手势检查第二: 捋头发 | gesture study 2: hair-ing
理变奏曲 variations on lǐ
filmed in new york city, autumn 2006. summer 2008 finally got around to… thank you sim-chan and aka-chan and D-chan!
Posted by 丫 | reply »for severality, on fragility 1
To sustain fragility, a stamp on the box or the curiosity of half-opened contents. She says it is a trauma, beyond or prior to event, infliction in mere seconds or unconscious years, is p(h)ys(ch)ical.
He shudders in late afternoon half-sun. Sometimes, somewhere else and longing to be repeated, never repeated, she recoils, not horror. Those prickling sparks of the nerves they call falling asleep, …i’m exhausted.
Fragility means that you might find yourself not on the subjective level (coming, pre-, before you), we are partial to (one another) and we are partial (a many subjectivities). The pieces lay strewn and ambitious! What is already fragmented can beg a prism-like movement, sometimes slight twisting of the wrist to open a new light, from Levinas’ very first illumination (but in the refusal of darkness).
Once we saw three at once, a tunnel lining an enormous thundering sky, and we drove through them all.
—-not a means to an object, we pass through what passes through us. Fragility, the broken glass after the break, under but begging the open, makes transparent without needing to be seen. But it is not concealment as such (those chatting at the bar simply do not notice), nor a state to induce fascination (stillness, displacing life) so much as laying bare, not bare or just being there, in the middle of an ongoing process. The prolongation of fragility is not a state of being, but may find itself in the invisible inconsistencies of ritual, the anticipation or the suspension of an event. Its fascinance can never be an isolated moment, for it can only exist in relation to the other, as cause or affect or the relinquishing notion of wanting to be part of all of you. That longing, whether in pain or love, is more real that real itself, for it is the realm of the possible-not-yet.
Fucking phantasy! I owe you one.
1 Martin Hielscher, Hiroaki Kanai, Sean Smith, Fotini Lazaridou-Hatzigoga, Pierre Huyghe, Bracha Ettinger
Posted by 丫 | reply »他说女权
他说的，太… 什么的，所有小东西放了正好，我们每一个都有正好的位子。她的头发散了好看一点。 所有的东西之间都有点间隙，空间的，时间的。冬天也有花开。没想到云雪的天也开冷朗的一种黄色。这也意外的，突然在江边开始化妆。所有是上下文的。我们喝咖啡。换位子。聊。那个字是flaneur. 但不知道flaneur有没有包括女的。我们都有正好的位子吗？
冬天也有花开…
Posted by 丫 | reply »after “The Laugh of the Medusa”: Je suis femme, mais ceci n’est qu’une tentative l’écriture féminine (still learning)
When she was young, she wanted to be a writer. She wasn’t yet a woman, and thus had not yet learned of what she was capable, and of what she shouldn’t be capable. When one is young, emotions and outbursts and all of the new knowledge of the world flow freely as growth, sexless and unafraid. When one is an infant, there is nothing more enchanting, more delicious, more upsetting, or more terrifying than that of the present moment; this is the fearlessness of childhood feeling. Her words, as intensities, would do that to her, unleashed like her stories and streams and “a world of searching”.
But it was ironically when she entered the university that she was suddenly labeled a foreigner in her world of words. Not to say she wasn’t included. She could now count herself equally among the Others: female and foreign.
Not until many years later did she realise that this was how easy it had been to shut her up! Her youthful a-sex grew out of her body, and she grew into her silence instead. The spaces within her head had always been loud, but now the reverberations cancel one another so that she forgets, so that she-grown-up-into-woman grows into herself, and that writing that had previously inscribed her childhood fantasies now inscribes into itself, disappearing like the folds of kneaded dough that slowly squash themselves with each turn of the baker’s hand.It was in this sense that she lost the ability to write herself. Writing, as in the inscription of mind to her body, such that each was closed in turn (“Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time”). She had not the idea, young woman, where it was she should find herself: in mind, in body, in words. She had learned to segregate her many selves along this process of becoming woman, because that is the nature of woman, giver, to be able to be “for you what you want me to be at the moment you look at me in a way you’ve never seen me before: at every instant.” At every instant she gives herself away; she, escapee of herself.But to where would she escape? And if she was constantly running, would she ever find? Or does finding necessitate the specificity of time-space-body-mind-word? (“The woman arriving over and over again does not stand still.”) She wanted to be everywhere, just as she wanted to be everyone, to be that “desire-that-gives”. There is a balance to be had in the giving of herself and finding it in anOther. But perhaps she had given herself away too much already.In being everyone, everywhere, in wanting to love, she could not clearly differentiate anymore, because “she doesn’t ‘know’ what she’s giving, she doesn’t measure it”. She was paralysed in that flight. Her communication fell through to a generalised dis-course (lack of inter-course!). She had lost her voice. She had given herself up to the signifiers speaking through her.(“In one another we will never be lacking.”) This consoled her. But it still gave no indication of direction, or balance, her own becoming, and said nothing of where, and how much “she comes in, comes-in-between herself me and you”. But if we can no longer distinguish between ourselves and the Others, she thought, if there is no outside, no distinction, no sex——then maybe we can simply lay equally, yes, “in one another”. Multiplicitous, such that there is nothing given that is not also received——not in order to, but simply, in between ourselves, me and you. This does not imply a disappearance of either identity but a recovery of the Self in the Other. Giving then outlines a wholly newfound space, still, without the requirements of preposition, the directions from you, toward me or at you. Giving, like words as they are being put to paper: “We’ve come back from always.”
And suddenly, she thought to write everything down…
——–
[All quotes taken from Hélene Cixous, "Le rire de la méduse", 1975]
Posted by 丫 | reply »a koan for the distant neighbor near 雍和宫, for you to give? 我都无奈了 (a gossip column)
the story goes like this: Master Nansen notices that all of the monks in the temple have been playing with a kitten they have discovered, but this small kitten becomes a source of contention between different sides of the temple, and the monks of the East Hall and West Hall begin to quarrel. Nansen takes the kitten and says to them, unless anyone can give a good reason why i should not kill this cat then i will have to do so. No one is able to voice a reason to save the kitten’s life, and the master subsequently beheads it. Later, when Joshu returns to the temple from an errand, the priest says to him it was such a pity he had not been there earlier, that he might have been able to save the kitten’s life. Upon hearing the story, Joshu takes his shoes off and places them on his head.
“a jouissance and trauma event.” rediscovering wikipedia (she had not been to the art fair, though always knew who was sleeping with whom), an answer, an answer, thinking as praxis. three meals a day, always a vegetarian option. (he’ll be moving to new york soon, G train commute) new word-constructs in the evening make up for things vaguely said, (the athletic body can’t touch his toes, thinking about serenity, sunburned amidst snow) an evening affronting thoughts, but 如果这样呢？ can cultural translation do what you do (a builder bounds up the mountain, jeans torn at the inseams), and would it be offensive——no competitive——his blind light, the other’s parrot, what you didn’t say may very well have been an ideology, too (he smiles so sweetly, nodding, Vertigo). but it moved me, it moved me, almost to toes but not quite yet, knees in pain, and it occurred that simone may have found it a warm-up kind of activity (pick another person in the room, and without them knowing it, follow them, follow them until the signal then try to grab at any cost), but physicality on time-delay is an encounter event, too. though we’re not yet feminist, nor poiesistic, and matrixial, hmmm… if it were so idiosyncratic and marginal, will it still exist in the end? (she said one gets used to the sight of dead bodies, and her eyes turned green) still have not seen Céline et Julie Vont en Bateau but have been thinking about it for years. the years don’t cut it, oh thirty, counting down, cut me out, 放新学的字在桌子上, words with slashes in between (she said he was like a New York painter in the 50s, but he prefers New Brunswick), what works like that , no more fixing up, please, “the possibility with a project is just to try.”
