baikonur kosmodrome - an experiment with a decaying signal
Manifesto: Reclaim Lost Days
This is ours. Ours. Days and days and days of scribbling, of answering phones, of staring at a screen, of meetings must not be lost. We cannot let them steal it all away. Those notes in the meeting, remember? Not minutes but poems….we want these words. They prove that you are not alone. Share them here.
We want what fills the sides of your reports, margins reclaimed by the marginalized. We need your images, sparks of freedom. Light in the fluorescent grey. Share them with us and with yourselves.
Your muttered words…ruined power points…altered projects…everything that rises up in you against those grey things that some days you cannot do. From boardrooms, subcommittees, from your cubicle, from your office. You are there, I am there, we are there. We are not alone: our words, visions, cries and light must not, must never, be lost.
Welcome. Please share these sparks here - words, images, sounds - all freedom, all release. It is yours.
All followers of this Tumblr may post: • Submit reclaim lost days
This is ours. Ours. Days and days and days of scribbling, of answering phones, of staring at a screen, of meetings must not be lost. We cannot let them steal it all away. Those notes in the meeting, remember? Not minutes but poems….we want these words. They prove that you are not alone. Share them here.
We want what fills the sides of your reports, margins reclaimed by the marginalized. We need your images, sparks of freedom. Light in the fluorescent grey. Share them with us and with yourselves.
Your muttered words…ruined power points…altered projects…everything that rises up in you against those grey things that some days you cannot do. From boardrooms, subcommittees, from your cubicle, from your office. You are there, I am there, we are there. We are not alone: our words, visions, cries and light must not, must never, be lost.
Welcome. Please share these sparks here - words, images, sounds - all freedom, all release. It is yours.
All followers of this Tumblr may post: • Submit reclaim lost days
some more thoughts on the nature of clowns
Submitted by zacodin:
Clowns are liminal figures, trapped on the borderline between yin and yang, darkness and light, bringing dark into light and light into dark. Clowns represent the confusing Other in terms we can accept but they do not change the nature of the Other and they do not allow us to forget the Other.
The harlequin mediates between death and life, the hobo clown between the shade world of poverty and the shining brittle world of consumption.
So where are we now, as the world spins on and on in ever tightening temporal spirals? What clowns ascend from the depths to caper for our amusement? Juggalos. Jackass. Juggalos have welcomed the clown role, a predetermined destiny for the poor underclass, mediating between money-obsessed, information-obsessed middle class society and the otherworld of unemployment, Faygo, ICP, and trailer parks.
Jackass mediates between internet horror 4chan accident victims and our world. Jackass softens the horror, juggalos soften the yawning gulf.
But what about other clowns? The stereotypical ‘child’s’ clown, terrifying children and adults alike at parties and parades, bearing questionable candy and balloon animals? They are detritus of an earlier day…the faded static of an older signal that seems to be based in whole or part on circus clowns, 50’s TV clowns like Bozo et al whose exaggerated features and strange behavior, mediated between a child’s world and the adult world. These Bozo-style clowns, adults in fantastic make-up act as a screen between the bright world of childhood mass consumption and the apparently somber world of adult concerns. There seems to have been a very strict dividing line between these worlds, a line that blurs and blurs as we get closer to the present, made obvious by later television ‘clowns’ like Peewee Herman (incidentally mediating between times as well late 50s/early 60s – technologically obsessed, conformist, cold war; early 80s technologically obsessed, conformist, cold war). The clown becomes more human, clearly an adult playing a child’s role culminating with Mr. Bean, an adult with child-like elements, a brown-clad clown with a child’s bed sheets and a teddy bear.
As the borders between the worlds diffuse the clown’s appearance softens. The Otherworld no longer has a gatekeeper, a dweller on the threshold, because that Otherworld has slipped into this one.
David Metcalfe & Zac Odin - the last days of summer
this ghost descends…vivian davies’ haunted white light remix
this ghost descends
i am picking at bones (via nordraven13) music @mthing visual @davidbmetcalfe words @zacodin
i have seen these…
it was a bad day. looking out of my office window something i saw balanced something i saw:
I have seen these things today
A baby bird placed at the bottom of the stairs
Alive
By a cat
A baby bird in newly cut grass
Skin peeled back from its neck up
Skull showing
Alive
A shovel slamming into the bird
Small ooze of brain from the side of its head
The bird’s corpse placed into dry grass
Amen
And
A retarded man leaping for joy
In a truck yard
With his mom
Surrounded by semi-trailers
I will not forget
Morning (via nordraven13)
Locked in and locked down
In a malfunctioning brave new world
Where soma only numbs the pain for the middle class.
