April 23, 2008
i hope to continue my experiments "in the lab," out of the lab, in my imagination, while i'm sleeping... anywhere and everywhere. i will continue to translate dimensions/forms into other dimensions/forms. i am very happy with where my first experiments have brought me because they have definitely changed my perspective on many aspects of life. hopefully what has been done here will help others to see the world in a whole new light... or sound or scent or taste or... you know what i mean.
notes on translation #2
translation #2 is about changing the form of a photograph to the form of words. i believe this to be the loss of a dimension. 2D to 1D perhaps. an image, whether intentional or not, will strike something in a person before he or she actually soaks in what is being viewed. words, however, do not have any meaning until they are read. for this translation, the story is my 1000-word equivalent to the photograph. i capped the length to 1000 words because of the cliche "a picture is worth a thousand words." not only did this provide a framing system, it also proved a challenge. on another note, the fact that it is a story is... well, i don't know. it could have easily been a poem, multiple poems, free writing, 1000 adjectives, 1000 nouns, etc. it is simply a story because that is how my imagination translated the image into words.
final project: TRANSLATION #2
*note: the image can be viewed either prior to reading or after reading... the effects will be very different. i have chosen to hide the image at first because words will not have an effect unless they are read. so stop! choose whether or not you'd like to view the image first. if so, CLICK HERE. otherwise, proceed to read exactly 1000 words.
He walks briskly toward the corner as I take the first step from the porch of this dilapidated edifice. Its walls are crumbling and its floors are not sound, yet they make music when the weight of the world walks upon them. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jeans and he stares at the concrete, expressionless. I imagine his trodden stride would strain the wooden strings of the house, an instrument at best.
I have managed to leave on time for work this morning. Usually I am late, and then get scorned for being late, but only sometimes do I actually feel guilty. I wonder where this boy is going. He is the only other person I can see starting his day right now. I am surprised that my day is even starting right now—on time, that is—because there is so much alcohol in my system. I do not even remember last night, but it was probably like most other nights. Should I even bother going to work? What have I got to look forward to? My life has been falling apart ever since it was constructed, just like this house, nothing like a home.
Truth is, I only work because the law requires that I send Lucy’s mother money every month. Lucy is seventeen now. Her life is mostly a blur to me, but that is certainly my fault. I am not allowed to see her too often, and even though there are these restrictions already, she wants to see me even less. See me… she will never see me, in fact. When Lucy was three years old she fell and crashed into a table that had empty beer bottles on it—my empty bottles. One of them tumbled down and shattered, blinding her for the rest of her life. I was passed out upstairs.
That is how I woke up this morning, passed out in the upstairs of this place. I doubt anyone lives here. Only druggies and hookers make up the life of this house. You would think waking up across the room from an eighteen-year-old strung out on the latest drug would actually wake me up. Well, I did wake up from his jittering, but I mean wake up. I am thirty-some years old—half of the way through my life, half of the way to my death.
My watch beeps as my sluggish feet plunk plunk onto the next step. One step at a time, maybe that is how I need to do things.
I smell like death, and I bet I look the same. Maybe my first step should be to have some pride in my appearance. I have half an hour to get to work. Where the hell am I? I squint to read the street signs on the corner. Fourth and… Prospect? Really? This could be a sign, right? I mean it is a sign, maybe I should take it as a sign. Prospect, I like that. Or maybe it is just ironic for this decaying house to be here.
No. This is my sign. I am three blocks from home. I have enough time to get there and clean myself up before heading to work. Clomp clomp. I land on the last step.
I hear a screeching of tires a few streets away. Someone else must be excited to start his new day too. Maybe things don’t have to be so bad. I can do this. I still have half a lifetime to get things right.
This boy is just standing on the corner now. He doesn’t look any older than Lucy. I watch as he pulls a piece of paper from his bag. His vacant face shifts and swells quickly with tears. I feel very uncomfortable, but I am frozen on this last step. He walks to the middle of the street and gazes. I turn my head to see what he is looking at, but there is nothing. I see a calm, plowed street and trees blanketed in snow.
I hear the screeching again from the car a few streets away and it interrupts my attention to the boy. Whoever that is should really get that fixed. It sounds louder this time, though. The car is probably heading in this direction; maybe I'll get a look at the state of the car. Maybe it does not have the prospect of improvement.
My attention is once again on the boy as he lifts the paper in his hand to eye-level. His view is of whatever is on the sheet, not the street. I take my last stride and land on the concrete. I begin walking down the sidewalk. If the boy has moved the paper away from his face, I am surely in his view now. I turn around to see if this is the case, but it is not.
The pat pat of my feet on the pavement loses itself in the screeching of that car. It has turned down this street and is heading in the opposite of my direction—it is heading toward the boy. The car is going all too fast. I turn around again only to see the car strike the boy, but this time I hear no screeching of the car’s brakes. I run to the child who is face down now. Blood is everywhere. I turn him over and on his chest lies that paper. “Remember your father always” is written in what I assume is his mother’s handwriting. I turn it over and see that it is a photo of this very street… almost identical to this day. But it has become stained from the blue dye of his jeans mixing with the slush from the street. And from the top of the photo his blood begins to soak toward the center and become one with the scene as his life is ebbing away.
I hold the boy as he takes his last breath. Who was that sign for?
VIEW THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGE:
"so as to embed systems of varying dimensionality close to each other or even within each other."
for my translation of sonic (song) to visual (video), the systems of varying dimensionality, the systems are within each other... the song and video have become one in the same. but for my visual (image) to visual (words) the system are close to each other. either the words can be read first and the image seen after to result in one effect. or the image can be seen first and the words be read second to create a different effect entirely.
"dimensionality is not necessarily permanent nor the same in all subsystems of a system. dimensionality occurs and recurs, happens."
for every translation, there are an infinite number of outcomes. a song can be translated into a video, a photograph, words, a cologne, a dessert... and for everyone of those there are so many possibilities... the only limiting factor is the imagination!
re: other ways to say it
while enjoying this post and venturing to the other places that are linked, i learned that "colleen" cannot be made with the elements. that is to say that figuratively i am not of this earth.
i kind of like that! but then it made me think... if i cannot be translated into elements, into what can i be translated? am i nothing? am i something? this also assumes that "colleen" is the 2D word equivalent of the walking, talking, mind, soul, and body essence that i am. is that what i am?
other ways to say it = translations.
re: flux & frame
jerome rothenberg's poem titled "the scream" makes me feel as though the poem is a translation of the feeling rothenberg got when hearing a scream. maybe the scream actually happened, maybe it was imagine. either way, he has formed this poem and chose "the scream" to be representative of the word that follow--this is essentially a translation.
re: frame it!
178: when looking at this, my first thought is "how would this translate into a real human?" surely the images are based on actual humans and are therefore anatomically correct... but what if this 2D space were to be translated into a 3D space? how would it feel? what language would it speak? would it be colorblind? oh, the depth that would be added!
28: this image resembles another aspect of my project that has yet to be completed. to realize that there are images inside of images! the pixelated version of the earth can be given more definition by adding smaller and smaller imaged within it. but let's say the image of the earth was so pixelated so that it was represented by only one square? what if it was represented by nothing? are there an infinite number of images that can be inside of something that cannot be seen? OF COURSE! it's called the imagination. and my imagination is what i used to translate between forms!
168: what if this image was translated into a different form? 3D: visual. i could feel it, smell it, break it. it's so soothing to the eye, but what if it was broken? how would emotions toward the form from 2D to broken 3D change? this alters the framing system in so many ways.
poems for the millennium!
winter voyage (601-604): the change in spacing and transformation of all capitals at times gives a flow to the poem. it is as though the reader is going on a voyage with the poem.
scattering as behavior toward risk (621-624): the poem is certainly scattered. at the beginning (is it the beginning?), there are symbols in addition to... symbols (words). but the icons thrust into a word-based world do indeed change the behavior of the poem itself.
re: space as a surface
"we continue to sculpt and imagine protocols of occupancy of space, including possibilities for what can happen to volume when it is reconfigured for 2D occupancy."
this is sort of the basis for my investigation... how do forms translate?
the sonic to visual translation of my project is only one of the possibilities for what can happen to what i believe to be a 2D occupancy (a song) when it is reconfigured for volume (3D: a video--i know a video is still 2D, but i believe it to have a depth that cannot be explained).
re: attempts at existence in various forms of space
examples from super vision that could be referenced by "blue song":
pg. 77: the block with missing pieces could be referenced by "blue song." it is as though yellow chick, not yet born, is another building block to the structure of this world. but the chick has not developed, of body & mind, and so it is not whole--just like this block.
pg. 173: the branches and bifurcations of this image could be referenced by "blue song" in the sense that the yellow chick is the blue song and therefore is part of a lineage, just like humans with family trees. this yellow chick is somewhere on one of the branches. the image could either represent the chick at it's current point in time; that is, the chick is at one of the branches toward the top of the image; he is last. it could represent generations to come, where the chick is at the base of the bifurcations. or the image could represent the lineage from the start of the world to its end and the chick is place at some unknown point on the image.
the impact that the scale of these example has on possibilities for listing 14 & 26 on pg. 95:
for listing 14, the previous response could answer this.
for listing 26, i can't seem to form an idea on how pg. 77 could impact listing 26, but as for pg. 173... "the new moon" could play into each new night and therefore each new day. this is of course the cycle of the world. but if the world were to come to its end, then there would no longer be a "new moon" to speak of. as most who may reach their demise... they choose to fight. if the image on pg. 173 represents the world from its beginning to end, then moon has something to fight for because it seems there will be no future generations of the world.
April 15, 2008
FINAL PROJECT: TRANSLATION #1
SONIC --> VISUAL (movement)
this video is part of my final project. the idea was to see how one form (form i will leave open-ended instead of limiting it to "form of poetry," "form of art," etc.) can translate into another. in this case the base (sonic) was the song "bad bad levi brown" by portugal. the man. the goal was to translate it into a video (moving visual). in a sense, the form gains a dimension--almost like going from 2D to 3D. while a video only uses one sense (sight), just like a song does (hearing), a video in its own way seems to have a depth to it that sound alone cannot achieve. i believe it to be because we as humans rely so much of how we interact with the world around us on our sight.
the idea behind this project was to give this song/sonic/sound a visual equivalent. the outcome--"the translation"--is one in which only i could have achieved because it is spoken through the language of my imagination... which is something that is unique to everyone. that is to say, this visual equivalent is not the "correct" translation. there is no correct translation.
essentially, given limited resources and limited knowledge of computer programs (and having never made a video ever before), this video is the outcome to how i imagine "bad bad levi brown" might take on a visual form. i do not wish to call it a music video. i want for it to be called a translation.
a translation also changes the entire framing system of the form.
how might a song be framed? it is clearly unlike a photograph or piece of art that can be held in a black, wooden, too big, perfect fit, unseen, etc. type of frame. a song, because it is something that cannot be held or even seen, is framed by one's imagination, one's experiences.
so here it is... my translation of a sonic form to a visual form, titled "if i were a bear." the background music is indeed "bad bad levi brown." but it is only present to show how the two translate.
April 01, 2008
1000 words: a work in progress (we're always in progress)
invasion of ice insects intended to initiate internal discomfort. eyes like icicles and legs like twine perched on a branch in your mind. jumping toward the center of time, bifurcation rewinds, rewinds. cords for arms that extend, that wrap around the organ of your breath. this is a test, silly girl, do you know your crime? only blues and browns and the whites of mine, can you see with your greens that underneath the surface—where does it begin, where does it end—everything will never be fine. oscillations and air waves are not controlled by the moon but by the tune of the state of the world. the door that closes to tell you to turn around, go back, is a warning, sweet child, that you are in a bind. bound by this twine, this cord, the ice will melt and will be felt in your spine. liquid rushing, the toxins in your body are flushing to the atmosphere, but do not fear. these crystal creatures sweep and creep beneath your feet. they disappear with the heat from your hands because you are nervous with busy thoughts of death. these features make you weak and in time the strong survive and eventually seek a mate who will break your every move—this is when worlds collide. the turning tide and features of secondary motions but primary emotions, have you felt your heart beat today? has it stalled from the weight you are bearing, boy? are you so daring, boy, to keep this depth to yourself? do not mind that this could be the end, stop caring. touch of metal, signal of grace. stop. three. two. once the drop touches your cheek, your chances boy… mother mayhem wants you to know your future looks bleak. the swarm breaches the space between you and comfort and in turn corrugates reality. take action, she whispered. paralyzed as the wind of time blows by, step into sabotage, step into a coalescence of travesty and treachery—mother mayhem will not think thrice to sacrifice her kin for the fusion of devastation and potential. pain, he said, runs like a river through ruins of men defeated. it just glides like blood tributaries and diamonds like islands for these creatures to call home. we are inside you, they screech, we have come to manipulate you. cables pipe a new remembrance of the past, of the present, of the future. truth is a ghost hidden between shadows in the dark. decide right now if your life you will keep. the size of your mind: you had the chance to kill, but you sank into fear and now despair remains here. if here is your heart and now is your mind, who will charge without hesitation? is it place or time that determines who we were, are, will be? danger, will you dance with me? death, may i take your hand? here and now echoes with control in a cavern above your heart, yet below your mind. it reverberates and violates the empty space that is this life. they are falling now, these rimed creatures. they are landing now, these saviors. they trail in pairs and pairs and pairs; ARE YOU SCARED YET, SON? YOU OUGHT TO RETHINK YOUR POSITION. YOU MIGHT DIE RIGHT HERE. YOU MIGHT DIE RIGHT NOW. limbs like blades, imagine a world where the only way to cut into someone was at the front, at the heart, with his eyes on you like glue as you killed him, as you showed him truth. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? weep, and a new face you will dawn. fight back, just know it will take more than brawn. is this the end? or is this the—you guessed it… the surface of life has been sliced and a new layer emerges. let the change seep into your exhausted soul. you will be laughing in a matter of days. remember when, you will say, remember when… but you won’t realize then that your memory is so far gone. mother mayhem ripped it out and stuffed it under her bed last night. she sleeps on your dreams. she knows where you have been. big brother? never had any sibling to speak of. big mother. blame her for your mind. 708/1000