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Manifesto on Sun-God and Recorded Speech


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."


"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.


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.


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