litera tunning

Teatro V Soukoli

2005-11-15T23:06:00.000+01:00

http://vsoukoli.jinak.cz/

Long-running work

2005-10-18T13:56:00.000+02:00

George Orwell - Politics and the English Language

"Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language - so the argument runs - must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes. Underneath this lies tha half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument we shape for our purposes."

Settled in our comfortable seats, using words without thinking, seats without doubts, no doubts about it, comfort without questions, broken window with smashed glass, destroyed roller blinds, broken thought, dirty, ashy, full of dust are the ways we prefer to live in our heads. Missing kathartikon. As sterilized women's wombs, nothing new is born but mere conservation, cans full of dedication, commitment and resignation. Who wants to complain? Being dandled, pampered by our mother society. Connecting cables as teats and nipples.

(photo taken in Leipzig, 2005)

2005-10-10T18:21:00.000+02:00

Wondering why black & white is colour. Why is it so touching and rather, or rather not. One makes step and suddenly makes other, realizing the last one was an entrance to different direction. Thus one stays and waits for the others. Reciprocity. Wondering why black & white make one other. The only answer one got is just black & white.

Three steps

2005-09-23T00:55:00.000+02:00

With your eyes opened, this allow you to accept the vital smite
*
Only the one who is being flagellated is alone.
*
Speak without words, merely thus you don't tell lies.

On uncanny spaces

2005-09-12T19:43:00.000+02:00

On uncanny spaces

On similarities we can agree, but there are differencies, different places, homes of different worlds. Their name is for now verges. Verges are empty areas, abandoned, rooms left for room, unguarded, filled in with the air of hard-workers. The pong of workers, stinky working clothes, reboant, thundering work of machines, steam and dust, industrial world. Nowadays shelters for brown and white rats. Sometimes for bats. Sometimes even for people, there are two groups, two different inhabitants. One lives almost without anything, just with its glass and its verge. Another one is rich, paying big money for living in such reconstructed places. They are generally called brown fields. Expensive flats. These places are full of charge, possibly because they do not have many visitors. They are wittnesses, contemporaries, waiting for their thieves, as the others are waiting too.

This is factory in Strasbourg, the picture was taken from here:

http://wastelands.fensys.org/

Sergent Pepere

2005-09-11T20:21:00.000+02:00

Only once in my hitherto life, once I met this band, listened to it. But it was enough for falling in love with them. They are from France and they embody the 4 elements of music to which I love the most, their music is very funny, funky, energic; they are brilliant musicians, very good technickly; they merely don't play music, they play a theatre, they are like actors, their concert is a one big show or performance and finally in their music there is also this very touching, serious, piece of sorrow, sad element, in their voices, which we know from e.g. gipsy music. You can find more on them here:

http://www.sergentpepere.com

This is Nestor Pizaiollo, my favourite member of the group...just impressions.

he met her

2005-09-11T18:17:00.000+02:00

And the only thing he could hear was the infinite silence
And he realized this is a big luckiness for him
He was not able to listen to anything else but silence
Thus he started laughing, just smoothly

There was no smashing smartmoney in his mail-box
There was no empty space for more drops of silence
There was just his key in his hand and glancing stream
There was just this and nothing else, and he was striky happy

drinking of sand

2005-09-11T18:16:00.000+02:00

I started drinking. He is nothing more than me. Water. When and how she knows, she is specialized, nothing special, just specialized. What if the whole crazy stuff around Kafka is just a stupid thing, total misunderstanding? What. Just keep smiling and shut up. No more, am sick and tired. Stinky weather with the queery leather. My toothbrush is dirty of horse matter, have no clue how to clean it up, cause my teeth are as well dirty, so I cannot clean my tootbrush with my teeth, nor the vice versa way. Maybe merely the dirties might change their homes, maybe that's just their destiny fate. Open up the fetters. Something is simply moving. Outside the window, scratchy snatches.

Opening the window, it is a hot summer night. The snow is falling, children went home, they'll build a snowman from a sand tommorow, hopefully the wind will help them. All the way it is, it is night. Sending it here and there, from one direction to another step, steppy stony variant. Sending you a sad send.

2005-09-11T18:15:00.000+02:00

sitting behind a glass, waiting for a sparrow
in a heated car, waiting for a dead fly
and the death is giving life, little glance
glancy dance, just smoothly smile

2005-07-01T16:51:00.000+02:00

This is Edward Stachura, the writer which touches me most and whose works are full of life, invention. You can find some of his works translated into English here:

http://duszenko.northern.edu/stachura/

A polsky tu:

http://www.stachura.prv.pl/

orwellistic variation

2005-07-01T16:46:00.000+02:00

"The animals listened first to Napoleon, then to Snowball, and could not make up their minds which was right; indeed, they always found themselves in agreement with the one who was speaking at the moment."
George Orwell, Animal Farm, 1946

* * *

Breaking the borders which fetter your thinking, opening hidden gates, corrupted words, poisoned language, lets clean it again, lets build up a new building, without stones. Perspective chains, there is no devil's tail, just empty space in the middle of a potentionality.