Textualities; scraps and scalps... 3.

She came

after i successfully had performed the tasks she gave me:

JUMP!

 

Textualities; scraps and scalps... 2.

She came

after i successfully had performed the tasks she gave me:

get ME back my horse!

Textualities; scraps and scalps...1.

She came

 

Textualities; scraps and scalps... ∞

there is a cave

i danced
her out

She came

 

Origen "in the cheap hotel of the world"

 

On this day of turning towards the light... again, anew... words about origen, about Eurynome...
About the dance into bee-ing

"Being touched by myth carries us to the center where the world
is always ending and always beginning again." 
- Michael Mead -

In 1986 I came to a cave in Turkey. The cave goes by many name as is befitting for a mantic place; the cave of  the Nymphs or Aphrodite or Zeus or Pan or Mary or Eurynome... or...
After my first visit I lived nearby for nearly one year. I knew that one day I would come back and dance the place, the speech, the oracle.
2011 in front of the cave, I told the version of the creation of the world which star Eurynome and Ophion, that echoed in my muscles. Then we danced a communion.

These Eurynomic words are beautiful:

Excerpt from Eurynomes sandals by Alice Notley.

I'm the spirit that has come a long way. Try to destroy me,

you'll find I'm permanent. I'll live on, though the people fades,

migrating across desecrated countries with dying climates.

Eurynome my name. Did I create the universe? It emerged

from my head and my feet. I'm not gonna die. 

Time, the man, chose death. But the women, too, stole my jewels, my created beauties; they mocked them the way men mock women. Dragged my necklaces of mountains and rivers across the floor of this heaven, polluting them with their jealously. You cannot create a world of pure splendor, you must dabble in vaginal fluids forming a mucus-and-spire-type image of yourself like us. They ripped the surface from my creation. The ocean turned acid, and the sun nurned us up. The men, the women, who cares who did it?
They all did.
In all creation myths, there is something already there, it is I, dancing and flirting with a scaly other. Even chaos is I. I love your terrors of dakness and who sees it, sex the illusion of two.

The deity who arose from my mind was a dancer. 
That is, moved to a rhythm with prehensible feet - poet - 
big brown toes, a few hairs there. You're dancing on me
said the cosmic dragon, the galactic surface of all we can see.
So fucking what? she said. He wrapped himself around her
intensifying, then killing her freedom - a new rhythm.
I am the goddess of all things. I am about to give birth
to beauty, migrants, savage light of every kind.
The light is bloodthirsty and will smash your collarbone
with a spear or a bomblet. I am the dance and its decline,
dear november day of stinking cars. And the same colors
yellow, orange, my feet stamped out on your surface
pressed from the first metalic tubes. Amber, vermillion kissy
opposites. Goose-turd green.

Everything sprang up right, by my lights, forward and backwards: earth time, a human invention, is slower than bacterial time and faster than my own time, which only does beats. I am, like timeless.

The serpentine filmmaker, either my nemesis or lover,
can be too earnest. We're dying, he says, I intend to direct
a final masterpiece. I want to film thankless chaos
if that's what we're moving towards - or is it death? It
must be a quality within us. I'm bored, I say.
If you cared you'd star in my film. Leave me alone. The world's
ending! Well, I'm thinking...brooding over the first misty damp.

I was there, weren't you? It's just like always, he says
I can't rely on you, after millions of years. Wrap myself around you
so you won't get away. But as you know I'm not just here, I say, I am
everywhere. I'm staying with him in the cheap hotel of the world.

The cinematic allusions and the sandals leads straight to this scene in Life of Brian ... be inspired but do follow your own mythic footsteps in the year to come.

ORDTRÅDLINGAR

(Membraining av Stenvatten)

Ur Word & Thread av Cecilia Vicuña

Word is thread and the thread is language.

Non-linear body.

A line associated to other lines.

A word once written risks becoming linear,
but word and thread exist on another dimensional
plane.

Vibratory forms in space and in time.

Acts of union and separation.

*

The word is silence and sound.

The thread, fullness and emptiness.

(Qiupu Womb av Cecilia Vicuña)

Doris Lessing: Somebody pulled a thread of the fabric...

When the old dichotomized world order unravels
and a new one is stitched together...

"I dreamed marvellously.
I dreamed there was an enormous web of beautiful fabric stretched out. It was incredibly beautiful, covered all over with embroidered pictures. The pictures were illustrations of the myths of mankind but they were not just pictures, they were the myths themselves, so that the soft glittering web was alive. There were many subtle and fantastic colours, but the overall feeling this expanse of fabric gave was of redness, a sort of variegated glowing red. In my dream I handled and felt this material and wept with joy. 

I looked again and saw that the material was shaped like a map of the Soviet Union. It began to grow: it spread out, lapped outwards like a soft glittering sea. It included now the countries around the Soviet Union, like Poland, Hungary, etc., but at the edges it was transparent and thin. I was still crying with joy. Also with apprehension. And now the soft red glittering mist spread over China and it deepened over China into a hard heavy clot of scarlet. 

And now I was standing out in space somewhere, keeping my position in space with an occasional down-treading movement of my feet in the air. I stood in a blue mist of space while the globe turned, wearing shades of red for the communist countries, and a patchwork of colours for the rest of the world. Africa was black, but a deep, luminous, exciting black, like a night when the moon is just below the horizon and will soon rise. Now I was very frightened and I had a sick feeling, as if I were being invaded by some feeling I didn’t want to admit. I was too sick and dizzy to look down and see the world turning. 

Then I look and it is like a vision - time has gone and the whole history of man, the long story of mankind, is present in what I see now, and it is like a great soaring hymn of joy and triumph in which pain is a small lively counterpoint. And I look and see that the red areas are being invaded by the bright different colours of the other parts of the world. The colours are melting and flowing into each other, indescribably beautiful so that the world becomes whole, all one beautiful glittering colour, but a colour I have never seen in life. This is a moment of almost unbearable happiness, the happiness seems to swell up, so that everything suddenly bursts, explodes

- I was suddenly standing in peace, in silence. Beneath me was silence. The slowly turning world was slowly dissolving, disintegrating and flying off into fragments, all through space, so that all around me were weightless fragments drifting about, bouncing into each other and drifting away. The world had gone, and there was chaos. I was alone in chaos. And very clear in my ear a small voice said: Somebody pulled a thread of the fabric and it all dissolved. 

I woke up, joyful and elated. I wanted to wake Michael to tell him, but I knew of course, that I couldn’t describe the emotion of the dream in words. Almost at once the meaning of the dream began to fade; I said to myself, the meaning is going, catch it, quick; then I thought, but I don’t know what the meaning is. But the meaning had gone, leaving me indescribably happy. And I was sitting up in the dark beside Michael, just myself. And I lay down again and put my arms around him and he turned and laid his face on my breasts in his sleep. 

Then I thought: The truth is I don’t care a damn about politics or philosophy or anything else, all I care about is that Michael should turn in the dark and put his face against my breasts. And then I drifted off to sleep. 

This morning I could remember the dream clearly, and how I had felt. I remembered the words particularly: Somebody pulled a thread of the fabric and it all dissolved."