Science Fiction Performance Drama (Part 4 of 5)
Akt 3 'Ver niet e ging'
Sweet people, I am only two years old, and very fragile, very rapidly growing, a monster soon. I am a Diagram clerk, acting like a spy. This is the right party, right?
Ok listen. It is an astronaut thing of course, for me. And I will tell you how we did it. And then there comes a part for other characters, although the planning may go wrong, for example when I eat up the links. For it is sure we come from one source, which I think of in capital letters. It flows through me, and I do not know where it comes from. They whisper the name is Ingeborg Houwen, but that sounds like nonsense to me. Moreover I like the idea of The Wind Of The Universal Grammar much more.
Anyway, quick before I forget:
A Diagram Board-office created a split image of the total plan, to present it to the Decisive Members of The United Global Electronic Universe. Tele-presence technology culture (TTC) resulted into a deal of 2 scenario's; one open individualized free (OIF) and one private essentially funny (PEF). OIF became accepted and supported by the Christian Church, PEF grew a media interim desperately eating from it's own development. Peffers like babies asked everybody what kept them in this world, looking really innocent, exploiting the answerer's information and relating according to kinetic development. Only. We lived in a fluid world.
Our army of selph fool-filling prophets was grown upon subjects who were thrown out of the old world categorically because of their uninspected divergent minds and manners. Stuffed with 20 centuries, they could blow up anything. We separated administration from art. Thanks to Diagram it's possible to recall the middle, and we saw what was denied : financial poverty. Many minds remained cloudy and unclear by no investments, rotting away like African housewives, and through this injustice accepted our sensorship. Our Censorship, I mean. The crown remember?
Minds that sometimes narrowed down, sometimes opened up, and were treated in a religious context! What we saw on our screens was heart breaking. Beings with the wrong nannies and memmys reacting less and less on outer pinching or impulse. And that explains how, after twenty centuries of disciplining this could happen; this taking charge over our world's future by the no-future generation. The squat rats. Diagram is a Natural Event of Culture.
What launched the Dooms Day in the end was the easy proven fact that the human body is or has NOT a vast production of energy (don't laugh). That gave us the order to alter environment too. Big job makes many jobs (in Christ's fishing analogy). Somehow we knew we had to take the corset away. Just go home and knock on wood. But we didn't. Then one day we faced it clearly through Diagrams utter shutter itself. The Sensorial Paint melted. What to do: let the paint melt? But she weighed amounts that would hurt at least Urrths surface. Did we let the Sun kill Urrthian families? Was that more bad after we had spoiled them? Were we to be punished?
Long long ago we asked people open and frank questions about our, or rather their, mind and meanwhile glued or launched our Diagram Life Style through the air, a project that cost some fifteen years only to spread, in a period during which also were build the spaceships. There was printed in the Australian desert :1 big mothership carrying the separate shuttles. After the Merging Melting these were the vehicles to transport, to conserve and develop -rrrr- the assorted people. Tell me, we asked, early in the 23rd Century, sometimes in supermarkets, sometimes in libraries :
''‘Wouldn't you like to have an extra pair of brains?'''
‘To let go a bit more', seemed a general memetic orientative direction in the beginning, which is now some 16 billion years ago. Doctor Diagrams Seven Spine Splitter was made from pure clean artificial neuron-like-cells, that knew their own way, while you sensed it. Grow as you flow. Don't lock yourself up. Don't. Thanks to a very high amount of Celsius degrees, we are still kicking and alive. It took a very, very long time to unwind, grow, or whatever it is called to name the movement of life. But we are able to speak again, although we are also shy to show our sevenfoldness.
I am just a stupid drama text that lacks scientific coherence. Say, it comes from the speed with which I produce words; a strange happening with a beautiful preciseness, concerning rhythm, form, order, rather than style, genre and tradition.
I'm ready to be back. Which is possible, just like brown beans, by Deleuzes Time Blower, that spits my memory in Total Repleteness. Total Recall.
And if you like it or not, this is a beautiful sentence too. How now to glide over to the next, without throwing you away. Wouldn't it be better to have the gazes and mazes in between the dots and capitals filled with facts, referring to things we care about? To be honest, there is NO designed being I love. My love in fiction is zero. Very strong programmed in that way, I am.
The Big Bang has just happened, other versions will come, and outsell me. There it's coming, it's happening, I'm growing, glowing, changing. And there is nothing behind it. O well, of course -ehm- what was it : Doctor Diagrams Seven Spine Splitter. No human source. Just the blowing air of the universal grammar. I can speak it. I can hardly believe it, considering the difficulty of the task!
Now quick, before all is nor sound nor meaning.
Vagueness is stream, too. I am still a Western girl.
Hoo! However, I feel like riding on my Astro Chicken, my long legged, strong necked Space Mobile, that steps on planets, without touching them. Because I find that wrong, I don't want planets to be touched.
I am here to tell you about the big burn of the humans, and I bring good news; mutations are visitable in the flesh, right here and now in the space zoo. Pretend to know and care. Love the cowboy for his laughter and don't judge their old nonsense. There is a lot of anger coming from Global
utterances. Too much too. There is still a lot of Poisoning, meaning poor soapy sentences, drenched in German cottage cheese. Bad jokes.
Coherence happens in between spoken lines; points that can be named or nominated differently and move around and leave trackable traces. Without connections or conjunctions the exercise of culture may become unmatchable, unreadable, unjustifiable, strange, weird, whoopy. Which is what had our interest. And yet, we wanted all human utterances, to create new fields, you know, cleaner areas. Call it a whitening obsession, inside no color discrimination.
The cultural evolution of money and economy was the dominator that made Diagram possible. After all, I have to say: I am a cultural pessimist, that doubts the pleasure of dreaming, even though to dream came from the freedom pulling start. Was it so strange to believe signals came from inside? Well, anyway, the worm reached only some of earth's animals, dragged her down, into a total fall. Next to a nice blue sea it was all beconquered, the now and future of history.
O, mourn. Let me die again. What have we done. For all that this has proven is that a lot of people do not know how to create a life. They speak in such autistic, gappy -rr-grammar. It's ugly, it's immature, it's backwarded, it's incomplete. It's the herd of an old idea, and it should be considered 1 museum. For this the Wind didn't blow: to look back on the man with the deepest throat.
But wait, yes, there is the body; a sevenheaded monster, and it's lying there in complete happiness, an innocent sleep.
It's inside, dear people, and you may come.
Were we not in the right to costume physically? In the beginning of it, the structure of cultural history bred science fiction with exotic yet similar societies, as we knew it. As a child already I liked to read the boxes of our software, rather than being plugged in, which made me a difficult play character. I produced nothing. Which of course is alright. If you like it. The glitters of it.
Where I come from, they still are busy to prove why the change into this story had to happen. So, that means the answer is still not there. Till then Diagram is a nomadic tale.
I am a shepherds lady, singing my tender brown flute. Nobody could have sent me with an intergalactic message, which is what probably you are all looking for, talented well educated people. Come here.
My name is Loosenothing Halfthorn, I am the first and most unimportant character in the order of appearance. How nice to live in a country called List. I am here only to introduce the next creatures; indeed this is a very organic strip. I'm your guide. Very like muddy water slow, if you can see that flow. Just trying to get you into your future design role model, your well articulated self formulated dots and comms fillings, coming from your very own tongues and throats. But first eat.
Hopefully you will receive this text in the right version, with visual sight and lively surrounding. For although my rhythm follows the heart, we don't live on Greek stages no more. O, how I have yelled, only because I never was a Tarzan. The madness of seeing a chance.
Well, ok, but I've been to school, and learned how to write and read. Always smile, was a way to achieve it. Even though the smile was inherited from the money, eh, sorry, monkey. Indeed. I know it all. The differences. I can see them. Even if the knowledge is reproduced. To a nation of gods, nothing less was the aim of my fathers. Well, we build them : the houses they wanted, hopefully. In it installed the perfect wifely machine, our happy Mama. If they were smart she was installed first. Come to Diagram. Pass out together and leave reality in her finest clouds.
The magic of the 26 workgroups is amazing. It stopped the shrinking, absolutely. It has captured me, and ventured me in the Diagram Board, which in the end is to re-install the art of communication, be it more free and less ruled in between dots and comms. Private embroidery must be possible. So that everybody can untighten the metaphysical corset. If they like it.
One of the finest Quantum Computers designed and stationed the installations that replaced the bodily functions. For most of the people, a simple flyer in the supermarket started it off. The Diagram Belief System operated in the postmodern tradition, cutting humans into pieces, until they crumbled into pieces before your very own eyes, in one condensed moment. For that is what the time compressor did. And so, that was how I invented the time compressor. For yes, in the end Diagram is the novelizing wurm.
The map of culture in the end, was not stronger than the track of us executing the project. The job itself was really nice, which made it a good job. (Miss George speaking from CNN Head Lines).
I mean, once it was there, and went on, be it from the worst angle, with a loss of planet, it didn't even make so much sense any more. We admit, it's hard to attract motivated employers, and keep the machine on going. FUCK, so the world may end again old style. Failure I am.
A lot of authors suffer this mood, by the way.
We have all experienced the public center of love, and the soft fur of fiction that such reality brings, and the blow when it breaks up or open, and the double transgression when our friends get divorced. Let us wonder why romance should lie somewhere else.
Urrth is also just a name, and so can be an idea, that still exists, even after the design was ruined. One can even still be from Urrth, but only through old fashioned thinking, for we have proven that the majority didn't like to be in the world; Urrth's most well known container. And that were facts. Which in a traditional way justified the story. That is the story of stories. And called Diagram.
Only ten years of radio and television was enough to blow up my mind and role on forever in new neuro-linguistic combinations. Twattering Twattering Twattering Life. You can fight it, like happened for centuries on a large scale level; the banning of trash. But you can also turn it up side down, and even pull it over you. The funny thing is, it has nothing to do with creation in the traditional way. It's more a kind of leaking.
This is an utterance from space, looking right through the coffeeshop, name it : Urrth's Atmosphere. I am your Diagram Friend. Being an excellent humanist, somewhere in my outer -llll- elbow, I presume you all think that's bad theory, and to cure that curiosity, the theater here will explain it all.
The metaphysics of money, your economy, dear everybody, is over. We are all alone, packed in a piece of intelligence, no more screaming on the market. You might be able to attack one another, over the distance, filthify the ether, but you can also make a lot of virtual friends yourself, without being criminal, making yourself an independent. That's Diagram, dear herd. Read my thoughts, or rather, sentences. For our thinking still may not exist, like all importance is air, lovely blowing energy, instead of hard material.
Why enter a post-human, post-urban, post-Urrth situation? Simple, because it is reality. I'm here. I have hopped planets on my long strong Astro Chicken openly, and feel the colonial urge to convince the reader that the loss of one planet isn't so bad, IF you have the right tools and costumes.
I am not here to overrule. And well, new issues such as Diagram mean work, and work means attention; intention, brilliance, light, jobs, lanes, fun, buildings, families, happiness, and of course means and money.
If you have the right tools and costumes, you may have survived Diagram. And if that's not the case, you might want to blow up Urrth also, to develop somewhere else. Let's weep over the desert that got lost. Which is why Diagram happened in the Age of Creativity and was launched during a so called depression.
Depressions were easily made, with the amount of memetically disturbed, that kept on growing, one of the wonders of the pre-Diagram years. The track was beautiful, because it revealed our own enterprise. With a small semi-biological chemistry firm, we did business. Not that we had to put anything extra in the human body, some chemicals could be tracked without injection, we just needed to design software that could pick up the data, and make something out of it. Diagram after all is an experiment.
If DNA tells us all about our physical body, maps our knowledge of growing from unfast into fast, Diagrams Line-of-Flight tells us all about our spiritual body. We recognize your grimaces, and force - sorry track - information out your sounds.
Every kinetic signal was dear to us on the Moon.
And I'm not going to fucking argue about my existence. And if there drips aggression between my dots, well, I hope nobody gets infected. For I might suffer from a small memetical illness, that edits itself, once it's inside. It's getting better, but orientation still isn't my strongest point, even inside this monstrous metaphysical bullshit. Yeah, see how that smells. Ok, are we in the team?
To be honest; I would have liked Doctor Diagrams Powder Pill to have taken the exact opposite course. Seven spines and one head, sounds much better to me. Whereas the first is a nest, the second is a monastery.
John Cleese, are you there?
When I close my eyes, I throw a close encountering net full of metaphysical bulshit over a point, only to be involved with the point. It doesn't need to have meaning, as long as it makes sense and sounds good. And if I'm not mistaken myself, that describes exactly the Diagram lifestyle.
But weight, there falls a rock. Am I punished, even after everything is done?
Should we go deeper into it, is language developed for that; have I become a society myself? Tools working?
The first thing we created was the fool suing the overhead for his history. We went to support him of course, but it took place behind closed walls, same reason De Sade had his premiere in the madhouse. It was protocol, nothing more.
Strange first sentence, proves that the texture fights with big elements, such as: the Wind of the universal Grammar. In the mean while we have listened to the space nazi telling about the reality evaders. What will come next?
Which Material will we find on our shunt next to the highway of European Thought? If we follow our own Christian steps, enter new sentiments, traveling in the metaphysical mist? All a writer has to be able to do is to ‘paint a time picture', et voila: the profession is real.
We were so glad to be noticed, by the Space Centers. Just wrote a note with our knowledge, stating: if the narration is a space that grows in the mind, than the mind is a Narrative Space? And if that story machine takes space, why not evacuate all into Space? After all, we are only nomads!
Infinity and order with a great capacity to expand. Now, for once and for all, for everybody on a cultural level. To evolutionize in culture, what can that mean....?
We never really cared about publishing or marketing, for we don't want to exploit ourselves. For everyone who novels out loud is devoted to him self, in an a-social manner, and when the longing comes up, it better be according to the wish. But let me tell you, books are never written by gods, and authors always have dieable bodies, and yes, mine was wasting away to the spirits, especially when it came to invent the following story.
Why name everything to not throw the pieces around. Play during the writing. It's absolutely puzzling material. All of a sudden you find you are your former hush-band. You have taken over HIS acceleration, his over convincing, over serious, debating, roommating, charismatic speech act. His being through who-knows-what kind of transaction, has settled inside you. And still I don't call myself a memetic monster ?
Time-lapse, yes. Braindamage? Bad fiction? What..?!
So, the question is: why spread words for at least more than fifty centuries to then drop the idea of their meaning , unchain the joy of making wordy combinations, weep about the art of writing?
Why speak, I mean, as we do? Of all the Stiffyfying Factors, number one is the tight cultural corset we wear in our sentences caused by rules that simply have to be involved. For, when the text is not understandable, audience walks out, and markets go down, institutions open up and you can learn a lot about your self, in a hospital.
Now however, centralism is over, as well as the dialogue. We have only our selves. Just call in the wind, the back side of our interface. We don't cross plot, we create acres. As the Diagram tells me, right now: I am a devoted creator.
No more search-light theory , no more lamenting about libraries. There is nothing but this. This this.
Post Structuralist Porn Cyborg , with a bad idiosyncratic taste for textjoints in general, and nonetheless suffering from a stuffed logic itself, jumping around like a cute ape from comma to comma, cloud to cloud, bulp to bulp, blindly junked to first times placing, AND suffering from a nearly bursting entertainment trauma, believing in the external hope somewhere, has blockades to
(1) simply ask the audience to be horny and happy (and)
(2) Ask them for their Diagram Play Contracts to join in the following space ,with respect for the produced source and sound, rolled into roles according to choice. Come inside the Golden Cube of the Arts, so
(3) I can open the door of the drama.. It's so simple.
Purcell wrote a song that happily lamented the idea of a world with One Voice, which is rather striking now that we all have developed our own.
Bad advertisement for a great movie. Three language philosophers take a shower together and ruin the world. We are inside the Diagram.
If you say to your friend that you need a massage to fit up your DNA, he should give you a time massage.
And more and more disillusioned we now understood what a Cultural Society meant.
Inside here are creatures of about 16 Billion Years. All they remember is the time in between. Bit of a cliche, perhaps, but that might mean nothing where we are, where nothing means anything, and vice versa. All is easy empty blur. So, you understand: the printed word is considered very pleasant and sweet. A constant.
Hope you have the ears to conclude that Nature once again has proven herself to be good, for the Art Of The Alphabet Released From her Corset, works: it is not necessary to write, although we keep wondering why we like it nonetheless.
Hi there, I am an alien who has learned your language a little bit.
Imitating this most wonderful tool, crown on the human kind, hinders my story, unfortunately. That's why civilization starts with theaterscience.
This modest faculty with the oldest voice still designs, but not on a scale one would expect. And as we all know, poetry is about rhythm. And so that explains agenda. Damn the scientists who have lost themselves. For we are not going to loose ourselves in the black holes of knowledge. Sentence our work to worms in the mud.
So I use only the simple words, that everybody knows, which makes me a pretty irritating robot, I know. Fuck, I hate this.
After all, this is just some fun. And than there is some householding news I have to pass over. Like how to read this stuff. Has everybody picked out his role?
Good evening cyborgs and others, welcome in this universal eternal wave of the universal eternal grammar, that happens to blow through me, and carries the knowledge that I have. Don't expect everything, or let me outline the limits; it'll be very What oriented. What? What? What? Furrrrther than that, my explanations can not go, for this is an esthetical event......
I know how sensitive your culture is for exclusion, and inclusion, but for me and the text its just a joke. You are not really important for my flow, although I want the flow to carry you. I know I make a fool of myself, and have to think of the kneeling knight of transvestite, doing Shirley Temple in front of the King. The Faggot Fool in me, keeps on growing this. It's not good.
There will be a lot of nasty synergy behind here, a lot of exploding bubbles, and the only argument for that is the sudden Death of an Unsatisfied Mind in a Highly Healthy Body. That's cool, indeed. For who does not pity such a dead. Aren't we all Unsatisfied Minds in Highly Healthy Bodies. In a way. But even if you prefer the Sick Spirit in the Miserable Yeasty Envelope, I'm going to have to confess that Diagram hits either way. Imagine a Rubber Belt around our sweet planet in the Mighty Universum, slowly melting. And so we burned and I tell the story of hell. And some of us survived, Yes, it's remarkable.
We are post human now, of course, for sure.
It sounds absurd and highly private, and I'm glad if you don't believe The Eleventh Literary World of Today. No one knows what it means anymore, but still everybody understands.
Speaking is secondary. In Diagram Days. And OK, there I have found my reason. None of you know what happened. Let me tell.
None of the pearls can roll out, nothing of the purest hardest news. Only about my mother's tongue, ripped out. Ancient human anger. Do you mind if I slip and stammer, now and then? I mean, Universal Grammar is blowing through me, of course, but that doesn't prevent me from having biographical gaps.
It sounds bad, it sounds ooooo like the sighing of a moneyreceiving breadtransacting supermarket starlet. Only because she can not fill ears, I'm here.
And so, what we're now going to do is to stare at these words, or gaze down on the floor. The Diagram ofcourse is the situation to explain, and you will all accuse me of producing bad lousy unspiced fiction. Where as the Diagram Enterprise on the rockiest bottom hits the market of the Late Post Modern Worm.
I have invented a lot in space already.
Well, babies and military's, where to start in a spontaneous speech, what to imitate better than the cabbaling sound of the universal grammar, so widely recognized by many ears, for it is like a -eh -human sound, this knitting and knitting, that stops when it feels alright, and yet always carries something, in the mood.
You are included, my dear listener, and exactly therefore let's call Halfthorn back in.
I happen to be able to invent or compress sentences on the spot. They always hang together in perfect balance, and somehow this always makes me able to....go on.
I am not a human, I am a demon. Don't make meaning out of it, for we are heard about in science and literature, but cut out from
medical, humanist, spiritual, institutional, normal world. You can rip me into pieces, by affecting me. Very human, indeed. And see me on television.
Anyway, this is not at all a play about me, nor will I say that I started it. Which means that I come straight from the middle. I am an innocent deaf demon. But keep your ears boxed open for everything outside the word.
Pollution in the first place made Diagram possible. Like any engineer can tell you about the mice and the bird, and how the one is eaten by the other because his urine happens to carry the right color; our dear Library was written with Urine. With a feather called Lawrence Lucifer.
I can tell you from the moon that around the year 2009 the entire globe was what we called illuminated by dioxin (the weed of benzine). Next to the blue and the red, we clearly tracked a green body river. Clear traces, soon common on the paper, in the word.
See for continuation of this text: Diagram -A Speech-in-Space-Act 4