ON
YOUR FIRST DAYS OF LIFE, YOU ARE STILL THE SAME AS YOU WERE WHEN YOU WERE
CREATED - SWEET AND FRAGRANT. THIS IS BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER DOESN'T THROW YOU OUT
OF THE WINDOW. THEN YOU BELIEVE IN YOUR OWN WONDER. THIS IS THE FIRST STAGE.
THAT WONDER SURROUNDS YOU. IN THE SECOND STAGE, WHEN HIERARCHY BRINGS YOU DOWN,
YOU ARE HAUNTED BY MEMORIES OF THAT INITIAL WONDER. IT IS ONLY BECAUSE OF THIS
MEMORY THAT YOU ARE UNHAPPY. SO, FOR THE UNHAPPY TO BECOME HAPPY, THEY SHOULD
SIMPLY FORGET EVERYTHING. FIRST OF ALL - THEIR MOTHER. AND AFTER THE MOTHER, OF
COURSE, EVERYTHING ELSE.
THIS IS THE PHILOSOPHY
OF DESTRUCTION - A FORM OF LIBERATED FATALISM. WE SURRENDER OUR SECURITY AND
SELF-WORTH TO FATE - ESSENTIALLY MEANING INDEPENDENCE FROM THESE THINGS. THE
KEY IS NOT TO ABANDON ACTION, BUT TO AVOID SECRET SILENCE, STRATEGIC JUSTIFICATION,
ADAPTATION, OR HYPOCRISY, AND INSTEAD ENGAGE IN SINCERE AND OPEN CONVERSATION,
READY TO NEGATE AND DESTROY OURSELVES IN ORDER TO PRESERVE THE SHARPNESS OF
IDEAS.
IN THE PROCESS, WE
DESTROY EACH OTHER. BUT ARE IDEAS REALLY WORTH IT? ARE THEY WORTH IT?
CAN YOU FEEL HOW YOUR
BODY VIBRATES? EVERY PART OF YOUR BODY YOU THINK ABOUT SUDDENLY STARTS
VIBRATING AT A MICROSCOPIC LEVEL. THOSE ELECTRONS! THEY MOVE LIKE WORMS. THEY
DON'T STAY STILL, THEY CONSTANTLY WRIGGLE - THEY VIBRATE. JUST LIKE THE LARVAE
OF A BUG. THEY WRIGGLE THEIR WHOLE LIFE. THE MORE YOU TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT
THEM CONSCIOUSLY, THE MORE THEY WRIGGLE. YOU AND YOURSELF ARE LIKE WORMS,
WRIGGLING YOUR WHOLE LIFE. HOW TO SCREW IT UP. YOU ESPECIALLY LOVE TO MOVE TO
MUSIC, GRIT YOUR TEETH LIKE A FOOL. YOU STUFF ALL SORTS OF OTHER VIBRATING
THINGS INTO THOSE TEETH, WHICH ALSO VIBRATE IN YOUR STOMACH. THEN IN YOUR
STOMACH, YOU GET REGULAR-SIZED WORMS. AT THAT MOMENT, YOU ARE DEEPLY ASLEEP.
YOU DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT HOW CLOSE YOUR WORMS ARE.
I CAN'T CATCH THE
ACTION SOMEHOW. MAYBE BECAUSE IT ALSO VIBRATES, BUT ITS VIBRATIONS ARE
LONGITUDINAL - LIKE SPLINTERS. THEY STICK TO EACH OTHER LENGTHWISE. YOU CAN'T
FOLLOW THE ACTION WITH THOSE SPLINTERS BECAUSE EACH OF THEM ENDS FAST ENOUGH.
BY THE TIME YOU FIGURE IT OUT, THE NEXT ONE HAS ALREADY MOVED AWAY. YOU CAN'T
STOP EITHER BECAUSE THE SPLINTERS DON'T HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER ANYMORE. THEY
BREAK APART LIKE PIECES OF GLASS. ALONG WITH THEM, POETS WHO HAVE LOST THEIR
WAY ALSO BREAK APART. THEY SWIM IN THE SEA OF MEMORY, OF THE PAST, OF LOSS, OF
UNFINDABILITY. EVEN THEIR WORMS DON'T WANT TO BREAK APART WITH THEM. WORMS ARE
UNUSUALLY LOYAL. YOU CAN ALWAYS CATCH THEM. THEY MEET THE CRITERIA FOR THE
"BOOKMARK" STATE...
I ALWAYS KNEW THAT
"THEY" EXIST. EVER SINCE I HOPED TO FIND THEM. IN CHILDHOOD, WHEN I
CAME HOME, I FELT THEIR PRESENCE AND SINCERELY SEARCHED EVERY CORNER. I EVEN
PLANNED TO MOVE FROM ONE PLACE TO ANOTHER AND ACCORDINGLY ADJUSTED MY SEARCH
TRAJECTORY. "THEY" USED TO BE GRACIOUS AND WOULD LET ME NOT FIND THEM
THAT DAY.
FROM THESE LABYRINTHINE
IMAGES, IT SOMETIMES SEEMS THAT MY BRAIN IS MELTING, LIKE A CHEEK AFTER A VISIT
TO THE DENTIST. I'M ALL MELTED. AND MY BODY, TOO. AND MY VISION IS MELTED. AND
MY HEARING IS MELTED. IT REACHES ME AS STRANGE ECHOES. I SEEM TO BE UNDER THE
WATER. I FEEL LIKE A DOCTOR MADE A MISTAKE OR SIMPLY INJECTED NUMBING AGENTS
THAT DON'T PRODUCE ANY SENSATION. THEN, IN THE FIELD OF VISION, ONLY FROZEN
SIGNS REMAIN. THOSE SIGNS BOTH MEAN AND DO NOT MEAN AT THE SAME TIME.
OR PERHAPS THE TRACES
OF A TIME LONG DEAD ARE ALL AROUND, AND THE "THEY" THAT TERRIFY US
ARE OURSELVES, NOT RECOGNIZING THE FACES AFFECTED BY THE DISEASE?
THIS IS THE BOUNDARY OF
KNOWLEDGE BEYOND KNOWLEDGE. THE IGNORANCE OF KNOWLEDGE IS A SIGN OF NEGATIVE
MATTER. WE CANNOT COMPREHEND IT AND THEREFORE CANNOT CONTROL IT THROUGH THE
EFFORTS OF WILL.
EVEN BEFORE CONSCIOUS
CONTACT WITH "THEM," I USED TO HEAR "THEIR" SONGS IN THE
FORM OF REAL VIBRATIONS. I STILL HEAR THEM VERY CLEARLY. IT'S LIKE A CONSTANT
BACKGROUND NOISE, SIMILAR TO THE SOUND OF THE SEA, INDICATING THAT THE SEA IS
NEARBY. I CONSTANTLY "HEAR" "THEIR" BREATHING ON MY BACK.
THAT BREATHING IS
RHYTHMIC, AND IF NOT CONSCIOUSLY MONITORED, IT CONSISTS OF TEN BREATHS. AT THE
SAME TIME, IT'S INTELLIGENT: IF YOU START FOLLOWING THE RHYTHM, IT CHANGES,
MEANDERING AROUND, PLAYING A GAME OF "PREDICTABLE/UNPREDICTABLE."
THIS GAME IS ENGAGING, INVITING YOU TO GUESS NEW COMBINATIONS, BUT AT THE SAME
TIME, IT DISTANCES ITSELF BECAUSE IT'S CHILLY. IT LURES YOU TO COME CLOSER, BUT
IT DOESN'T HIDE THAT IT'S A GATEWAY TO SOMETHING IRREVERSIBLE. ONE MORE STEP,
AND THERE'S ALREADY AN EVENT ON THE HORIZON - BEYOND THE LIMIT, FROM WHERE
THERE IS NO RETURN. "THEY" EMBRACE YOU, LIKE BLACK HOLES ENGULF
EVERYTHING THAT CROSSES THEIR PERILOUS BOUNDARY.
THE UNREPRESENTABLE
SPACE OF THE PRIMARY MEANING CANNOT BE DEFINED IN ANY WAY, EXCEPT THROUGH THE
NETWORK OF COMMUNICATION FORMED BY SEMIOTIC SPACES WITH LIMITED POSSIBILITIES.
THE SEMIOTIC NETWORK, IN ORDER TO HAVE CONTACT WITH THE PRIMARY MEANING, HAS TO
CUT INTO IT. BY REPRESENTING ITSELF THROUGH INCISIONS IN THE NETWORK, THE
PRIMARY MEANING IS REPRESENTED FRAGMENTARILY, RESULTING IN DISTORTIONS
PERCEIVED BY THE OBSERVER AS A STATE OF DISTORTED MEANING.
THE LOCATIONS OF
NETWORK INCISIONS EXPERIENCE INADEQUATE TENSION. THIS TENSION CAN BE RELIEVED
BY CHANGING THE NETWORK/INCISION POSITIONS. THIS IS HOW THE METHOD OF
REPRESSIVE STRUCTURES WORKS, BY RELEASING TENSION NOT BY REDUCING PRESSURE BUT
BY SHIFTING THE NETWORK. ART, BY COPYING THE METHODS OF POWER STRUCTURES, BY
REPRESENTING THE UNINCISED PLACES, SUPPRESSES THE VERY SYSTEMS. THE PROCESS
DOES NOT ELIMINATE THE DISTORTION OF MEANING, BUT IT EXPANDS THE SPECTRUM OF
PERCEPTION WITH INTANGIBLE YET PERCEPTIBLE MEANINGS.
THE CRACKS INTO
NEGATIVE MATTER ARE THE FOLDING OF OTHERNESS. ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE, THERE IS
NOTHING BECAUSE EVERYTHING WE KNOW IS ON THIS SIDE. IT'S LIKE WANTING TO TOUCH
SOMETHING BUT, NOT KNOWING WHAT TO EXPECT, YOU HOPE TO FEEL NOTHING. BUT IN THE
PAST, THERE WAS SIMPLY NOTHING...
YOU SIMPLY LIE WHEN
TELLING AND ELEVATING YOUR TRUTHS. LIES ARE ALSO NECESSARY. HOW DID YOU, BEING
SO CREATIVE AND MODERN, NOT NOTICE THAT FRANKENSTEIN CAN ALSO BE ALIVE? YOU
YOURSELVES ARE PROOF OF THAT. THOSE ETERNAL EXPECTATIONS FROM ALL SIDES ARE LIKE
FLIES! I DON'T WANT TO SATISFY ANYONE'S EXPECTATIONS. EXCESSIVE GOODNESS
SUPPRESSES THE MOST. ONLY WHEN YOU DO SOMETHING GOOD, YOU END UP IN THE GOOD
PEOPLE'S CATEGORY. THOSE "GOOD" PEOPLE ARE NOT CONVINCING,
TRUSTWORTHY INDIVIDUALS. YOU SHOULD PILE AS MANY EXPECTATIONS ON THEM AS
POSSIBLE. IT'S GOOD TO WORK WITH THEM BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT. THEY
TRUST YOU THROUGH SUBTLE BLACKMAIL.
THE FIGHT BETWEEN GOOD
AND EVIL HAS EXHAUSTED EVERYONE FOR A LONG TIME. EVIL IS ALWAYS STRONGER, AND
GOOD ALWAYS CONQUERS ALL BUT NOT EVIL BECAUSE IT IS STRONGER. THIS FIGHT, LIKE
ITCHING, WILL NEVER END. SCRATCHES, SCRATCHES, UNTIL IT BLEEDS...
I AM ATTRACTED TO
BECOMING A BIT EVIL. VERY, VERY SLOWLY, SAVORING IT SO THAT NO ONE NOTICES. I
MUST BE ESPECIALLY CAREFUL NOT TO BE NOTICED BY GOODNESS. I DON'T WANT IT TO
RETURN. I LIKE TO BE SLIGHTLY ROTTEN FROM GOODNESS, TENDERNESS, AND WARMTH FROM
THE INSIDE.
THEN (UNTIL THE IMPORT
PACKAGES), THERE WAS NOTHING. NOW, A LOT OF EVERYTHING HAS PILED UP AND SETTLED
DOWN... WE SEPARATE WHAT DOES NOT BELONG TOGETHER, BUT "THEY" DON'T
NOTICE ANYTHING BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T RECEIVE PACKAGES. THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE AN
ADDRESS.
LET ME LOOK INTO YOUR
THROAT. WHEN YOU OPEN WIDE, KEEP IN MIND THAT THE THROAT, BY COMING TO THE
SURFACE, CAN SWALLOW YOU. IF YOU'RE NOT AFRAID, EVERYTHING IN YOUR THROAT WILL
COME TO THE SURFACE. AND THAT'S GOOD, YOUR INSIDES CAN SERVE EXHIBITIONS, TRUTH,
SHOCK, REVENGE, VARIOUS PUBLIC RELATIONS OPERATIONS AIMED AT TRANSFORMING
REPUTATIONS. ONCE THE THROAT IS EXPOSED, IT WILL MOST LIKELY DIE BECAUSE IT'S
NOT USED TO BEING OUTSIDE. HOWEVER, THE EFFECT OF A DRIED-UP THROAT CAN
SOMETIMES BE EXACTLY WHAT IS NEEDED. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IS TO PROVIDE THE
AUDIENCE WITH VIEWS AND EXPERIENCES. THE ARTIST'S FREEDOM IS MANIFESTED IN HIS
ABILITY TO CALIBRATE MICROCLIMATE POTENTIOMETERS FREELY. IT'S INEXPENSIVE TO
MOISTEN EVEN WET THROATS.
RUMBLING
THOSE FACTORY RAIDERS ON THE ROOFTOP OF THE ABANDONED VILNIUS MEAT COMBINE AT
THE END OF SAVANORIŲ PROSPEKTAS. ALTHOUGH IT'S LONG SINCE BEEN DESERTED, IT
STILL RESONATES WITH WHAT HAPPENED THERE TWENTY YEARS AGO. THAT'S HOW I HEAR
THAT ECHOING SOUND OF CAPTURE AND MILLING MACHINES – YOU WOULD NEVER TELL FROM
THE OUTSIDE THAT IT STILL OPERATES TODAY... ENTERING INSIDE, YOU ENTER THE
SYSTEM FROM WHICH YOU WILL EMERGE ORDERLY... PIECE BY PIECE...
A COMBINE - SUCH A
GROUP OF COMPANIES WHOSE PRODUCTION BECOMES THE RAW MATERIAL FOR ANOTHER. THE
PRODUCTION MUST MEET QUALITY STANDARDS TO TRANSITION TO ANOTHER COMPANY AND
SERVE AS RAW MATERIAL FOR IT. PRODUCTION THAT DOESN'T MEET STANDARDS IS
DISCARDED, AND THE "LUCKY ONES" TRAVEL FURTHER ON THIS TERROR
CHAMBER'S CARRIAGE AND ARE PREPARED FOR THE NEXT STAGE. THE PARTS OF THE
COMBINE, IT SEEMS, WORK ONE FOR THE OTHER - ONE PART IS INTERESTING TO THE
OTHER ONLY AS MUCH AS IT IS SUITABLE FOR FURTHER PRODUCTION.
MY MOTHER IS VERY
CARING. HYPER-CAREFUL. SHE ALWAYS KNOWS IF I'M COLD OR HUNGRY, BUT SHE NEVER
SEES ME. SHE RAISED ME WITH HER BACK TURNED TO ME. I NEVER SAW HER FACE. EVEN
THOUGH SHE WORKS A LOT WITH HER HANDS, I WONDER HOW SHE DOESN'T GET DIZZY -
AFTER ALL, HER HEAD AND ENTIRE BODY ARE TURNED. I ONLY SEE HER BACK AND THE
HANDS THAT CAREFULLY CHECK THE WARMTH OF MY NOSE. I HAVE TO ANSWER MECHANICAL
QUESTIONS WAITING ONLY FOR POSITIVE ANSWERS ABOUT HOW THINGS ARE GOING. THINGS
MUST BE GOING WELL. NOTHING I DO SHOULD MAKE HER LOOK AT ME. ANYWAY, SHE WON'T
LOOK, SHE WILL ONLY GET ANGRY AND TURN AWAY EVEN MORE. SO THAT SHE DOESN'T SEE.
I KNOW WHY IT'S LIKE
THIS. I UNDERSTAND HER. SHE CAN'T TAKE HER EYES OFF THE OTHER OBJECT SHE
GUARDS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT KIND OF GAZE SHE HAS TOWARDS IT (SINCE SHE'S TURNED
AWAY). IS IT A LONGING GAZE, A GAZE OF GUILT, OR PERHAPS A GAZE OF BLAME OR
UNFULFILLED HOPES? TO HER, THAT'S WHAT MATTERS.
THOSE BRIDGES TEMPT ME
TO FALL OVER THE FENCE. THEY LOOK AT ME WITH OUTSTRETCHED HANDS, AND
I REMAIN POLITICALLY CORRECT AND DO NOT JUMP. LIKE STUCK MIDDLES. I DISAPPOINT
MYSELF. SO UNINTERESTING. ALTERNATIVE BEHAVIOR OPTIONS ARE ALWAYS OPEN, AND
SOMEONE ASSUMES THAT THEY WILL NOT BE TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF. I DON'T WANT TO
JUSTIFY ANYONE'S EXPECTATIONS AND NORMS. I WANT TO EITHER JUMP INTO OBSCURITY
OR REMAIN A REMNANT OF THE PARTY. MAYBE THEN SHE WILL NOTICE ME?
I LIE STILL IN BED -
PRETENDING TO SLEEP. I DON'T WANT THE ONE UNDER THE BED TO REALIZE THAT I KNOW
ABOUT IT. IT JUST WAITS FOR ME TO LOWER MY LEG TO THE GROUND...
I KNOW I HAVE TO THINK
ABOUT "IT" AND NOT ASSUME THAT I WON'T ENCOUNTER IT IN MY MIND. THEIR
RADARS RECORD EVERYTHING. NO WONDER "IT" DOESN'T REVEAL ITSELF
KNOWING THAT I KNOW ABOUT IT.
NOW DERRIDA LIVES IN MY
BATHROOM. HE'S EMBEDDED IN A BAR OF SOAP, WHICH I CAN'T CATCH. I KEEP TRYING
AND TRYING, BUT HE SLIPS AWAY, SLIPS AWAY, UNTIL I DISSOLVE HIM WITH MY OWN
HANDS. NOW HE HAS DISSOLVED IN A SWIRLING STREAM OF ESCAPING WATER, KNOWING THAT
HE'S DRAWN ME INTO HIS EXCITING GAME, TRYING TO PICK ME APART PIECE BY PIECE.
THE WATER KEEPS CIRCLING, AND IT SEEMS LIKE THE ENTIRE BACKWATER HAS VANISHED.
I'M HAPPY TO BE A PART OF IT, HOPING THAT THE SOLUTION WILL COME ANY MOMENT,
HOPING TO DISSOLVE ALONG WITH IT. BUT I JUST SWIRL ON THE SURFACE, UNABLE TO
DIVE. I DON'T KNOW WHY I SUDDENLY FEEL A PLEASANT SWEETNESS IN MY MOUTH,
REALIZING THAT THIS IS NOT A SOLUTION - THE BACKWATER HAS NO END.
I SEE REPRESSION
PRACTICALLY EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME. EXCEPT WHEN I'M ASLEEP. I SLEEP LITTLE
AND BADLY, SO MY SENSITIVITY TO REPRESSION IS HIGH. THE ENVIRONMENT CONSTANTLY
EXERTS PRESSURE ON ME, REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT IS, CONSTANTLY PRESSURING AND
MANIPULATING MY LIFE. THERE ARE NEVER ANY FUTURE ASPIRATIONS OR DREAMS LEFT,
ONLY THE SATISFACTION OF EXPECTATIONS IN THE PRESENT OR ACTIONS TO AFFIRM
CONFIDENCE IN THE PAST. NO ONE WOULD EVER THINK THAT "THEY" ALSO HAD
TOOLS. THEY ARE ALL MANUFACTURED IN THE "FOR YOUR SAFETY" FACTORY.
FLASHFORWARD, ONE ROLE
IN THE "REAL WORLD" FOLLOWS ANOTHER. I ALWAYS FOLLOW THE DIRECTIVES
OF THE ENVIRONMENTAL DIRECTORS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT EVEN THOSE DIRECTORS
AREN'T REAL, BUT THEY'RE SO GOOD AT GETTING INTO CHARACTER THAT THEY NOT ONLY BELIEVE
WHAT THEY'RE DOING... I BELIEVE THEM TOO. SIMILARLY, AS YOU ARE NOW - YOU
PRACTICALLY BECOME MY FOUNDATIONAL BELIEFS. YOU SUPPLY ME WITH ENOUGH
UNFORGETTABLE TRACES OF THIS SLIPPERY DREAM. AND "THEY" - THE REAL
"THEY" - ARE PASSIVELY TUCKED AWAY IN NON-MOVING IMAGES, SILENTLY AND
CALMLY HANGING ON THE WALLS.
I HAVE TO SAY, YOU'VE
DISAPPOINTED ME. YOU FELL FACE DOWN IN THE MUD AS YOU SHOULD HAVE! YOU HAD THE
OPPORTUNITY TO SUCCEED! YOUR VISION AND THE PORTRAIT YOU DECLARED WERE SO
WONDERFUL, BUT YOU JUST COULDN'T WAKE UP FROM YOUR SLUMBER... YOUR WEAKNESS IS SO
HUGE THAT YOU DARE NOT REMOVE THE BLINDFOLD AND LET IN FRESH AIR. HAVEN'T YOU
SUFFOCATED YET? OR MAYBE YOU'RE ALREADY SUFFOCATING? IT'S A GOOD THING I CAME.
OTHERWISE, I WOULD STILL BELIEVE IN YOUR GRANDEUR.
IT SEEMS THAT GOODNESS
AND MORALITY ONLY EXIST IN ONE COPY AND CAN ONLY BE EXPRESSED IN ONE DIMENSION:
EITHER YOU DECLARE, OR YOU APPEAR, OR YOU ARE. THE MORE ONE MANIFESTS, THE LESS
THERE IS OF THE OTHER.
FOR MANY YEARS NOW,
I'VE BEEN HAUNTED BY THE IMAGE OF A RED HOT LAVA-COVERED PARCHMENT-COVERED
WELL. IT'S RIGHT THERE, COVERING 60% OF MY FIELD OF VISION, SITUATED TO THE
RIGHT. THE WELL FLIRTS WITH ME, INVITING ME TO TEAR THE PARCHMENT AND DIVE INTO
THE DEPTHS. INSIDE, I FIND NOT BURNING LAVA AS I THOUGHT FOR MANY YEARS,
CONTEMPLATING HOW IT DOESN'T BURN THROUGH THE PARCHMENT SURFACE. BENEATH IT, IT
TURNS OUT, THERE IS A SEA OF RED FLESH WITH PULSATING VEINS. IT'S SO SATISFYING
TO PLUNGE INTO THE WARM, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY COOL MASS AND DISAPPEAR INTO THE
DEPTH. WITH MY OPEN THROAT, I DRAW PIECES OF BLOODY FLESH INTO MYSELF AND NO
LONGER UNDERSTAND WHERE THE OUTSIDE ENDS AND WHERE THE INSIDE BEGINS. MY OWN
FLESH AND BLOOD MERGE WITH THE CONTENTS, PLEASANTLY BRUSHING AGAINST THE SKIN.
AT THAT MOMENT, I SWALLOW THE BLOODY FILLING, AND I FEEL REJUVENATED.
HOWEVER, I WAS ALREADY
QUITE DEHYDRATED. FOR MANY YEARS, I HAD BEEN LYING ON MY BACK, PRESSED TO THE
PARCHMENT-COVERED SURFACE OF THE WELL, WITHOUT DARING TO PLUNGE, CONTENT WITH
HANGING BY THE SURFACE OF MY SKIN. AS I FEED ON FLESH, I NOTICE THAT I TURN
INTO A BLACK BALL, SIMILAR TO A DUNG BEETLE, SHINY, CRUNCHY, BLACK BALL. I
NOTICE THAT AROUND ME, PILES OF OTHER DUNG BEETLES ARE CRAWLING, AND WE ALL
INHALE THE ATMOSPHERE FILLED WITH BLOODY-FILLED FLESH. SUDDENLY, I REALIZE THAT
I HAVE GROWN VERY LARGE. AS LARGE AS A GLOBE. I'VE BECOME A GLOBE OF THE EARTH.
AROUND ME IS NOTHING BUT SPACE, FULL OF STARS.
... WITHOUT STOPPING TO
EAT THAT FLESH, IT BURSTS, BURSTS, AND OF COURSE, THE EARTH'S GLOBE DOES TOO. I
SCATTER ACROSS THE ENTIRE COSMOS. I REALIZE THAT I'M NO LONGER THERE - I'VE
DISPERSED AMONG THOSE STARS. THEY ARE MY BODY. AS I FEAST MY EYES ON THE SIGHT,
I NOTICE THAT ALL THE STARS I HAVE SPREAD TO ARE GRADUALLY, ONE AFTER ANOTHER,
EXTINGUISHING - AFTER ALL, SPACE IS STILL INFINITE.
I NEED TO CHANGE THE
SCENARIO, OTHERWISE, I WILL COMPLETELY FADE AWAY.
SO: NOW I'M SURROUNDED
BY A DARK BLUE, STARRY, COOL SPACE, AND I STAND ON THE UPPER SURFACE OF A
WHITE, INFINITELY THIN COLUMN WITH A DIAMETER OF 15 CM. I DON'T SEE WHAT THE
TOWER IS LEANING ON, BUT I INTUITIVELY KNOW THAT IT LEANS ON THE GROUND (IN
THIS VERSION, IT DIDN'T EXPLODE). THIS COLUMN, LIKE A GIANT SWIZZLE STICK,
FEEDS ME WITH BLOODY MEAT. THE BLOOD NOW HEAVILY FLOWS INTO MY MOUTH. I SWALLOW
IT WITH THIRSTY STRENGTH. I FEEL IT FILLING ME. SMILING WITH MY BACK STRETCHED
OUT, HEAD LIFTED, I WATCH THE STARS THAT ARE NO LONGER DISAPPEARING. THEY ALL
SHINE FOR ME, CHEERING ME UP, CALMING ME DOWN, TELLING ME THAT THERE'S NO NEED
TO HURRY ANYWHERE. FINALLY, I HAVE ARRIVED.
NOW I CAN RELEASE MY
THROAT AND POET. I THINK SHE WOULD REALLY ENJOY THIS GAME. "AN ARTIST
BALANCES ON THE SURFACE OF IRON," SHE SAID. SHE LOVED DRAMA, SO HERE YOU
CAN EMBELLISH A BIT WITH IRON, BETTER STILL, ADD A FEW BUMPS - PRINT WITHOUT
DAMAGING THE SURFACE OF THE SKIN. IT'S ALWAYS BETTER TO LEAVE SOMETHING FOR THE
FUTURE, TO STIMULATE MOTIVATION. THEN THE GAME OF BALANCING PAIN AND PLEASURE
CAN BE STRETCHED OUT. SHE REALLY DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING. IN ANY CASE, IT'S
A BIT ANNOYING TO THEM. EVEN CAUSES THEM ANNOYANCE. THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND THAT
I AM AMUSED BY THEM THIS WAY. OTHERWISE, THEY WOULD JUST SULK, SO MOVING IS
ALWAYS BETTER.
SO, HERE IS THE
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SATIATED DUNG BEETLES AND THOSE WHO ONLY WAIT: THE FORMER
ARE LED BY INSTINCT, NO MATTER HOW DISGUSTING IT MAY BE, BUT IT'S SO SWEET,
WHILE THE LATTER, HANGING ON WHERE THEY CLUNG, ARE DETERMINED BY THE CURRENT.
HOWEVER, IT'S ANNOYING THAT IT'S EXACTLY UNCLEAR ON WHICH SIDE OF THE
BARRICADES THE AUTHOR IS. IT'S UNCLEAR WHICH SHELF TO PUT IT ON.
SUCH NONSENSE WORKS LIKE A CUBE OF SUGAR THROWN INTO AN ANT HILL. IS THERE REALLY A LOGICAL EXPLANATION FOR THIS? BECAUSE IT'S CERTAINLY NOT CLEAR! CAN YOU FINALLY ACT WITH DIGNITY AND CREATE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL?"
STAYING
SILENT AND NOT SCRATCHING THE EYES. IN GENERAL, IF YOU QUIETLY KNOW YOUR PLACE,
YOU CAN BE PRACTICALLY ANYWHERE YOU WANT. 'MONUMENTS DON'T TALK, SO THEY CAN GO
UNNOTICED.' YOU, MOST LIKELY, WILL LOVE IT.
I REMEMBER ONCE I WROTE
A MEMOIR FOR A CULTURAL PUBLICATION COLUMN. I WROTE A MEMOIR ABOUT THE
RELATIONSHIP WITH MY CHILDHOOD FEARS AND THE GAMES I PLAYED WITH THEM, ABOUT
HOW THOSE FEARS FADED AS I GREW UP, CHANGED, AND HOW WE GREW TIRED OF EACH
OTHER, HOW WE WERE NO LONGER INTERESTED...
I REMEMBER HOW THE
MEMOIR DIDN'T PLEASE THE EDITORS. I WAS ASKED TO WRITE ANOTHER ONE. SO I DID –
AFTER ALL, MEMORIES ARE BORN EVERY DAY – EVERY DAY I CAPTURE THE BOUNDARIES OF
AN ARTIST'S FREEDOM, LITERATURE, AND THE LIMITS OF ART. SOMETIMES THEY ARE NOT
PLEASANT AND ALLOW ME TO FEEL THEM.
I LIKE THE CENTRAL
PERSPECTIVE. YOU CAN LOOK STRAIGHT INTO THE EYES OF CENTERED THINGS.
I WANT TO WRITE AN ODE
TO BETRAYAL. IT WOULD HELP ME BETRAY ALL THE TRASH I'M COVERED IN. AND YOU ARE
THAT TRASH WITH WHICH YOU ARE COVERED. YOU ARE COVERED WITH YOURSELVES. YOU
EMIT YOUR UNPLEASANT SMELL AND DON'T WANT TO DISTANCE YOURSELVES FROM IT. YOU
WANT ME TO BE INFECTED, TOO. IF YOU LACK STICKINESS, YOU SWARM, HOPING THAT
THESE SWARMS WILL UNITE YOU INTO A CRITICAL MASS, AND THAT WAY, YOU WILL BECOME
BIGGER. THE TRAITORS ARE UNITED. HAVING AMPUTATED THEIR LIMBS, THEY INEVITABLY
GENERATE SUBSTANCES THAT WILL COVER THEM.
WHEN SOMEONE TRUSTS
YOU, IT'S SWEET AND YET CHALLENGING. IT'S PLEASANT TO BE APPRECIATED (USUALLY
FOR SOMETHING YOU'VE DONE), BUT AT THE SAME TIME, YOU REALIZE THAT YOU NOW HAVE
TO SATISFY EVEN HIGHER EXPECTATIONS.
AN AUTONOMOUS ARTIST
DOESN'T FOLLOW THE NORM. IF THE NORM IS TO BE DIFFERENT, THEN YOU HAVE TO BE IN
THE NORM. HOWEVER, AN AUTONOMOUS ARTIST CAN CHOOSE FREELY. CHOOSE TO BE LIKE
EVERYONE ELSE OR BE DIFFERENT. CHOOSE TO BE OR NOT TO BE AUTONOMOUS. IF THEY
ARE FREE, CAN THEY ONLY BE AUTONOMOUS, RIGHT? EVERY ARTIST KNOWS HOW MUCH ART
IS IN THEIR CREATIONS.
IT'S QUITE NICE TO BE
INCLUDED IN THE CITIZENS' REGISTER. ALTHOUGH I BELONGED TO SOMEONE. IT'S NOT
EVEN STRANGE THAT SOMEONE RECOGNIZES ME ON THE STREET, NOT EVEN KNOWING, BUT
ASSUMING THAT I HAVE A NAME AND A SURNAME, THAT I HAVE A FAMILY AND CHILDREN –
THEY ASSIGN MEANING TO ME AS AN INDIVIDUAL. THEY STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT I THINK.
THEY BELIEVE. A MEASURING GLANCE DOESN'T GET STUCK LIKE A SPLINTER IN THE
SYSTEM; IT ALLOWS IT TO SLIP THROUGH OTHERS, WHO ARE LOOKING FOR NORMS THAT
MATCH MORE CLOSELY. IT'S IMPORTANT NOT TO STAND OUT FROM THE LINEUP.
'WE WISH YOU HEALTH FOR
THOSE WHO ENTERED HERE.'
I'M INTERESTED IN
ANXIETY – A CONSTANT SENSE OF LOOMING DANGER NEARBY. IT'S LIKE KNOWING THAT
POSSIBLE THREATENING EVENTS ARE 'GATHERED' AROUND AND MONITORING MY LIFE. I
HAVE TO MONITOR 'THEM,' AND I DO. SOMEHOW, I BELIEVE THAT MY OBSERVATION
PREVENTS 'THEM' FROM ACTING. I SEE A THREAT, SOMEWHAT SIMILAR TO MADNESS,
SCHIZOPHRENIA, IN FAMILIAR AND UNFAMILIAR FACES, LOCATIONS.
THEIR 'DISEASE'
SUDDENLY OPENS: IT'S LIKE GAINING INSIGHT FOR A MOMENT, AND THEN THE VIEW
RETURNS TO THE USUAL. BUT I ALREADY KNOW THE SECRET DEPENDENCE OF 'THEM' ON THE
WORLD OF DEMONS. THE IMAGES SOMEWHAT RESEMBLE PUZZLES OR A DREAM. MY 'HEROES,'
OF WHICH THERE ARE MORE AND MORE, LIKE STAMPS IN A COLLECTOR'S ALBUM, FORM
COMMON COMBINATIONS OF POTENTIAL THREATENING EVENTS AMONG THEMSELVES. I WANT TO
EXTRACT THESE SECRET AGENTS OF DEMONS FROM THE METAPHYSICAL 'SECRET' SPACE INTO
THE DAYLIGHT (CANVAS), SO I PORTRAY THEM. I WANT TO UNMASK 'THEM,' LOOK INTO
THEIR EYES. THE MORE I TRY TO DESCRIBE 'THEM' REALISTICALLY, I SUDDENLY NOTICE
THAT THEY HIDE AGAIN... I'M LOOKING FOR THOSE 'TEN DIFFERENCES' IN THEIR FACES
– MY WITNESSES OF KNOWLEDGE...
BUT THE MOST BITTER
WOULD BE TO TOUCH THE SHRIMP. THEIR EYES – I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY ARE ATTACHED
TO THE BODY – ARE SUCH SMALL BALLS THAT YOU CAN EASILY DETACH THEM BY ACCIDENT.
ON THE OTHER HAND, THEY DON'T REALLY NEED TO SEE. THEY IMAGINE THEMSELVES TO BE
MESSENGERS. SHRIMPS ARE NOT AFRAID TO BE CAUGHT, EVEN IN THE DARK. IT'S CHEAP
FOR THEM – THEIR ARMS ARE SHORT, ANYWAY, YOU WON'T NOTICE ANYTHING. THERE ARE
NO MESSENGERS HERE, IN THE DARK. AND WHEN YOU RECEIVE A MESSENGER, EVERYTHING
BECOMES CLEARER, YOU CAN WRITE SOMETHING... YOU CAN, BUT IT'S NOT WORTH IT
BECAUSE SHRIMP PEDESTALS ARE VERY NARROW. THERE'S NO POINT IN MEMORIALIZING.
AND YOU – YOU DON'T HAVE PATIENCE, AND YOU CAN'T STAND IRREGULARITY. YOUR SHINING BANNERS SCRATCH THE EYES. YOU CREEP LIKE SOME SORT OF LOUSE. IT WAS BETTER WHEN THERE WAS NOTHING. YOU NEED TO BE PURGED. HOW CAN ONE BE SO INCOMPREHENSIBLE AND VULGAR?
WE
AIM FOR YOU TO BE MORE THAN SATISFIED WITH YOUR PURCHASES. IF, FOR ANY REASON,
THIS IS NOT THE CASE, YOU CAN RETURN UNUSED AND UNASSEMBLED ITEMS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL PACKAGING WITHIN A 30-DAY PERIOD FROM THEIR DELIVERY."
OR CAN YOU SAY THAT
SHORT PRAYER BACKWARDS? YOU SHOULD BE GOOD AT YOUR PRAYERS. PLEASE DON'T DRINK
IN FRONT OF MY WINDOW. YOU BLOCKED THE VIEW AND LOOKED RUDE. AND DON'T RUSH ME.
AND DON'T PEEK.
HERE I UNDERSTAND THAT
MY VALUE CORRESPONDS TO THE VALUE OF THE MATERIAL I PRODUCE. AND 'YOU' ARE
QUALITY CONTROL SYSTEMS, CONSTANTLY MEASURING DEVIATIONS FROM THE REQUIRED
STANDARD. WHO WANTS TO BE BROKEN AND FALL OUT OF THE GAME?
IF TRUTH BE TOLD, MY
MOTHER FORGOT TO TAKE ME OUT OF THE BED. SO I STAYED AT HOME. MY BONES GREW,
AND I'M STILL IN THAT BED. I FEEL SO HEAVY THAT I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF ANYONE CAN
TAKE ME OUT OF THERE ANYMORE. AND THE BIRTHPLACE IS CLOSED FOR A LONG TIME. I
DIDN'T NOTICE WHEN I STARTED TO ENJOY THIS STATE. IT'S SO GOOD TO BE FORGOTTEN.
NO ONE EXPECTS ANYTHING FROM YOU, AND IF THERE ARE STILL SOME EXPECTATIONS,
THEY ARE MOST LIKELY RELATED TO NOT BOTHERING YOU. FINALLY, I HAVE MY OWN ROOM.
AND AS FOR THEM, DON'T WORRY, THEY'LL WRITE SOMETHING ANYWAY. IT'S BETTER NOT TO DISTURB THEM."
[1] Eglė Grėbliauskaitė, KOMBINATAS, an installation made from the letters of the Soviet Vilnius Meat Combine sign, a square in front of the old Vilnius Academy of Arts building, Maironio Street 6, Vilnius, 2015, Eglė Grėbliauskaitė's website, accessed on July 19, 2021, http://www.eglegrebliauskaite.com/Egle_Grebliauskaite/DESINFORMATION.html.
[2] Salomėja Nėris, Writings (Vilnius: Vaga, 1984).
[3] Agnė Narušytė, "About the spine, Eglė Grėbliauskaitė's installation in Vilnius 'Hitting a Cold Wall from Her Dream,' 7 meno dienos, No. 39 (1276), November 30, 2018, https://www.7md.lt/tarp_disciplinu/2018-11-30/Apie-stubura.
[4] Sign in the window of the Naugarduko Street pharmacy.
[5] "Game Tables for Active Leisure" website, accessed on March 25, 2021, https://www.zaidimustalai.lt/pulo-stalas-bilaro-q15-8-pedu-242x131cm-zalias-audinys-su-komplektacija.html.