By night the road unravels and we return. To endless identical living rooms. Sleeping pills, electric toothbrushes. In holding pens for surplus poplulations. Outside the trees are scratching the air like terrified dancers. I want that edge, I need to be special, I deserve to be happy, I have a tattoo. The neighbour’s daughter has committed suicide. It’s so difficult these days to find a parking space. Things will get better when I choose success. I’m afraid I’m not here at the moment but please leave a message. The grand, devouring carnival has passed us by.
Film: Svend Thomsen/TVF
Performance: Sebastian Bradt and Helen White
Text and concept: Helen White
The Persons was originally published by information as material in a limited edition print run (York, 2011). Reprinted here with permission.
Ja, jeg smager månedens kunstnervin! [Yes, I'm tasting the artist's wine of the month] consists of a week's worth of outgoing textmessages re-organized after the time of day they were sent, disregarding the date.
The visual version of Ja, jeg smager månedens kunstnervin! first appeared on and as the cover of Per Bäckströms book on experimental poetry Vårt brokigas ochellericke! (ellerströms förlag, 2010) The sonic version, mixed by Theis Ørntoft, first appeared in the smartboardcollection Stjerneskud (Classbooks, 2010).
Visual version (click on the preview for a larger version
Where A = ∞
Artemis runs in a zig-zag. Loop, flicker. Sweat/rain exchange through porous membrane. Above the treeline, under sheet lightning. Goddess of the post-apocalypse. Of forage and borage and the return of the wetlands. She shuns the urban but is no farmwife in gingham. Don’t ask her on a date. She’s Potnia Theron, Lady of Wild Things; Calliste, Bear-Beautiful. She wins the hunger games because she, hunter, is honed of hunger. Her twin brother, Apollo, is the deity of music and mathematics, of logic and the bright light of day. She is the moon, the crossroads, the limen, the gate out of the city, eileithiya the loosener, the wind-wise line of the arrow. Ask her for a poem. She - lets fly - runs and runs.
To read the poem in its entirety, click on the image for full size:
HOW I WROTE SOMETHING FOR JOYLAND
: Does Malenka Dotchka feel anguish? No, Malenka Dotchka feels exactly nothing. M.D. is a sock monkey. Malenka Dotchka does not, properly speaking, speak!