etc
you see these photos and they're black and white with a harsh flash, probably desaturated in photoshop or shot with a yashica t4 or something, and it's a photograph of a girl laughing and some skateboard on the ground and the flash means that the background drops away into black more than quickly, and the punctum (if there is one) for you is probably more than anything the gradient of this dropping-away that happens at the upper edge of the photograph, and also the thin layer of shadow that follows the curves of a pant leg or a hand and makes you think 'space' or 'emptiness' -
and what's this? what's it to know that the circles you are in and the friends you take and the people you interact with are at there sincerest, most sincere, trying for themselves and making things to make things, but that this becomes exported out into this aesthetic found and followed as an imitation of the byproducts of following this interest? maybe you live in a warehouse, or you laugh on top of rooftops, or you bike around in the cold, or your friend's bartending in chinatown. sure. "export" is this funny word, and by funny I mean sinisterly appropriate, because what starts as idea and becomes followed through with effort often turns into product (which isn't bad at all) and becomes fetishized into something else. perhaps the space, step, gap, delay between product and fetish is where everything happens, this is the battleground of us versus us where there are no such things as victories or losses but just distributions, leanings, border patrol guards.
if anything the byproduct of doing a lot of design work is that these things become much more transparent all the time; the immaculate presentation of a product hinges on the subtle alignment of images on a grid, or the forms of a typeface and their thickness, size, geometry. so-called elegance and put-togetherness comes from an indesign page and can sprout from that and only that. there is this remarkable, incredible accessibility to the tools of elegance-creation that is so very one-sided, and this one-sidedness is both what design exists in pursuit of and supports, a one-sided fetish, a pop-up facade that nobody on one side believes to be anything other than a facade and that most everybody on the other side conceives as a relative structure. of course that's how it is.
seoul one.
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performers: unknown, jo young min, unknown, sato yukie.
twenty people huddle in an underground room smelling faintly of gas-heater air to listen to a performance by a myriad of people. the main organizer/performer dashes into a back room mid-speech to bring out bottles of makgeolli for people to drink. how did you find this place? friends of friends, blogs of blogs, and so on. everyone here has sought out this deliberately one way or another; in the land of k-pop and massive music entertainment industries these performances are deliberate choices. there's an accompanying earnestness and enthusiasm on the part of everybody; did you come to this thing? how did you find us? I'm glad you came! vitality, youthfulness, youngness, incipient hope, germination inducing a strong push against earth.
sincerity, enthusiasm, earnestness. it's immensely refreshing and inspiring. there's an earthy comfort, a sort of quiet strength that pulsates. in the wood-paneled cafes and bars lies a desire turned inwards, (hopefully inwards), for the self, for my sake, internally motivated.
do it
it is always good to make. making is always always better than talking about making. for many reasons: a, b, c, d, e. one of these (reason d, say) is because talking about making invokes a paralysis, a stoppage. making without talking creates something. and it's always better to create something than to not have something at all.
the freedom of a city without automythologizing impulses.
just go out and do it, you FUCKER.
updated stuffcalendar:korea
thingies to see.
Dec 27: EXP Performance?
Dec 27:Crying Nut, Moonshiners, Rux, Copy Machine @ Sangsangmadang, 7pm, 35000 won.
Dec 27:Linus Blanket, Starry Eyed @ Club BBang. 7pm, 15000won.
Linus' Blanket, way too mellow and cutesy at times. Used to be part of my regular soundtrack junior year of high school. Oh man oh man.
Dec 28:Sugar Donut, No Brain @ Sangsangmadang. 7pm, 25000won.
I probably won't go to the last few shows I just listed. But Sugar Donut was another main band I listened to a lot, another staple on my duct-taped rubber-banded CD player. They're a bit powerpoppy, but -- what can I say? They still sound nice.
Dec 27-28: Participating artists' talks/11 artists and their motives. 4pm and 2pm respectively.
Dec 28: Bulgasari performance. "experimental noise"/. Sounds interesting, as publicly underground as possible, maybe. I should go.
Dec 11 ~ Dec 29: aliceon: adieu media 2008
Dec 17 ~ Dec 31: New Generation Art Fair @ Sangsangmadang 상상마당 gallery
Nov 7 ~ Dec 31: TRANSMISSIONS BY AVPD @ ssamziespace
Dec 20 ~ Jan 2: kim yun-tae exhibition?
Dec 5 ~ Feb 1: Label Market @ Sangsangmadang
Go to 퍼플레코드, get cds by 비둘기 우유 and Daydream. Korean shoegaze.
there's such a youngness and a newness here. maybe because part of it is so devoted to staying alive, to having a space, to performing. intent focused not on the process but on the goal of subsistence, activity. everything is always to some extent 'underground'. it's admirable. there's a small community.
again, a basis on exclusivity. it's small because everyone else is big. they're big because this is small. who cares? an argument for arbitrarity only discounts an underlying belief in objective ends, realities, foundational universal teleologies.
who's here? who's here to take part in this haze? if korea and seoul are utopian it's because real-world necessities are utterly absent here, for me, during these breaks. the apartment is utterly still. the refrigerator that is my brother (we share the same birth year) whirrs away.
let's: walk with headphones, wait for buses, go to cheap restaurants, stay late on the subway, go to someone's house party. afterwards walking out the sun starts setting or has already set. it's noisy outside, but in a quietly noisy way. the hubbub is quiet. the noise is quiet. quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet.
another title with a dot
this article just tears me up.
all of a sudden: I do know what it's like to pass winter in a old dormitory with one-pane-thick wooden windows overlooking the tennis courts with boston in the distance. It's cold and nobody's around and you wake up on a sunday morning and walk out the front door in your pajamas. that girl you like is in another dorm. there's someone walking outside barely awake to the dining hall with its chimney steaming of smoke. if you go, there will plates of leftover scrambled eggs and a scattering of people talking idly. it's too cold. there's a box of pizza lying empty on the desk, a videogame has been paused on the television overnight, a sweatshirt lying around on the couch over there. most everyone is asleep or absent.
maybe you decide to go into the city. the walk is twenty minutes, the trolley is fifteen minutes, the T is thirty-five minutes into harvard square.
four years you later you keenly and always understand that your recollection is only yours, because for those who stayed in that city the overlay of people and encounters dilutes every human presence on every street corner. the most recent inscriptions of a palimpsest are the most visible.
there were still: the forbidden, the hidden, the mystical, promises of this, this, this. once you found a medium format negative lying in a book, ran to develop a print. some soldier standing. when was this from? who was this? that experience was a convenient metaphor epitomizing this, this; there's more, it'll happen, there's stuff to find. there are few rankings. are you interested? are you fascinated? life becomes permeated with deliberation, careful examination. what is this? what is that?
--
what's more valuable -- heterogeneity that comes from seeking after obscurity for the sake of being different, a reliance upon an external definition of a norm ---- or being comfortable with (or deliberately comfortably oblivious to) the relatively mundane, normal, slightly interesting, believing in the myth of an untouched presence unaffected even by that which one usually wishes to rebel against, and so therefore not rebelling for the sake of rebelling manifests itself as a hope for independence that may or may not align itself (hume's word is "conform", I say co-incide) with a complacent attitude of embracing the norm?
--
cuuuunctation.
wide
I missed my flight.
One thing that strikes me, taking trains out in Queens so far out on the edge of this borough that it borders suburbia, is the amount of space here. Without any buildings to block my perspective from close up I see the horizon with sheer scale. I am struck by how large those manhattan buildings are, the verticality and closeness making the sky into a vertical negative of the skyline, rather than the gently punctuated expanse that i see here now. Negatively defined, the sky gets squeezed in whenever it can in the city, becomes molded, shaped, formed, malleable according to the whims of itself visually wealthy, graphically rich, optically abundant residents. The sky fills the apartment shaft, surrounding the contour outside a capital H. Phenomenological power is lost, given to the creators of buildings, the activators of light-switches.
In the country and the suburbs the sky is wider, flatter, larger, domineering. Scale provides this. The slope of a straight line from a point on the ground to the top of the empire state building drops exponentially as the y-intercept moves away from the origin (Macy's at midnight) towards infinity (jamaica, queens; lax; icn)...
What am I saying? The iphone keyboard is tedious to type with. Bottleneck squeezes things into indigestible chunks. Constipation pontification.
re: self-help
Hains and Villegle's solution during the 60s was decollage in which they celebrated (and framed/sold) publicly lacerated posters of advertisements, but if you think about it, ends up as some capitalistic autophagic hypocrisy, so maybe that's not the best example. Decollage was also about active but silent rebeliion, the aggregation of chance moments of aggression, not so much about skill.
What Smith is referring to is the increased value of the work with the increased skill of the audience. Shouting at a Stravinsky concert is not very different from a youtube response because it does not make the piece any more fulfilling or worth more. Every Christmas a chorus of amateurs, the Oratorio Society of New York, congregate to practice and perform Handel's Messiah--this is what she is talking about. So how do we apply this to text? Perhaps what she is suggesting is to not read for plot or "the good bits" (because few musicians will jump to their favorite sections or play enough to simply get a rough idea of the piece) but to struggle with all of it, internalize it, ponder the multiplicity of the words, to have it become a part of your own discourse and dialog with existence, and the more we do so, the greater the pleasure and the value.
Thanks for the Hains and Villegle reference - I hadn't heard of them. I also completely agree with you about Zadie Smith, and what she says..
What I mean in terms of involvement in a medium is the navigatability of the medium -- the action I do to "play" the piece. The (physical, mental) action I take to play an artist's film is to sit back and watch, but the action I do to 'play' a sculptor's labyrinth is to physically walk through the piece, looking for an exit. I feel as if the difference between the action I take to involve myself with a book (versus a videotape, or a concert) is more of an active one, like Smith says. Not only is there a relationship between skill and value, there's also a sense of progress that is created by the self: the words won't create sentences unless you read through them, and the pages won't turn unless you turn them. A book is a series of static words/sentences, separated by spaces, in which the adventurer has to go forth and climb, jump across these textual and mental gaps in order to traverse it.
And in that sense, you're right on about the Wii (but less about the youtube videos -- the involvement of a video response is a contextual one, and not within the media). The intoxication of the videogame comes partially from the sense of power and influence created, as a direct result of action done onto the controller expressed in a reaction on the screen.
The Oratorio Society is a great example, but when they perform they become the performs of that medium, which was something different than what I was thinking. When we read books, we read them for ourselves, so the effect of interacting with the medium is that I struggle with it and internalize it, as you said. The Oratorio Society puts on a performance for others to enjoy. If they were all about singing for themselves in an enclosed room, with the motivation of truly enjoying the sheet music, that would be more akin to Smith's example, but by performing, they become creators as well.
In other words, I was thinking more about content that (traditionally) flows from creator -> appreciator: a creator creates the piece and gives it to the reader, who enjoys it. In some ways, music and film (and audiobooks!) are completed when they are given to the viewer, perhaps because of the dimension of time they contain. They flow and run, and the viewer's process of appreciating is partially about keeping up; the viewer is being engaged and (almost forcibly) progressed, and is the one being played. (An object, not an agent.) In contrast, books, sheet music, and video games are all played by the viewer; the creation comes semi-completed to the viewer, who takes part in the creation of literature, music, and interactivity by directly engaging and controlling the creation.
Having said this, I feel that interactivity -- content, experienced through co-creation -- has just been created very recently, in the last two decades or so. A while back, there was once a time when Smith's amateur musicians existed, before record players rendered them relatively obsolete. After that, there was a long in-between period in which economies of scale and yet-limited technology meant that content flowed one-way, from the creators to the audience. Smith talks about reading-as-amateur-musicianship, yet that sort of appreciation process is one that's sort of obsolete in a sense. It's akin to the idea of shouting at Shakespearean theatre, or the black church-going experience that many point to as the origin of call-and-response within jazz: a sort of community call-and-response with the creation. I don't mean to say that the former amateur-musician-era is necessarily a better method of appreciating media. What I really mean is that it's fitting that books are transmedialized into audiobooks: more than a technological conversion, it's almost a historical transition from the age of private chamber music to the age of professional recording.
The next step of interactivity applied to literature perhaps, is books as websites; with the equivalent of the promotional websites for movies. Maybe, an interconnected tangle of narratives without time, pointing to each other, mixed and uncomfortable and meant to be experienced simultaneously, like a piece of Trafalmadorian literature. Say, yeah, like Slaughterhouse Five, or Infinite Jest...
Infinite Jest: images of an idea
Here is a reiteration of an idea mentioned in an interview between Michael Silverblatt and David Foster Wallace, about Infinite Jest. Here is the book, in two dimensions:

Vertically: the narrative flows into and around the structure of the book, nestling into the lower areas, naturally fragmented due to the laws of gravity, storytelling.
Horizontally: the Koch curve timeline runs jagged, folding upon folding upon itself, with an infinite length, an infinite amount of detail, the molecules of the Incandenza family visible somewhere in the curve, and more.
--
The narrative starts; our characters are introduced.

--

--

--
and the denouement, which rather than being an 'ending', is the fulfillment of the tip of a complete structure (the narrative of events):

The storyline is not integration; it's not the area under the curve, but rather the limitless area above it: literature, starting on a platform of fiction, growing into the aether above.
some thoughts
some thoughts looking out bus windows, walking on different bricks a different shade of red:
--
Encryption based upon publicly-available files: a book cipher, but with software versions. Normal encryption/compression involves: ciphertext ==key==> plaintext. In this idea, the encryption involves: ciphertext ==book==> plaintext. Erg - I guess the book is still the key, but the idea is that the ciphertext is so compressable because the book is a large enough file. Maybe it's a stupid idea.
--
In Doug Aitken's book Sleepwalkers, for his video installation of the same name, there's this great interview with Melissa Plaut, and they talk about the aura of the city, and mystical flows, and segments of time. I can't find it online, but it's great, nothing really special, just filled with small snippets of quiet exuberance. It's less of an interview, more of a coordinated duet, in which they agree with each other, complement each other, weave in and out circling and talking about the same city.
--
After talking with Clara, I reaffirm: Politics is everywhere. This is simultaneously a reason for woe, joy, and also something quite normal and not warranting exclamation.
--
Meta-knowledge versus knowledge; the study of understanding knowledge, as a sort of side effect of understanding.
--

I created this diagram a few weeks ago as part of a computer music project. I kinda like it. It was part of a project based around the idea of subdividing (into segments of time) a room into a series of spaces, and then sonifying those spaces into sounds (that are devoid of time).
"The idea draws from the image of a djinn releasing itself into the air, sublimated as sound. The process of listening involves the process of anti-creation; in listening to the sound, you disturb the forces of creation at work. Every time the space is opened, the recording/generating process stops, and a djinn is released, its inception process is interrupted.
Also: to a solipsistic self, the interior space of the room ceases to exist when I
close the door of a room. From my point of view, my timeline is punctuated at periods by the interior space of the room, and vice versa. Leaving and entering the room is like a thread weaving in and out of a two-sided strip of cloth; on either side of the cloth, there is only a series of disconnected pieces of thread, and empty spaces, in which the thread punctures the cloth and is on the opposite side.
I wanted to explore this idea in terms of a space, in which opening the door releases a sound that is a tangible aggregation of the space/area that was sealed in the room: in other words, the segments of string running on the underside of the strip of cloth. The user’s opening and closing the room divides the room into a series of rooms, like the disconnected pieces of thread. The sound that is released defines the space within that was contained, because the texture and quality of the sound is actually generated by the portion of time that passed -- each sound generated is the aural representation of an entire section of invisible space (with dimensions width x height x depth x time). "
-me, Spaces
2007
I spent the instant of new year's in the car heading home. The countdown started, and when the bell started ringing, the traffic light we were waiting at suddenly turned green. We cruised through intersections for the next ten minutes without stopping until we got home.
1. look forward.
2. look back.
3. look.
4. stay still.
5. move around.
6. try new things.
7. keep old things.
8. solidify and liquify.
9. orient myself firmly.
10. start running.
11. travel to a new place.
12. meet again.
13. > a book a week, for myself.
14. sleep more.
15. spend less, save at least half each month.
16. decide between the five I have in mind.
17. create: one complete set of words and one complete thematic set of photography.
18. share more, open up more. be more reckless.
19. (you know what.)
20. be good to important people.
21. stop this guilt, make mine mine.