From Text to Scores II
Scores in relation to the text written for sub/s/tanzen
- CREATE A DANCE TO HEAL THE GHOSTS. FIND A SPECIFIC SPACE FOR IT.
- CONNECT WITH YOUR BONES AND LET THEM TELL YOU YOUR DANCE
- MAKE AN AUTOMATIC WRITING SESSION FOR AT LEAST 10 MINUTES
- FOLLOW SOMEBODY
- DO EVERYTHING SLOW. EVEN THINK SLOW
- BE CALLED BY AN SENSATION AND FOLLOW IT THROUGH YOUR MOVMENTS AND OR VOICE. WHEN EVER IT IS SILENCE STOP AND AWAIT THE NEXT CALL.
- BE A GUARDIEN ANGEL. SUPPORT SOME BODY IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY.
- MOVE ONLY WIH THE LIGHT.
- EMBRACE DARKNESS WITH EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE.
- READ YOUR ENVIRONMENT.
- LET ONE OF YOUR DRAWING INSPRIE YOU FOR A COMPOSITION.
- CREATE YOUR OWN SCORE. WRITE IT OWN AND ACT IT OUT.
- DEFINE A TERRITORY. MOVE WITHIN. DETERRITORIZE.
- LET YOUR BODY WRITE A MESSEAGE TO SOMEONE IMPORTANT FOR YOU.
On the other hand, I am dreaming about another land in which the gathering of people caused
a city to evolve. Another place, another world, another word. Another layer of the story than
the always repeated one about the fenced-in land of the discarded. The certainty that another
story is possible. Those fences are unneccesary. Others, yes, but not those. Not like that.
A certain certainty. Cognition and conscience. Only, perhaps, in order to find
forgiveness oneself. Give forgiveness. A gift. To give. A present. To be present.
I am sure that I always return to that land when I am drawing flowers on the wall, painting markings on the ground,
scribbling on paper, and another languages appear out of the lines and curves. This peculiar bright lime city with its
variations and traces, its shady houses spreading out like inkstains along its lines. All the people with manifold
trades, whose boundaries extend towards the land I will eventually visit in order to count those who are my
scattered fellows, and so my task. Visiting their fringe areas, their outskirts, following a certain purpose,
searching for the message left for me, and where I am counting.
And there is so much to write, a diaspora I’m trying to grasp. The aftereffects of war and commerce. Enumerating
everything, calculating, in as many places as there are places and fenced-in fields, in cities one would like to call
invisible. In this part of the story all that can only be preface, a wordless hint, wordless pointing out. It is necessary
to apply certain functions. I can accomplish that without any trace of disobedience.
One can always keep the space of listening to open for other voices, which make other worlds become visible.
This is not my own texture I am refering here to and to which I finally respond, with my own words and lines;
it was theirs, the message which had to be delivered. Now it is my texture, too. Composed with unorthodox
precision and inserted at the beginning of this story, I retyped it many times on the noise-reduced keyboard
with its traipsing, pecking bird sounds. I’m now writing it again by hand:
WE THE SAVED ASK YOU SLOWLY SHOW US YOUR LIGHT AND LEAD US FROM STAR TO STAR
SLOW IN STEP. LET US LEARN TO LIVE AGAIN.