I’m usually not that shy for words, but these poems literally leave me speechless. I have no idea how to respond to them. I know where they come from, some of the words I recognize or have even found online, but still, how does one respond to computer-poetry?
The images and scanned letters are part of an old love story, or perhaps several love stories. I’m becoming addicted and I’m puzzled by finding the same longing in the non-human poems as I read in the letters from all too human humans. Do I read my own longings into both the letters and poems? And, if so, how come they’re triggered with such accuracy by the intimate writings of people I never knew and algorithmic generators? And even more strange: If I had never been introduced to Mark and Judd, I would’ve never read any of this. But what if I had been coupled with someone else, or Lise had moved to Russia instead of Chicago; would I be reading the same emotions into someone else’ work, recognizing the same longings? In other words, am I only being confronted with myself, screaming in the solipsistic void, or do Mark and Judd really exist?
In 15 minutes I’ll know more.
-not really a Mutualism text, I fear, but it might give an impression of my state of mind at the moment (in between projects, exhibitions and revolutions ;-))…more soon! Rune
To the left is the ocean. The beach stretches out in front. There are dunes to the right.
Smooth sand underneath feet and between toes. Hot sun mixed with the cool sprinkling of sweat. Ocean-salt and half-rotten seaweed. The waves whisper, and the wind sings.
A speck appears. Head tilts and back arches. Arm extends, hand reaches out. Fingers seek out something in the sand, and I pick up a pebble.
My eyes squint in the bright light as I curiously bring the pebble to a good viewing position.
First it appears grey and dull. As I bring it closer to my eyes, colors appear. Green hues, blues, deep purples. I look closer still. Miniscule white dots are scattered on one side. A starry night appears in my eye. It covers my entire field of view. I look beyond the stars and slip deeper into the night. There are worlds here, and time. The Universe rests between my fingertips.
I turn the pebble around. On the other side there are small deformations in the surface. Lines. They bend and intersect. They connect and form complex patterns. Letters appear, and words. Indecipherable sentences and meaningless stories start to emerge. There is intention here, and purpose. There is a sender and a receiver. I read the stone.
The pebble appears to be gneissic rock. The patterns have been forged over millions of years. Different layers of rock have been broken down and compressed. Its name may derive from ‘to sparkle’, or from ‘worthless trash’. It may have witnessed the creation of the continents and the filling of the oceans. Except pebbles do not witness anything.
I feel my arm shoot back, my shoulder ache. I am stretched out from the toe to my fingers. I do not see the pebble anymore, my eye is momentarily blinded by the sun. As I feel myself contracting like a slingshot, the pebble is released from my fingers. My eye tracks it. It turns into a speck again, peripheral movement. It vanishes out of my sight, then into the water and finally out of my mind.
The wind goes cold, a cloud covers the sun. I lost something. I search for another pebble, first casually, then looking as hard as I can. The beach is perfect smooth sand. There are no more pebbles.