On a Saturday full of engines, reading Michel Serres.

Je ne puis, d’une part, sentir le lisier des porcs, pourtant biodégradable, frémir de nausée à l’orée des papeteries, souffrir d’asthme au voisinage des autoroutes, ouïr aussi, et d’autre part, les bruits d’un avion ou d’une moto sans que mon corps, animalement, comprenne que les émetteurs correspondants prennent, par ces odeurs, ces souillures et ces sons, possession de l’espace qu’ils habitent ou traversent. Des volumes qu’ils envahissent ainsi de leurs issues expansées, dures, matérielles, ou douces comme des abois ou des signes, ils excluent ma présence, mon existence, ma santé, ma respiration, ma tranquillité, bref, mon habitat. Comme tigres et lions, ils menacent ma vie, mes poumons et ma santé… quand ils entrent dans ma niche ou l’espace public; comme coqs ou moustiques, ils sonnent leur victoire sur l’étendue qu’ils occupent. Lesdits émetteurs envahissent; bref, ils s’approprient le monde.

Michel Serres, Le Mal Propre. Polluer pour s’approprier? pp. 42-43

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Quadrat 1 and 2 (Beckett)

Another old favourite, rediscovered this morning.

[“Description: Cloaked, cowled figures wander in patterns to rhythm instruments.” *as well as the rhythmic shuffling of their own feet*]

This piece, more pared down, dare I say, than most of Beckett’s other stage work, opens up [in my mind] an enormous amount of space for reflection on a) choreography b) rhythm c) geometry d) the progressive disappearance of those others we connect to [co-trot with] – and as they one by one walk off stage are we then condemned to persist in our patterns as if the others were still with us rubbing the stage floor with their feet?

[Then, I think about beehives, and about six corners instead of four.]

Be all that as it may. Aside from the existential, it is mainly choreography this piece has made me think about, and I’m someone rapidly made to feel at odds with the unspoken choreography of busy public spaces.

Two Collages [aglimpseof.com]

Two of my old[ish] visual poems [/collages] were snatched up by a glimpse of [an online journal focusing on hybrid and experimental narratives] for their meandering Uncontrollable Issue [go read the whole thing]

What is it? [Art made/occurring/appearing within the disorderly, the uncontrollable environment/body/self. An incident.]

See my pieces here.

Women Who Write the World

Yesterday, I left the house. This has happened before, so let’s refine the previous sentence: Yesterday, I left the house and went to Sheffield.

There was a purpose: the Women Who Write the World event, at Union St.

It was part of the Women in Translation month, an event organised by Tilted Axis press.

Present were Aoko Matsuda, there to discuss her recently published short ‘The Girl Who Is Getting Continue reading