Manifestosis

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Last night I heard consciousness whisper crude jukebox sonnets to an already subdued and lovesick dream, while in between the body slept with ancient purpose, absurd in absent motion, groping sculpted bedsheets with the thirst for intimacy. Primal as the moment of touch. Homesick for reality, warm and sweaty nights of tantric communism. Dreamlike but true. Never forever but long enough to seem, another dimension away. Last night, new age dinosaurs stole our campsite fire while we slept like escapees from a world of bitumen. Singing the winds eaves. Listening like an audience of trees. Moon dancing with gravity nightclub spinning earth beneath, barefeet heartbeats on dust floor of bush grass, speaking touch against bark skin of sacred scars. Eyes opening, risen in morning over mountain fauna, chasing. Species of nativity. Freedom. In the uncontained theme park of this land. Last night I saw this insect crawling through the cracks in the system error, picking honey smacks of consent to chew upon while it delicately manouvres the monoliths of industry and love on the pathway of its fate. And stuck in traffic to the hive one day it looks up yearning to the rippled sky to see an ocean of possibilities, if only it could glide the currency of the wind market, envious of the birds who hold the secret of flight tight within their petal feathered wings like wild satellites of life. They are the acoustic sounding card, early warning signposts to alert the silent spring - tiny angels for the trees, concerned with ecology, forgetting humankind. These are maps torn softly from the ether, translated in visions of shaman poets to language code describe secret webs hidden + beautifully uncivilised, outside of aesthetic tourism, self contained and interdependent. Oblivious as the clouds journey through reservoir and storm drain. Revolutionary as solar winds curving atmospheric sunset aflame, feeding the clean meal of productivity everyday. Retrofit suburbs of permaculture born futurist, dead as the past, foetal in its infancy, awoken and broadcasting the sound of acoustic ecology, bandwidth increasing naturally, protest of lifestyle evolving like modern pagans trading song for the right to be alive. Mystic as a leaf. Chaos fingerprint fallen and scattered carpet. Grounding me.

Shadow Culture Manifesto

Shadow Culture Manifesto(still) in progress: [transcribed from Adbusters #62] 01 This time we’ll get straight to the point. 02 The act of asking for less, not more, is a radical act. It may be the most radical gesture of out times. 03 Even though, you know, it is usually overlooked. 04 Consumption is the foundation of civilization as we know it, far more powerful than, say, religious faith or political ideology. This society stands or falls on consumption. Consumption is our daily contribution and most intimate connection to a doomsday system. 05 Did we say a doomsday system? We did. Can anyone still fail to see that we live in times genuinely different, more fragile and uncertain than ever before? Human societies have faced terrible threats and instability in the past. But not every human society, at the same time, in every corner of the Earth. 06 In exchange for some of us living as the wealthiest and most privileged humans ever to exist, we have fettered ourselves to eye-poppingly complex systems that we depend on for our survival. Trouble being that these same systems are now failing or being actively withdrawn at almost every level. The degree of interconnectedness is incomprehensible. Imagine a castle somehow suspended in the air. It’s walls, floors, turrets and dome riddled with hairline cracks. Where will the first total failure occur? 07 This is the vertigo of collapse. 08 Anyway. Take away the endless growth of consumption and you need to come up with a radically different system. Do you see where each of us has a role in this? 09 On this point, nothing has changed. Certainly not since the day the President of the United States of America told his people to keep on shopping or the terrorists win. 10 (Don't they seem to be winning? Or at least, not loosing?) 11 What is changing is the sense of urgency. We are in the process of imagining the next civilization while living within the existing one. Some came to this purpose because they felt disturbed or repelled by the culture that we live in. Many more, now, are just looking for a softer landing when we go spinning off the ragged-ass end of this falling star. 12 There's a wild kind of energy to it, a tearing off in all directions. The proof is in, again, that the key component of advance in any sphere - innovation - has nothing to do with private interest or ownership or the exchange of paper money. 13 We are inventing a way of life with less. We are asking the following question: Take away consumerism. What does the next culture look like? 14 And? Are we finding any answers? Seeing any patterns? 15 Let's be bold enough to say, yes. 16 We are finding a next culture that looks something like the barn-raising parties of our grandparents, the community canning kitchens of the Second World War, the quilting bee, the teach-in, the village shaman, the underground economy, the monastery, the potlatch, the agora, the cooperative, the commune, the squat. 17 Except different. 18 We have never had so many people with so much knowledge, so much power to share, so much longing to work toward a new and different purpose, and so much need to do exactly that. Those who ask less have more to give. The hunger to contribute and to learn doesn't vanish as our own demands diminish. In fact, the opposite appears to be true. 19 If we went in for slogans, this might be the one: 20 Self-reliance and mutual aid. 21 Might we say this is what democracy looks like? We might. More than that, it is a kind of freedom. 22 But the pierogi-making party instead of the blockbuster Hollywood film? It sounds corny. It even feels corny. Then again, a lot of things are done in this world that seem strange when observed with the benefit of distance. Like spending 15 hours a day in front of different types of glowing screens. Like paying for food that would grow out of every crack in the pavement if someone would plant a seed. Like watching golf on TV. 23 Does this make us outsiders? Not at all. 24 We refuse to be outsiders because we refuse to cede the culture. Far more is at stake than following our bliss. Ours is not a lifestyle preference but a moral imperative. 25 Still. 26 We have the capacity, more than ever before, to decide our own terms. We can generate energy and treat our own waste. We can build homes, raise food, create new forms of community and family. If we choose, it is possible to design and produce any product we require. We may do so locally; we may do so globally. What we cannot do is do it all alone. 27 In every respect we are working to produce the impossible, prototypes of a parallel way of life. The working model looks something like this: a sphere composed of interconnected clusters. At any given moment, some nodes are forming, others are dissolving. Seen at the level of the individual, it is a galaxy of possibilities and a person might contribute to none, one, ten or an infinite number in series. At the system level, it is a network. More metaphorically, a net. 28 We are the people, sitting on the porch, sharing a meal at mid-day, asking more and more from each other but less and less from the earth and the state – less of its schools and shopping malls, its trade rules and tax regimes. We are the people who serve to remind that there are other ways to live, and that anyone can join in that imperfect search. 29 We are living from beneath, on the fringe, in the shadow. 30 A shadow culture.
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Destined Magnetics of Abject Bewilderment

Revolutions 'Free Parking'... Year in year out I see them come :– and depart Fighters for the dawn Heralds of the revolution! Eyes burning bright as the night was dark before them. Soldiers from the abyss - “Where have they been?” Sings Ian Curtis in a Promethean machine. Yes, now where is he? Where art thou burning numinous beings? The firesticks devoured by the grease pit of chronos. Woah and where are ye? Harbouring but a sweet memory, latent cells in evolutions machinery. Nailed, is the will of your spirit to the isomorphic beat matrix of patriarchical derivations that wear the veils of language? Have symbols and words rendered you bit by bit into some sane but mad machinic assemblage, where neural tendrils, senses and perceptions are as dead stone cardboard hieroglyphic buttons! Reasons Numbered sails in the infinite wind: Marilyn… a candle adrift. Monarch slave of the architects programming. Clocks in the pocket of the zeitgeist blowing Dice in the wind…

DADADADADADADADADADADADADA

Dadaist Manifesto (Berlin) The signatories of this manifesto have, under the battle cry DADA!!!! gathered together to put forward a new art from which they expect the realisation of new ideas. So what is DADAISM, then? The word DADA symbolises the most primitive relationship with the surrounding reality; with Dadaism, a new reality comes into its own. Life is seen in a simultaneous confusion of noises, colours and spiritual rhythms which in Dadaist art are immediately captured by the sensational shouts and fevers of its bold everyday psyche and in all its brutal reality. This is the dividing line between Dadaism and all other artistic trends and especially Futurism which fools have very recently interpreted as a new version of Impressionism. For the first time, Dadaism has refused to take an aesthetic attitude towards life. It tears to pieces all those grand words like ethics, culture, interiorisation which are only covers for weak muscles. THE BRUITIST POEM describes a tramcar exactly as it is, the essence of a tramcar with the yawns of Mr Smith and the shriek of brakes. THE SIMULTANEOUS POEM teaches the interrelationship of things, while Mr Smith reads his paper, the Balkan express crosses the Nisch bridge and a pig squeals in the cellar of Mr Bones the butcher. THE STATIC POEM turns words into individuals. The letters of the word " wood " create the forest itself with the leafiness of its trees, the uniforms of the foresters and the wild boar. It could also create the Bellevue Boarding House or Bella Vista. Dadaism leads to fantastic new possibilities in forms of expression in all arts. It made Cubism into a dance on the stage, it spread the Futurist bruitist music all over Europe (for it had no desire to maintain this in its purely Italian context). The word DADA shows the international nature of a movement which is bound by no frontier, religion or profession. Dada is the international expression of our time, the great rebellion of artistic movements, the artistic reflexion of all those many attacks, peace congresses, scuffles in the vegetable markets, social get-togethers, etc., etc. Dada demands the use of NEW MATERIALS IN PAINTING Dada is a club which has been founded in Berlin which you can join without any obligations. Here, every man is president and everyone has a vote in artistic matters. Dada is not some pretext to bolster up the pride of a few literary men (as our enemies would have the world believe). Dada is a state of mind which can be revealed in any conversation so that one is forced to say: "This man is a Dadaist, this one isn't." For these reasons, the Dada Club has members all over the world, in Honolulu as well as New Orleans and Meseritz. To be a Dadaist might sometimes mean being a businessman or a politician rather than an artist, being an artist only by accident. To be a Dadaist means being thrown around by events, being against sedimentation; it means sitting for a short instant in an armchair, but it also means putting your life in danger (M. Weng pulled his revolver out of his trouser pocket).... A fabric tears under the hand, one says yes to a life that seeks to grow by negation. Say yes, say no; the hurly- burly of existence is a good training ground for the real Dadaist. Here he is lying down, hunting, riding a bicycle, half Pantagruel, half St Francis, laughing and laughing. Down with aesthetic-ethical tendencies! Down with the anaemic abstraction of Expressionism! Down with the literary hollow-heads and their theories for improving the world! Long live Dadaism in word and image! Long live the Dada events of this world! To be against this manifesto is to be a Dadaist! Berlin, April Tristan Tzara, Franz Jung, George Grosz, Marcel Janco, Richard Hülsenbeck, Gerhard Preisz, Raoul Hausmann,