Back

t
o

I
n
d
e
x



Installation view, 2 slide-projectors, 12 min loop-cassette


Loss of Orientation

Text by Jenny Kalliokulju



HOLD UP YOU HANDMIRROR; FACE A GLIMPS OF HUMAN GRAMMAR. OUTSIDE, FAIR COSTUME; FILTH AND DIRT. STEADY HAND; INVENTING THE SYNTAX OF TO-MORROW. RELAX; CONCENTRATE ON ONE POINT IN THIS ROOM. THIS ROOM IS A FORREST. LET YOUR BODY UNWIND, LISTEN TO ITS CRACKING SOUND. YOUR MIND IS A FORREST. I’M TAKING OVER. EATING SYNTAX, INVENTING TOMORROWS. LET YOUR LANGUAGE GO BLACK, OR LIKE FLICKERING LIGHTS AT THE HORIZON. LISTEN TO MY VOICE; YOU SAY THE CHRONOTYPE IS INDEED A CURIOUS LANDSCAPE. YOUR BODY IS A CHRONOTYPE, ALL AROUND YOU LARKS AND OWLS. YOUR BODY AND MY WORDS HAVE BECOME YOUR PRINCIPLE COORDINATES. DECONSTRUCT YOUR NEST. STICK BY STICK. “WHERE I AM” MEANING; CONCEALED. MEANING; I’M HIDING MYSLEF FROM YOU. LISTEN! LET YOUR NEST GO. PUT THE STICKS AND BRANCHES BACK ON THE TREE. VISUALIZE THE TREE. BALANCE YOUR LEG. LET YOUR WIGHT MOVE FROM ONE HIP TO THE OTHER; STANDING TREE POSE. LISTEN! I’M CONCEALD, YET, I AM NOT DEAD. I AM A BIRD. A LEAFY GREEN, DRIED JASMIN. SIT DOG; SINK DEEPER INTO YOUR SOFT CHAIR. SHIFT WEIGHT FROM YOUR LEGS TO YOU BUTT, YOUR BELLY IS HEAVY. FOCUS; SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE INWARDS, TO A DOMAIN YOU DO NOT YET ENCOMPASS. BENDING GRAMMAR, RELAX. THE CONNCETION BETWEEN THE SYMBOLS ARE ALSO THE DISTANCE, YOU SEE; 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1010101010101 1 0 1 OUT OF YOUR WINDOW; WALLS ARE TURNING SOFT. CONCENTRATE; YOU SEE THE TREE, YOU SEE THE LEAFS DISAPEARING ONE BY ONE. INVISIBLE SALLAD GOLD S U N R A eating
B
A
K
L
A
V
A
(REACH < > REACHING)
A FUNDAMENTAL LOSS OF ORIENTATION. KEEPING DISTANCE, IN THE WILDERNESS YOU ARE PROTECTED. GREEN COLORS FADING. YOU THINK YOU’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. YOU THINK YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR OWN FACE IN THE POND. WHITE HAIR? THEY SAY THAT THE FEELING OF BEING LOST IS A DUPLICATION OF ZEN. DOG POSE; PISSING TERRATORY (A TOTAL LOSS OF MANNERS). YOU ARE THE NEW CREATURE. SHINING IN GOLDEN. SAVAGE ONE MIGHT CLAIM. YOUR BODY IS GROTESQUE. RISING LIKE MOUNTAINS. LIKE YOUR IMAGINED LANDSCAPE. YOUR BELLY IS RISING; BURSTING WOMB, FORMING A SPINE. TORSO EMERGES, FLESH AND INSIDES PEEKING OPEN YOUR MOUTH; EATING TOMORROW’S GRAMMAR. MELATONIN RISES. YOU FEEL DIZZY. POLYPHONIC TRAVELLER; INSIDE THE MACHINE. RELAX; MATERIALIZE YOUR MIND. GROWING SPACE, YET AGAIN; YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE. YOU SAY; I HAVE NO BEGINNING NOR END. EVERYTHING SERVES AS GRAMMAR. YET, NO ONE SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING. OR, THE MOST IMPORTANT SOUND IS THE GAP BETWEEN THE LETTERS. SOUNDS LIKE MUNCHING CRISPY B A K L A V A

STARTINGPOINT; THE END. NO PORT NOW; EXPORT. DECREATION OPENS. I STOP. GOGOL? NO GOGGLES; FIXING RETINA.THE NOCTURNAL SETTING EVOKES A CANOPY; YOUR BODY WHITE. THIS VERSE DEPENDS ON A SERIES OF PUNS-AND WITH THEIR POTENTIAL TO COLLAPSE ORDERS OF MEANINGS, PROVIDING THE KIND OF ORDER THAT ENACT ITS OWN COLLAPSE. YOU ARE THE COLLAPSE. LETTERS LOST OF TRANSLATION. IN YOUR CHAIR, STAY CALM, STAY INSIDE YOUR SAVAGE COSTUME. UNWHOLESOME EATER’S FACE. VENEREALEE’S FLESH, ROTTING AWAY PEICEMEAL.YOU CAN SMELL YOUR OWN BODY DECAYING. YOU’VE BEEN IN THAT CHAIR FOR A LONG TIME NOW. FEELING YOUR INSIDES BREATHING A NEW DAWN. FEEING YOUR BLOODCIRCULATION DARK POISONOUS STREAMS. LISTEN! HERE YOU SIT. OR GO? HENCE, SUCH RESULT SO (TOO) SOON, AND FROM SUCH A BEGINNING; BUTTON MISSING? COLLAPSE, AGAING. COMING APART SEEMS, CRACK, CRACKPOT CRAZY, YOUR BODY IS FRAGILE (VERY) YOU ARE – LOST OF ORIENTATION. WITH NO LANGUAGE TO TRANSLATE YOU; WHO ARE YOU? SOME BEINGS LEAVE THEMSELVES AS FUSIONS. RELAX, YOU WONT.


2#

A: Where are you from?
X: Different places.
A: You remind me of someone I use to know. Familiar face you have, where were you born?
X: silence

The ones who leave are different from those who are satisfied
I’m Restless, you see, wandering from place to place without leaving traces.
Living in circulation
My world is without limits. My world is
Progression, holograms and electrical impulses.

Space being –
therefore my body is, therefore I

Am constantly in transformation -
Inside the big machine, you become mute
You’re melting, all bodily languages mixes in the machine

The becoming of
A monstrous body?


“After a while it got easier you see
To show up at new places, after a while

I learned to mask myself
Or Existing
in a more “discrete” manners”



(10 ^ -30 to 10 ^ -40 g#)

People who live nomadic lives
In the land of shadows
Communicating with swelling veins
Those who walk long distances for fast transient meetings -
bodies moving
The progression is
Re-births into other systems? Or
Just re-flexes on the surface. You say;

“This is the wilderness
We are the new creatures
Shape shifters
Dancing ghosts of Lemuria
Here is no nostalgia,
You see, only the language of change”

You move your body, constantly changing poses

Your language, like your body; grotesque
Vessel with veins
Pulsing
Constantly unease, feeling too alive, feeling
Too afraid of dying

Faces and bodies, places and times melting together into a collage of waving arms
Bending your body, making it synchronize with the rythm

Some claims; “have seen Me in places, in other people’s faces”.
I never remember where I've been.


A: Maybe it was at one of the parties my parents use to have when I was a kid, maybe you where one of those kids that just came along and sat at the tableend steering. Not touching the food. Just empty gazing out through the window.
X: Who are you anyways?
A: Me?
X: Yes, you. Who are you?
A: …Well
I am
I am
You.



(REPEATING >< VENTILATION)
Face to face we are watching each other
The blood crust connects us
Our minds intertwining, or just for a moment of vagueness or two ...
You do not exist, I have told you today.
I do believe you are an incarnation
of the states of my psyche; ¨
don’t laugh,
by tomorrow we’re split,
I love you, I know you know it, at times
anyways
Tomorrow I’ll go now and
You’ll stay.



(#F)
This is the new landscape; global semiotics.
A geographical structure of messages,
Emails,
echoes of phone calls,
bills
A commoditized language?
“Sometimes it’s like I have no connection with the ground at all.”
Everyone's feet hovering over the highway,
The road we all seem to follow.


A: There are times when I feel emptiness.
X: Why is that you think?
Your version of reality might not match
What’s on the map? Or, what is a voyage?
A: I thought I saw someone yesterday, someone that looked a lot like me.
You say;
“Your version of reality lives inside you. Your memory is inside you
Through years ahead, your memory will become your story.”
What is then, the limit of perceiving? Can we witness our own destruction?
From another point of view,
Remembering something,
Memory is; looking over your shoulder
Witnessing our own destruction


A: But the person I saw wasn’t me.
X: Who was it?
A: I don’t know.


Your hair looks funny, turning white.
Can I erase you from my memory?
If you do, you’ll have this moment … right now. That’s it.


X: Without you, who Am
I?



(5#)
A: There were times I felt hollowed out, lightweight and cold.
X: I heard you say something similar before
A: Silent.
X: How far is it?
A: Hard to say.


Distance has become a
psychological condition.
Distance is no longer a measure of time, nor space.
Distance is; a meadow of daffodils
Just an idea, an always changing idea.

Your body is the vehicle, moving, dancing, transforming language going -
seems all hazy to me know. Past bedtime. I don’t know where my body ends or your body starts.

The journey is
Up up up up - downdownown –
Through this endless road

Until you get to the end.
That is the truth about the distance

“Things are different now
I say to you, feels like we’re all floating
somewhere over the earth
Controlled, or studied by synchronous …
Swimmers?
Stop making jokes!
What is time?
Time? Is a strange fellow …
Time is tide
is water and
the semiotics of the moon.
Moon is
white faced future,
facing our pale future corps


A: It’s the twentieth night in the row that you come to see me,
talking to me. In the corners of my room I smell your sweat, in my mirror I see you.
X: By wandering; moving your body from one place to another, can time be stretched out?
A: hard to say, feels like I don’t know who - where I am anymore, like I’ve lost my sense of orientation.



(Youtube-clip#)
A: How far is it?
X: Far enough.
A: And how long will it take?
X: An eternity. Until you get there.
A: Am I ready?
Was this really everything, IS THIS IT?
X: Whoever can answer the truth
the truth is
Nothing I guess. Just connecting dots and counting stones. Just a time and space filler.
In the ground; there’s too many voids there, places to put stones, connecting bodies. They say fiction part of it - The memory another.
A: And language?
X: It’s -
This is it now.
A: I don’t understand.
X: Let’s do it again.

Or just backwards. Again.