Medium

Medium is het resultaat van een vier weken durende workshop met Eleanor Bauer en studenten drama.

“Con mit von schliesel mit der grosse scheisse” – Heidegger

Now, I am going to blow up the Law, I will break up the truth with laughter. I refuse to explain but I disclose everything. ABORT ME IF YOU DARE. It hurts to punch the floor but I am trying to get the message across. How can I find words for the in-between parts, the disintegration and loss of form or reference. I try to fake it the whole time. The muse leaves my side, to wander astray someplace more interesting. One more secret: it’s beautiful when a group of people can hold together something uncertain. Without poking and prodding and demanding more, without provoking and oppressing the weirdness and softness, without reducing the complexity. I am a fucking package. I am one and many. Some teenage accident. Maybe even a sexual relationship with an eye. Looking for something to turn into art – when the real experience of what is happening is not possible to recreate, when the mess that is pouring in through my senses will never be tamed. I imagine authorship on the beach, on holiday, getting a tan maybe even a sun burn, spacing out, a lovely early retirement kind of atmosphere. What is there to appear in a world that hides itself in between what is not happening in front of my eyes? Did they, yes or no, use their wooden leg as a dildo? Those questions interest me. I am not a narrative animal. I never abandon sensation. There’s no end to the wind around my head.Medium is het resultaat van een vier weken durende workshop met Eleanor Bauer en studenten drama.

“Con mit von schliesel mit der grosse scheisse” – Heidegger

Now, I am going to blow up the Law, I will break up the truth with laughter. I refuse to explain but I disclose everything. ABORT ME IF YOU DARE. It hurts to punch the floor but I am trying to get the message across. How can I find words for the in-between parts, the disintegration and loss of form or reference. I try to fake it the whole time. The muse leaves my side, to wander astray someplace more interesting. One more secret: it’s beautiful when a group of people can hold together something uncertain. Without poking and prodding and demanding more, without provoking and oppressing the weirdness and softness, without reducing the complexity. I am a fucking package. I am one and many. Some teenage accident. Maybe even a sexual relationship with an eye. Looking for something to turn into art – when the real experience of what is happening is not possible to recreate, when the mess that is pouring in through my senses will never be tamed. I imagine authorship on the beach, on holiday, getting a tan maybe even a sun burn, spacing out, a lovely early retirement kind of atmosphere. What is there to appear in a world that hides itself in between what is not happening in front of my eyes? Did they, yes or no, use their wooden leg as a dildo? Those questions interest me. I am not a narrative animal. I never abandon sensation. There’s no end to the wind around my head.