratch)
possession, in my gait’s perception (below this is written in parentheses, “Posession?) (small scratch)
I sink, soft-crushing in to the crop, my crop, where glowing embers
(below the “e” of “embers” is written in parentheses, “a”. below the “s” in “embers” is written in parentheses, “ / ”) lay and I am liquid upon this.
(I am now asked to write about an interaction with a stranger, I make no evident interruption between the entries)
on the outward side of our shell, there’s
a crunching and smooshing of ground,
bodyweight liking a gravitational
ends to a means. This is an outsider,
No face to us. We are Splashing,
the embers and I, in a soft, creamy
warmth, a grasping union, a layer
of sweat.

( I am then asked to write a question, an answer, a date, a time, and a place as a reactions to the total of the above writings. The question and answer arre to be derived from the text, the rest may or may not reference the occrunses accounted for in the text)

Q: Why doth my frequency shreiketh?

A: a grasping union, a layer of sweat


(scribbled out is “Sep” followed by) Sept. 25. 3:30am
halfway above and
below the ocean,
sky and sea both
known to us.

Slime Mold

*this is what it is all about

Last Weekend

A week ago today, at this time I was probably in the libary finding books or tinkering with the internt following a weekend of going to Chicago in an irresponible, whimful manner. I awoke at around 1:30, having gone to sleep around 7:00 am after realizing it was Sunady and that the cafeteria didn't serve breakfast on Sundays. The night before and early that morning I had driven some of the way back from Chicago. I drove for the first time on the way up there, and drove on the freeway for the first time on the way back.

Driving is nice. There are very many applications to the ideas and phenomena at play in the act of driving. There's the whole idea of still-moving. I am fixed in a location that is not fixed and moving rather rapidly and with consequence. There's the hyponotic passing of road-paint and tree-line. The sensitivity. I understnad now what I have been missing out on and the lack of such sensitivity has been a large part of my aloof-ness to society for this society is smothered in car culture. Our social gatherings, rites of passage, daily acts, and our physical structure are all very intimate with the needs and wants involed with the automobile.

Physical expression is nice, too. yann and I went to Chicago for a Goat Island Performance Workshop.

Goat Island Web Page

Preceding the performance we stopped at a strange family fun sports pub/restaraunt thing which neighbored an awesome field that succesfully seduced us to enter into in an act of primal play. discovering some really beautiful mud we covered ourselves in it and began to behave animalistically. i reinforced my recent discovery of some kind of connection with ungulates such as Elk, Deer, Caribou, etc. I had the strong urge to run and climb when focused on my animal behavior. Yann was crawling and growling with a disconcerting grace. We entered into the car and started to drive. We left some of the mud on thoughout the weekend, leaving some behind roadside and in gas station bathrooms.

I saw the Lake and that was good. To my left, tightly, was towering building after towering building, to my right was misty, greyish-blue flatness and expansivenes

The next day at the Workshop at

Links Hall

we met with Goat island and the rest of the workshopees. The three worked with the group of us seperatly, yet all as one through writing and interpretive excericses and explorations. It was beautiful. There was a steady gradient of nervous discomfort into total love. I am discovered. I observed. I felt. I moved. I healed. I understood. I touched. I wounded. I beamed. I flowed over. I happy-ed.

There was amazing, beautiful, love-filled workshop and then there was:

SULTAN'S MARKET

!!!!

All throughout the weekend there was amazing conversation and self-interpretation and contextualization and putting of things together.

I am still behind in class, partially due to the trip, but it's worth it.