Manifesto on Sun-God and Recorded Speech
GOD:
God is sun is
sky is crown is grammar. O poor sun king god, depending upon commas and
periods and books and scribes: Nincompoops! Recklessly, perhaps
drunk, they write declarations of independence!? And colonized
monkey-people dare to imitate?! Crowns and scribes scramble confused,
weaving sentences of deception over the big mistake. Armies are
deployed to the Black Hills, Cuba, Indochine, Philipines, Iran, Java,
Congo, Brasil. Order-words and order-rhythms are coordinated world-wide
to hold pinnacle metropolises afloat on a sound-field of brown skin
sweating. As the 20th century dawns, London Paris New York Vienna
are in consensus: "We are well on our way to complete recuperation for
the Father."
INTURRUPTION, OR PAUSED TAPE:
"But what's
this?" / "A memo, sir, from Moskow Futurists!" / "Well, don't drag your
feet, boy!? What does it say?!" / "Poets must now construct literature
with the speech of the masses!"
"Experiments"
with ink are pursued world-wide, to little effect. What did we expect?
Even William Carlos Williams admits that ink can never achieve true
polyvocality. Multitudes still come out one at a time. Dziga Vertov
seizing upon the tape-recorder, has better results but knows that his
microphones weigh far too much. In Marrakech a technique is developed.
"Cut-word lines!" instruct the inturruption to the instructions.
IMAGINE LISTENING TO...:
Picture here
a hard blue film, a semi-permeable shell, of armored riot police
surrounding a vibrating body of colorful dancing human beings engaging
in "protest". Now move your point of perspective to, say, 20 meters in
the air and imagine what it sounds like, as chants and playful rhythms
give way to order-words, give way to struggling, combative rhythms,
definant shouts, wooden blocks striking loud as they hit concrete and
muffled as they hit flesh, trucks, helicopters, bureaucratic sounds of
men with ties speaking quiet orders as papers are scrawled upon and
filed while bodies disappear.
LIMITLESS BLACK SPACE:
Picture here
now a black sky as an adventurous world departs from the sun whose
gravitational field it has outgrown. There is heat within our world, a
child, growing every day, setting off.
Without words
suffient to describe it, gravity and other limits persist and this
movement cannot unfold.
I am
attempting to collect, and where necessary, invent, sufficient words to
enable independence from the sun itself as well as its derivatives and
metaphors.
--Alexis Bhagat, Brooklyn, New
York: June 15th, 2005