Pre-SSF Núm. 0
Transcripción
Pre-SSF Núm. 0
y no podemos dormir y no queremos despertar Juan Carreño | 01 Pre-SSF Núm. 0/ Issue 0 Juan Carreño — Trevor Paglen — Iacopo Seri — Jonty Tiplady — Elsa-Louise Manceaux — Andrew Birk — Óscar David López — Txema Novelo — Ismael Velázquez Juárez — Meredith Jay — Nikola Tosic — Dunja Jankovic — Jamian Juliano-Villani — Sergio Ernesto Ríos — Eduardo Padilla — Joseph Reiter Amigo, amante, lector, ¿Cómo conciliar estos mundos? Un huevo eclosiona dentro de otro: un sueño sobre la película que vi en mi pantalla, mientras recibía un mensaje. Pensé y olvidé la historia. Miré el cielo por la ventana. ¿Quién me miraba a mí? Viví las noticias. Salí a caminar y las calles me hablaron porque puse atención. Traté de expresar amor con el mismo lenguaje con el que pedí comida en un restaurante. Vi la secuencia más hermosa durante un viaje por carretera en el desierto. Pensé en escribir poemas pero se me olvidaron todos. Hice una observación sistemática, microscópica, luego aérea. Un territorio, un cuerpo, un retrato, un paisaje, una cámara, un arma. Unx diosx de múltiples cabezas: cortar o acariciar dulcemente una por una. Volver a una forma primitiva de comunicación, la profundización de un misterio. Friend, lover, reader, How to reconcile these worlds? An egg hatches inside another: A dream about the movie I saw on my screen, while receiving a message. I thought and forgot about history. Looked at the sky out the window. Who was looking at me? Lived the news. Went for a walk and the streets spoke to me because I payed attention. Tried to express love with the same language I used for ordering food at a restaurant. Saw the most beautiful sequence during a road trip through the desert. Thought of writing poems but forgot them all. Made a systematic, microscopic, then aerial observation. A territory, a body, a portrait, a landscape, a camera, a gun. A god/ess of multiple heads: To sweetly cut or stroke one by one. Returning to a primitive way of communication, the deepening of a mystery. Anterior/ previous: Trevor Paglen, They Watch the Moon | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 Presente y anteriores/ present & previous: Iacopo Seri | 07 PRE-YOUNIVERSAL Any description conjured up including this one is indescribable. I bet you look really beautiful in a wheelchair. This is what Anton Chigurh meant when he didn’t have some way to put it. I cried about the film and felt vindicated that I love you. Anonymity is a gift within the name, indifferent to it, as is writing. There is no escape hatch into descriptions and no escape hatch out of them. I have nothing to say. I literally have nothing to say. Today’s memes are transcendental perhaps (Derrida), divine inexistence (Meillassoux), eternity through the stars (Blanqui), and escape from the entropocene (Stiegler). No Grexit. Maybe prison was the problem, a disaster for Blanqui and Stiegler alike. Surely L’Eternité par les astres was only possible through incarceration and gives the lie to socialism as a kind of a priori cosmological optimism. I’m looking for a new kind of thing, a place that makes my heart sing, another question answered from above. You only live once, so shut the fuck up. Remember your heart is in me, and that it’s like at the end of No Country for Old Men when Chigurh gets hit by a car and you think for a second it might be less irreversible (less de Man and more Meillassoux, as if a second planet really were waiting round the corner), but he just gets out of the car and walks on. Jonty Tiplady | 08 Matanza en iglesia en EE.UU., mueren 9 | 09 Le operan cerebro mientras toca guitarra | 10 Cámaras de seguridad graban a ladrones de auto | 11 Nuevas aplicaciones para su celular | 12 La fuga del Chapo Presente y anteriores/ present & previous: Elsa-Louise Manceaux de GRANDES HECHOS DE 2015 (QUE NO CUENTAN CON LA MATANZA DE CHARLIE HEBDO) | 13 Brown Box Tape I literally do not give a flying fuck about business but I will keep “trying” to sell my artworks because that allows me to keep buying groceries, acetone, and cans of bright yellow enamel. I want to have (more) sex with my beautiful girlfriend. I want to travel to waterfalls in Nayarit. My tone should not be misconceived as “defeatist.” I just think real plainspeak is gorgeous. Im a Hemingway man. Life is too short to lie and aggrandize bullshit and not being honest gives me profound FOMO. If any one person talks too much theyre liable to end up saying something idiotic. I want honesty to be my business niche. Oxen plow. The sun sets. Birds scatter loudly. “Howl” was the most influential book I ever read. I want polaroids of my caucasian male cock to break records at Sotheby’s. I am glad to have developed a decent command of the English language during my 30+ years of daily usage, but that by no means justifies trying to wrap my head around what art is about, let alone filter that through language cohesively. Leave that to the specialists. Did you ever notice how successful psychotherapists have the most fucked up children? It is amazing how humans can be so specialized in analysis of overarching systems and at the same time so narrow sighted and unable to analyze themselves. You tell me what my work is about. Or I can try, unsuccessfully. True statement: I think about art all day long every day. I make art every day, whether or not that is my intention. There are 7+billion people on the planet. There is something for everyone. Art is my thing. If you are reading this, art is probably your thing too. Thats just the reality. Its funny that we are the lowliest cogs of culture but we are so self-involved that we feel like Princes of Maine. Our kindergarden teachers told us we were brilliant and we listened. Think about some clownboi hatbro from Connecticut with a studio on the 7th floor of a building in Chelsea, an ugly model girlfriend, a mounting poppers habit, and an inbox full of emails from Jeanne Greenberg-Rohatyn. <—-That last sentence was fuckin gorgeous. I feel like a janitor. There is something earnest about this mentality. After reading these kinds of assertions, perhaps collectors will not want to hang around with me and try to “tag team bitches.” If thats my only opportunity to survive, Ill take my chances in nature. I know a painter who moved to Oaxaca and got married. That seems like the way to go. My goal is to never leave Mexico. Lol. But for real. Im not into this nu-model of bring artists in to your European-esque city for one month to make imitation versions of their work as a measure to not pay for shipping. It is a bad idea for far too many reasons. Art is the most expensive luxury good on planet Earth. I love when people try to cut corners. A cuddly sweat shop of happy geese laying golden eggs. But If I am going to be treated like shit for my golden eggs, at least give me the conditions to create 24K. | 14 No one fux w/ Iron Pyrite. Whats that joke about? If I am going to let you fuck me at least buy me dinner first. Upper-echelon White Mexican M.N. Roy hungover penthouse w/ servants Mexico, investing in restaurants in Roma Norte Mexico. Curly baby hairs and baby airs papuki buena ondukis Zara fresukis Torres de Santa Feukis ironed pants Mexico. My parents are industrial barons but were on the same level bc ur American, bro, Mexico. Barrio de Chilapa, waking up to chickens, picking up a kilo of tortillas and 15 pesos worth of dried beans from nuns on my morning walk Mexico. Shamanistic taxicab driver uses ice and fire to cleanse me of my ex-girlfriend Mexico. Police chain smoking in their rolled up window paddywagons Mexico. Every time I fly into the United States I get stomach sickeningly nervous w/ regard to TSA screening. George Bush Intercontinental Airport. My gallerist warns me in a warm, big-brotherly way about projecting any other image than success on social media. I look at the calendar on my MacBook Air that I bought last year with the money I was paid to do a residency. My bank account has been in the negatives for 5 months and counting. If it were not for Kayla bailing me out I would be absolutely fucked. I was going to use social media to beg for a job but thats also bad for the portrait of success that Im very feebly painting. My real rich friends make one of these :3 looks on their faces and dont know how to relate to this line of content. They are poor too (psychosomatic). Sometimes people offer me dinner. Frankly IDGAF about food. I just want to make paintings in a vacuum where I dont have to think about money. This isnt unreasonable, but people beg to differ. I wonder if things would be different if I made 1,000 iterations of the same piece over the course of 3 or 4 years. I wonder if its better to just shut the fuck up. I will never fuckin do that, though, because that is not how humans brains work. The idea that we not be evolving during our excavations of life is contrary to the very idea of evolution. Or life. I want to be wrong in the most grandiose way conceivable. Maybe Ill make 1,000 iterations of the same piece. Some artists are known for one thing. Some artists have one fuccin series. No musicians put out the exact same album 10 times in a row. Or do they? Buy it if you like it. I dont know how it works. I would think my shit would make you look cool at your dinner party but I dont know how your world works as much as I speculate. I equate you with the Kardashians and I dont know why. I hate you and I need you and I hate you for needing you. People know you as you want them to know you. People know you as you let them know you. I dont want to go to your party. I want to wake up early and listen to synthesizers. I want to turn on fluorescent lights. I want to make a list of things that matter and cross them out one after another. | 15 I got offered to write for some large publication and then my writing style turned out to be too artsy. They wanted to pay me $50 dollars per article. Saying no to abusive nu-liberal biz tactics has become a passion project lately. Über life. Airbnb life. Life has become a meme. I am not an angry person, I just literally think this kind of complainey tone is beautiful to read and look at. I speak kind of quietly in real life unless Im really comfortable in your presence. Im respectful. I just cannot take shit. Holden Caulfield as a thirtyfive year old divorced Godínez. Someones gotta call B. I cannot tell if that is brown-colored AeroComex spray-paint particulate or coffee dried to the bottom of my empty Prego jar. Im trying to train myself to not care about the affirmations of other artists and on this front I have not yet been successful. Paso por paso. Yesterday I woke up and walked through my neighborhood for three hours to steal posters of lost dogs off of telephone poles and then took a pesero home. Failure, pain and confusion are so relatable that they arent worth paying for. Even though by being the most real they are also the most beautiful. We prefer to pedestalize success, glory and clarity. In reality these are the most abstract and foreign concepts. MISA EN LA CRUZ. PRÓXIMO DOMINGO. 10:00 A.M. I want to have a show in some place where nothing interesting has ever happened. I want to feel pleased with my decisions. I want to descale. I want to wear a purple t-shirt that says “I <3 Tlalpan” but still want to ignore neighborhood politics. Poorness constantly creates interesting limits. Wheatpaste looks cooler than 3M SprayMount, it reads better (more urban) on the materials list, and it is 1% of the cost. Is it archival? IDK. Was Picasso’s cardboard archival? Let kids specializing in Collection Archive Management deal w/ it. Last week I tried friending Picasso’s grand-daughters on Facebook. Moving pesero jumpoff. Glass carrier rope tie. Large centered eye shape in top third. The floor of my studio is covered in WD-40 for no particular reason. My life is a sock with a hole in it. My toilet has been clogging a lot lately. My water pressure reminds me of a Seinfeld episode. I left a stack of three tamale husks on top of the cut-out-center Stephen King paperback that my roommate hides weed in. The marks left behind by brown box tape. - Andrew Birk Andrew Birk | 16 Anterior/ previous: Trevor Paglen, STSS-1 and Two Unidentified Spacecraft over Carson City (Space Tracking and Surveillance System; USA 205) Presente/ present: PAN (Unknown; USA-207) | 18 Trevor Paglen, Large Hangars and Fuel Storage; Tonopah Test Range, NV; Distance approx. 18 miles; 10:44 am | 19 Trevor Paglen, Chemical and Biological Weapons Proving Ground/Dugway; UT/Distance approx. 42 miles; 11:17 a.m. | 20 11. y no podemos dormir y no queremos despertar me dijo soy la hija del mayor asesino de la historia y te amo como tromba marina yo miré debajo de la cama y en la ducha algo se me queda y no puedo largar pensé y no dije mira, aquí estás con tu mejor amigo muerto bajando las escaleras del puerto estuve en Pisagua leyendo los muros en el desierto, junto a los japoneses no hay dónde correr la miré y la supe pálida te esperé, dijo, donde faenan ballenas en Quintay en la playa donde encallan los pingüinos plastifiqué todas las tarjetas que publiqué en los almacenes aquí me ofrecí a lavar ropa y de nodriza éstas son mis manos y ésta es otra foto estás solo en el continente y tienes rabia ¿notas las tablas, las piedras en los techos la tormenta que contienen? 37. un intento de rostros en la ventana baja resolución del paisanaje grisáceos, los caminos de tierra entre las moras cerrar los ojos a orillas del río el amanecer de carretera en los últimos asientos de buses a la hora que viajan temporeros barnizados de vino, aromos el bolso lleno de plata en la cabeza los últimos gritos de la pareja de ancianos latifundistas soñar una plantación de locos en el lecho marino agua contra sombras (las manos huelen a pólvora) la casa patronal en llamas | 21 39. ojo en la lluvia y con los nombres algunos caen vendados en instalaciones de la SIP los muñequean los fabrican de nuevo los vacían como las cargas de agua que un helicóptero arrastra sobre un incendio forestal los sacan a porotear a los malls los ponen en las vitrinas de tiendas deportivas al reconocernos ellos tiemblan se les remueven las ratas por entre los órganos se les acusan solos nuestros grandes amores tenemos 28 años por detrás y fumamos frente al mar con la Flaca Alejandra llueven bultos como televisores al fondo del Pacífico en la mirada de muro con sangre nos difuminamos como una pareja de ancianos que mueren abrazados en el gran incendio de Valparaíso 40. el pasado es reconocer el agua una tarde y álamos despedirse en una playa volcánica por la luz del ojo de madera intermitencias geográficas y diversos oficios una mochila que solo contiene cosas sencillas como jabón o cenizas Juan Carreño, del libro/ from the book Oxicorte | 22 CÍRCULOS EN EL TRIGO La verdad para un hombre: castigo para el campesino a diario empecinado con el ruego y el riego de los trigales y su espesura. La verdad para un hombre común: contacto a través de los círculos en el pasto o en las cosechas ya desechas por una fuente de calor extraña que devino en formación, cambio eléctrico, efecto nada atmosférico en los nudillos de las plantas de trigo y en los ojos del agricultor repentinamente estrella de los programas amarillistas en los que relata la forma de las esferas de luz que sobrevolaban la ya hecha figura. La verdad y el mensaje: alarma urgente para los hombres que comprendan su hambre: en el mensaje está la señal: y en la señal nuestra única verdad: salvar al planeta. La verdad para un hombre: altísima publicidad sideral. Pero la verdad para un hombre común: ganancia para los productores de lo insólito y lo tecno-ilógico. La verdad: mensaje sin autoría pero circular el círculo infinito en la espiral del fenómeno de los famosos fenómenos. Pero la verdad: oculta en las caballerías: un enorme espirógrafo que dibuja mensajes en código binario: los círculos en los cultivos de un hombre común que cree descifrar desde su ventana que el problema se resuelve si se lee entre dientes. La verdad para un hombre común no es la misma que para un hombre: el primero es común por nacimiento y el segundo, paradigma de mundos mutuos. Y la verdad: escrita ya en los círculos en el trigo. Y el mensaje: para todo viaje: Always Coca-Cola. | 23 PREÁMBULO DEL ROCKSTAR aunque lo conoció en un chat internacional hasta que despertó junto a él entendió por qué su nick era pedoduro ya en el vips dijo llamarse juan sobieski pero no fue coronado rey de polonia en 1674 no salvó a viena del mero mero mustafá del ejército musulmán no comenzó la tradición de cañonazos y altos empinados de todos los 11 de septiembre en la ira del islam tampoco dijo: veni, vidi, deus vicit ni tú le creíste lo innegable era que la noche había sido una gran alcayata entre sus piernas ambos formaron un buró donde uno abría y el otro apretaba el cajón una y otra vez hasta que la carpintería fue relajación aserrín que la fricción suelta enseguida pensaste en preparar la huida quedarte quieto hasta que el metro reanudara la jornada ponerte la ropa sin hacer ruido y salir sin dar los buenos días a las vecinas irte pensado en el único secreto al que sobieski te dio acceso quizá componer tu primera canción electro-pop y titular el demo: me excita ir a la panadería para acariciar los volcanes y las chilindrinas | 24 McAmor, día 94 ¿Has visto esas fotos de una hamburguesa que resiste idéntica después de 180 días? ¿Y las papas a la francesa todavía con sal de brillantina crujiente en la desigualdad del clima? Yo creí que te quedarías así adentro mío desde la primera noche. Que haríamos miles de rebanadas de queso amarillo con nuestros empujoncitos de carne y pan. Que siempre vería la M redondita de tus nalgas desde mi lado de la Cajita Feliz. Y que todo sería felicidad. Y que todo sería inmóvil e incorruptible. Y que en el futuro seríamos el proyecto de arte documental de un loco que entre risas dijera: entonces han durado más que una hamburguesa de McDonald’s. Pero no fue así. Por eso te invito a que compres una Cajita Feliz el día que te enamores de alguien y hagas la prueba de descomposición. Ningún animal resiste más que la carne tóxica al aire libre. | 25 la bestia-godot y arriba de la bestia el reino champiñón spin-off tragicomedia en dos actos borde desborde vodevil de personaje seleccionable mario bros fontanero bonachón luigi misma ropa segundo abordo desaparecido donkey kong la gran verga el palo la venísima el pequeño montón de manos y el tronco lo dijo el absurdo apenas ven tren y niegan que están viajando para viaje los caraoculta eterno retoño esperando a godot un videojuego de verano un videojuego de los eternos miles de niveles raíces sobre raíces ¿ya llegamos? pregunta mario sí sí ya llegamos contesta luigi y el tren sigue moviéndose beckett diminuta ventana y sobre el desierto biznagas pequeñitas cactus alucinantes puro tedio puro 70 km por hora caras de serpiente máquinas rastreras godot por ningún lado godot por todas partes mario salta sobre los mutilados los que siempre vuelven a intentarlo mario salta sobre los hijos de wilmer y marilyn indios navajos desplazados curan todo con orines curan todo con el efecto del vacío mario salta sobre los machetes y los sicarios mario gana cinco puntobecketts cinco puntobecketts no son nada para rescatar a la princesa mercadeo caza de putas hongos familiares uno sigue siendo lo que es dice mario por mucho que se esfuerza contesta luigi el fondo no cambia intertext intertranvía ser escrito por el desastre sex-oh no produce dolor produce dolo mario salta y gana cinco puntobecketts mario retrocede y pierde siete dedos mario es un idiota controlado a distancia mario migrante mario absurdo mario en el expreso de medianoche mario sodomizado abordo ingenuo en su primera noche mental en new york city acostumbrado al vagón de fumadores montegay touchdown aquí no hay nada no exit no lleve equipaje viaje ligero compre en dólares coffee & donut super mario-godot la india maría no me voy a dormir hasta terminar el nivel tapachula-nogales no me voy a dormir hasta que la planta-piraña las estrellas los bloques la princesa los dólares la versión final el riiin riiin riiiiin de la bestia me deje sordo ¿dónde está luigi? pregunta mario ¿dónde está luigi? game over por mirar a otro lado game over por pensar en otro que no eres tú mario vámonos que hay que quedarse quietecitos vámonos realidad virtual mario salta la segunda guerra mundial desplazamiento absurdo mario gana una nacionalidad tercermundista revival pachuco existencialismo de videojuego luigi no está luigi dijo que vendría luigi dictador fronterizo ¿dónde está tu pasaporte hermano? mario salta y luigi soldado bang-bang dispara mario cae mario muere mario no sube al cielo mario reinicia nuevo antiguo viajero la bota le aprieta la barriga le ruge godot por ningún lado godot por todas partes mario esperando Óscar David López | 26 LOVE IS COLDER THAN DEATH Cold is deadlier than love Luck is older than death Mud is lovelier than snow Munich is unique for us 1 is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do 2 can be as bad as one (is the loneliest number since the number one) 3 is perfect for crime (but there’s always one who won’t make it on time) We don’t know what we did wrong Betray and you will be thrown Love and you will be traded Freeze (and your death will be slow) My last will? I want my coffin to be an empty pinball I want the Bayern Munich to conquer everything I want Anna Schygula to be buried along I want everybody to sing my 43 songs They say you where inspired for this crime By the French and the nouvelle vague, They say you’re the toughest queer in town And that this leather jacket is going to take you very far. Greasy and violent Lonely in discontent Future role model creature Mein gross spiritual teacher (And the last Motorcycle Club preacher) All alone seems Ulli Lommel We need him for this enterprise We need this collective notion We all smell your faggy lotion We need to be partners in crime Rainer Werner, this was your rough start Since day one you were a man of fortune Always surrounded by the darkest stars You where the ultimate factory, You make hate feel warmer than life. | 27 FOX AND HIS FRIENDS Fox Fox Here he comes with his goddamn friends Back in the day he used to be a commie But those fag fucks they only fall for bucks Raised on the streets, the son of a carnival The show’s wage was tough and small like a mouse He always took pity for the lower animals Whenever he could, he found a lost cock a house One day fortune played him very a cruel joke Life took his family for 5 million marks He did not know what he was going to attract And what came his way was the nastiest bloke Good ol’ Foxy he just wanted love Love in the form of a sweet warming man What he got instead was a cold gold digger But Foxy couldn’t judge neither could he harm Penny by penny and cent by the cent Mark by mark they exploit the sperm Of one of the most decent, honest and poorest men Who was only after that thing (that thing money just can’t buy) A heart broke trough a hard heart lesson Only pinball can cure the heart of such man If two American soldiers are willing to help Those tree things and beer can bring the pain down But it’s too late for my dear soul Foxy He lost everything on the greediest hands His death became a clear premonition He died in the same way Rainer Werner died | 28 VERONICA VOSS Once I met a girl just like Veronica Voss Once she was a singer caught between two worlds On the one hand she had the best music taste On the other she lived to be pretty and well dressed When the pitchfork reviews stopped coming her way Then the birds stop twitting on her Twitter page For the Facebook likes where unlikely there And the YouTube views where not viewed again The first time I saw her on a circus act I couldn’t recognize her on such sad clown gown But her very unique undisguised voice Hired me thereto to become her toy Just like Butes didn’t seem to be afraid I wasn’t and allowed her to fuck me in the brains I allowed her bitterness to mess up my heart I allowed this mermaid to devour my soul And from such allowance I was allowed to see That Veronica did also become fond of me We started floating slowly on an ill old tune Dancing it together following our doom The days passed among us years became like fungus letters heartless written bits of raw flesh bitten Pills soulless prescripted a play of love bad scripted The end started to crumble deep in on my stumble Social science took her far away from me I failed then to difference a mirror from a tree Veronica flew up into a sparrow nest Goodbyes was without doubt what she did far best Now the doctors told me I’m fit back to work I rented a tree house it came with a fork I spend all my evenings reading Mayakovsky And on every spotted car crash, Veronica feels closely Txema Novelo, tres poemas de la serie/ three poems from the series Forty Poems for R.W.F. | 29 un sueño siempre soñé con una winchester que soñara contigo en medio del sueño y que al despertar siguieras siendo tú y no un sueño eres esa winchester y no hay sueño monólogo en la banca de un parque hace más de un año que no me caga una paloma es la manera en la que el universo me ignora le correspondo a mi modo miro a todos pasar a mi alrededor y no muerdo a nadie volver a la pintura de donde nunca debimos salir estábamos tan tranquilos posando eternamente echados sobre un sofá o sosteniendo un mínimo perro mientras el óleo resbalaba apenas por nuestras mejillas el aire nunca se respiró mejor que en acuarela los huesos solo a lápiz fueron huesos el mundo era un paisaje confiable si uno dejaba de mirarlo o lo colgaba de una pared y se olvidaba de él | 30 carpe diem hoy puse las manos encima de la estufa encendida al principio no me pareció bien pero, ¿qué está bien? ¿poner manos a la obra? la obra es hacerse polvo el desierto de mojave escucha al captain beefheart the stars are matter, we’re matter, but it doesn’t matter captain beefheart estimado desierto de mojave soy don van vliet también conocido como captain beefheart pero eso es estúpido ni siquiera tengo un barco vivo en un cámper encima de ti (por cierto gracias por arruinar el depósito de gasolina) debo decirte que no te soporto más que de noche pues odio la luz del sol pero en cambio me gustan los vecinos me refiero a las yucas y a los cactus el mundo no necesita de otros inquilinos te cuento ahora algo de mí fui músico aunque no sabía nada de música fui pintor aunque tampoco sabía nada de pintura también he vendido zapatos y aspiradoras - dime, desierto de mojave: ¿acaso hay algo más importante que un zapato?¿te he contado ya que alguna vez le vendí una aspiradora a aldous huxley? él hacía toda la limpieza en su casa de el llano, california. su mujer solo se dedicaba a mirarlo bueno pero regresando al punto quiero decirte que con todo y que me pareces terriblemente aburrido he aprendido a apreciarte no imagino otra forma de gastar mi vida más que contigo con la ventaja de que nunca me miras y seguramente ni siquiera sabes ni te importa que yo esté aquí de hecho no te importa que nadie en el mundo esté donde está eres la mejor compañía que se puede tener Ismael Velázquez Juárez | 31 | 32 Presente y anterior/ present & previous: Meredith Jay, de la serie/ from the series Dimensiones parallelols | 33 1. When I was young I had a dream of becoming one of those people who know the difference between being an atheist and being an ancient city. But then I realized that down the river there is always a cheater. Down the hill there is something that makes sense if you want some. Down the hall was a British journalist from a small town. He said that he could please you for a while, but then you would have been killed by the British Marxists. Down the line between two points are all the things that don’t exist in the middle of nowhere, near the intersection with my best head. It’s beautiful how the laws of human existence fall into place when people buy what they call the polite way of knowing the truth. During my own little drama, I was wondering why do people always get out of bed with a new version of this world. After all, this morning is already being made by using the same old story. A chance to make an attempt on tomorrow suddenly appeared, when the sky was a big fat boy in my head. I’d never be able to find out how this could have been possible without the help of some sort of stuff that was funny like a man with no regrets. Later that day, I was going to see what happens when a person can take advantage of being able to find out how to create new features of the world. During my stay at the bottom of the most beautiful woman, there was something else in Switzerland, where she arrived after the war on drugs or alcohol and drugs and hard work. She was like an umbrella waiting for the next season of luck. For three consecutive nights we were the main characters of the city and possibly the most beautiful things in the area around the clock. We had a wonderful thing that made us feel free from any computer software. It’s an old version of a particular type of thing that makes an excellent job with the same thing that is already taken from the beginning with a copy of any information about the people who make sure that we are a very long and narrow and hard liquor. From my phone to my bed and then I realized I was just a little late to be the first one to get out of that morning. Better be ready to leave for a while, I thought, when a little kid suddenly appeared before me with a copy of an ancient Egyptian army and the rest of your favorite restaurant. His role in the world is coming up soon after the war against the French king. Later, when the sun went through the night, I dreamt of being made of glass or other intellectual capacities. It was good to see how much I care about the sudden urge to go through the window while she has a great way to start the conversation. Now, part of my mind is made of wood from which a person can make a good table. From the beginning it was also used to create new music of some sort. | 34 2. Close to the place where I work, there is always a reason for being lazy. But the best way to get some rest is history. Now I just want to be one of those people who have lost their bodies in the early medieval period, when the first day of summer is still used for agricultural purposes. Meanwhile, the whole world stops and stares at me like a good friend. As I walk through the sea otters, hold me like a boomerang in June, and I will never forget your efforts to protect me from those threatening forces that can only be seen by using a huge amount of energy drinks. Be ready to move when they come to my room, and take care to notice that the government has become an independent nonalcoholic beverage. Just keep it going for a while and then I will send you my new favorite color. Today is the first day and the end is already there, and the other end is also available for all these questions about how to make this clear. At last this century ended today. I don’t understand why some people just can’t find it funny. It’s interesting how they feel the need to be on time all the time without having any purpose whatsoever in these days of industrial relations between them and their bald-headed language, which makes them look like an adult contemporary artist. Can’t find out how to love a million tears from which all these people are getting famous, with their hands on the ground and a half of them with their feet in a relationship with the rest of their lives. No more tears for this country music singer who had served as chairman of my mind. I’ll just keep swimming on with your name on my face. And when I get back to the north, I’ll have a wonderful life and death at the end of the world. Iacopo Seri, A Man with No Regrets | 35 WRITING POETRY i came up with so many poems but i did not have a way of writing them down i was either under water or my hands were busy and of course i forgot them all | 36 ONE MORE LOVE POEM i want to fuck you so bad my eyes are leaking acid and my ass smells like universe HEAVEN i know i am in heaven because every second of my life is just so great | 37 MY 40 DAYS OLD SON i look at him and he is so cute just too cute i get this huge urge to rip his cute little fat bald hairy head off and crush it with my power jaws and scream until my head explodes that is how cute marko is and he makes me feel like this hundred times a day DEFINITION OF HUMAN humans stopped being animals when they started fighting for dreamy stuff, the stuff in our minds Nikola Tosic | 38 Trevor Paglen, Autonomy Cube | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 Presente y anteriores/ present & previous: Dunja Jankovic | 43 Jamian Juliano-Villani, Apparition of Master | 44 Jamian Juliano-Villani, Haniver Jinx | 45 Jamian Juliano-Villani, Stone Love | 46 Jamian Juliano-Villani, Substance Free | 47 Jamian Juliano-Villani, The Whirlpool of Grief | 48 mereces la ciencia ficción la gracia prudente de una reservación de asientos eyectores observados en un cuenco de cristal en el desamor que viste un kimono de luces plateadas y rastros de paracaídas medusas o pulpos o flores verticales medusas o pulpos o flores verticales medusas o pulpos o flores verticales las corporaciones de telegramas no son larvas dóciles le dije al Sr. Cavatumbas los niños zombis aman a las tortugas deslizándose en sus jugos gástricos entierra mi corazón en Varsovia le dije al Sr. Cavatumbas sólo si fuera convidado a un día de campo en el jardín selenita entierra mi corazón en Varsovia Que mi retrato petrificara a los selenitas, que mis retratos se cultivaran en invernaderos y colgaran a gran altura, entre nubes salidas de heliotropos, que las aves hicieran con mi retrato pequeñas sombrillas. Mi retrato como un campo magnético, una vacuna, una ofuscación. Mi simple retrato pastando como un búfalo alrededor de los satélites. | 49 Moriré en un iglú, mamá rebobinará su cinta favorita de caníbales por toda la eternidad. | 50 especies en peligro busco ayuda psíquica para perforar tu kimono de guerra tu kimono que cae del árbol de las madres contemplativas tu kimono que roba la gran vaca del océano primordial tu kimono como un paquidermo que anuncia la estampida del servicio médico mi cabeza atribuida a un piloto mi número de colisión mi doble hemisferio mi fuego mal rodado mi desencantamiento mi cabeza en formación de áptero mi cabeza que puede levitar sobre un aro brillante Doña Bufido dedica un capítulo a la morfina, dedica un capítulo a las pisadas celestes, dedica un capítulo a los profetas sumergidos en caparazones de estaño. Tus ojos almendrados, tus ojos para romper en caso de incendio, a las nubes pesticidas en tu ojo derecho, a la ventana de cohete espacial en tu ojo izquierdo, a la duplicación de los Malmequieres en el fondo cobrizo de los campos que donaron los bisontes. Sergio Ernesto Ríos, de/ from El ganador del primer premio del centro de estudios interplanetarios | 51 S O NAT I N E Cup of water. Twitter dudes. Whichever particular restraint, hang on or simmer down. I’m in my bed with two computers. I smooth out the white sheets. Crushed details come out the other side. In my mind I am holding you down for as long as I can. The universe is lying down next to us. I cannot bear it being put to one side. With you, I wish I could explain, that I am not a person who likes dash snow. A bright meteor unfolds in the sky like an elegiac flag. At the start you experience one or several vague ideas about the availability of sadness. You become aware | 52 of a hand on your shoulder in the cavity. Why sully words if they’re no colour? Why love books if they’ve scratched our lives? Last night I was tired, truly. I went to the cinema and wept, pausing to call your face on the window, staring at what the world does best. Somewhere in the middle of the night a crystal ball shows what’s looking has always been the same, I know you feel these things too. We are all evenly the same, bleeding across real nodes made on the throbbing extinction panel affirmer, that transpires and [refreshes like the hush of a wanderer elite. I give up, demystified by feet, I don’t see where this gets us is all, but the very fact of your beauty in fact means we were never meant to stop it, even though you will try, swear by it, that this rebuke is justified, that it may release me from the claim either to more beauty than I can live, or to an infinite life too much for anyone to shudder with at home. I go back to work. I need it. The scent of your plexus remains very still. Jonty Tiplady | 53 The language of the pure feed is a heartfelt instinctive language, almost completely distinct in its material conditions of live transmission from the language of memorization. It is a language of evocation rather than pointing, and it evokes actual peace and radiance rather than pointing to them. To listen to this language is to be introduced again and again to the most radiant of heart-radiant gems. Post physical art and post art point to this language and yet end up by doing nothing more than confusing themselves with it. In the language of the pure feed there is no need to either not mention or mention any one thing. It fully breaks your heart open. | 54 Living life without the one thought that makes life worth living—the pure feed—is not only like living the game of life on an impossible setting, it is like living the end of the world now, since to believe in data is always to believe in the end of the world, and to be already living it. It’s this world, the world of data, that is finished, the excessive negativity and beauty of the Internet being the radiant cipher of that end, and only the other world, the world of the one thought that makes life worth living, is this one. Presente y anterior/ present & previous: Jonty Tiplady, extractos de/ extracts from THE PURE FEED | 55 Dios ve con buenos ojos a los grandes enumeradores La pintura rupestre describe al mundo como una orden judicial demasiado larga y mal redactada. un negocio turbio hecho de fango y estrellas. una tía loca encerrada en el hospital San Pedro. el cepillo de la tía loca. la caspa de la tía loca nevando sobre una imagen de los Pirineos. una urdimbre de recetas de la mano de un doctor diestro que cubre sus pasos y escribe con la izquierda. una camisa tan vieja que da pena admitir que existe. la pena que da ponerse la camisa. la tristeza por el perro que la encuentra en el cesto de basura. la tristeza por la viuda del perro cuyo aullido es la pureza de una desolación perfecta. la audacia del vagabundo que viene a ponerse la camisa sin antes lavarla. la admiración que siente el pintor rupestre por el vagabundo como si ambos fueran paisanos y el vago hubiera ganado medalla o mención en algún juego histórico. | 56 Fábula la hormiga es lingüista, el elefante que la hormiga escala es el resto del mundo. al fabulista le parece que esto es fácil de entender. el elefante huele a viejo costal lleno de próstatas, tiene ojos de mar muerto y una arruga por cada palabra en el acervo de la hormiga. la hormiga tiene esposa, quien observa la travesía del marido con catalejo y lo aconseja usando la misteriosa telepatía que el fabulista le atribuye a las hormigas. Impera, piensa la hormiga, cuando ve al marido remontar por el lomo. Conduce, cuando lo ve debatirse con las arrugas del cuello. Hazlo llorar, cuando éste agita las antenas en su minúsculo frenesí de hormiga lingüista haciendo señas desde la cima del cráneo. | 57 La risa de un cascabel Ya es hora de ponerte guapo, vamos a la tintorería. El encargado dice que la suciedad es el ritornello de todas las cosas. Hay que preguntarle qué es eso. No sabe. La empresa le dijo que se lo aprendiera. Ya vamos bajando. Cuánto mide el pozo, a ti qué más te da cuánto mide el pozo. Te morirías tres veces de espanto antes de llegar al fondo si te aventáramos. Cuánto tiempo llevamos, llevamos un chingo, eónes llevamos. A ti qué te importa el tiempo, hay que bajar y hay que hacerlo con cuidado. Estate en paz. Estate sosiego, hombre, qué te angustia. Vale la pena, claro que vale la pena, ya verás cuando lleguemos. Todo está listo, te van a recibir con gongs y todo eso. De hecho le están pegando al gong desde que naciste pero tú no lo escuchas por el ruido de los motores. La risa de un cascabel, qué es eso. Cuál insomnio. Ah, te daba insomnio. Escuchabas un cascabel reírse. Ey, igual era el gong. O el latir de la sangre en tus oídos. Mira, ya no falta tanto, ve por la ventana: esos son los bárbaros, esas son las sirenas, y ese fulgor rojo sobre las montañas, esas son las bombas. Eduardo Padilla | 58 Engrasado el ratio Arrasando obeliscos en charcos salté en olas de obsolescencia extiendo engrasando– todas son costillas y ventanas– bajo el ratio. Paciencia terminal regurgita lluvia harinosa amortiza las lozas gomosas en tu boca, esta plegaria– todo costillas y niebla– viene a las ventanas engrasando el ratio. Reflectores vacíos llenos de ritmo pulposo, fuck-jazz, dice ella del oboe que gime entre nosotros el miedo de adrizarse a sí mismo tras caer en ésta la más baja de las resoluciones. Tripas ácidas se convierten en cubos no podemos liberar– complacida, engrasada la cadena fallece. nubes gotean como labios blancos la última magnolia de la lluvia, deslizandose bajo mi nariz quebrada, vergüenza rota. | 59 Finally I have the window Finally I have the window from which I gazed, from out of my mind. Onto the noisy sweating world from my quiet naked place, obviously not alone, obviously covered in books and ash. This time a woman’s hair washes across my back as i am equine, all the pain filtered through eddies and so it narrows into the cleanest trickles out my face. But I have always been this since the cosmos’ first death pushed me into God’s future the only thing changed is she with legs in the light, light that floats down before it can rest upon the shoulders shoveling concrete, the motorbikes, the limp flags, the hot puddles of last night’s rain. This window may be temporary, but the vision will never be the same, it has stretched, pushed aside the curtain, emptied the bottle. | 60 Shivering mangey eyes Shivering mangey eyes, pulled lids over shoulders to renew the day, drowsy like a basketball belly, sated like a knife like under a pillow like a phone, Everywhere followers blooming. Today’s time up on the screen lies: Clumsy knuckles don’t spill the Spirit of the dove, Memories of throat caked with radiator heat give me a child’s laugh. (The city don’t have an extra mattress. Even alone, there are enough bones on the floorboards.) Wipe your nose gin your eyes close your poims, Goodnight. Joseph Reiter | 61 www.ssf.press | 62 SSF (Fundación de la Sensualidad Espiritual/ Spiritual Sensuality Foundation) Press es un proyecto editorial de poesía fundado por arquitectos, escritores, artesanos y artistas. Busca ser una biblioteca potencial con sede en Guanajuato, México y un archivo Web. SSF Press publica libros de artistas, escritura experimental y poesía. En cada presentación, el libro se despliega en el espacio y tiempo apartir de exhibiciones y puestas en escena. PRE-SSF es una colección de publicaciones de poesía editada por SSF Press. Ésta cuenta con colaboraciones realizadas en distintos medios que se tejen unas con otras, conservando su idioma original. La publicación puede ser revisada y descargada libremente en www.ssf.press. La versión impresa de la colección forma parte de la biblioteca potencial. — SSF (Spiritual Sensuality Foundation) Press is a poetry editorial project founded by architects, writers, craftsmen and artists. It will be a library based in Guanajuato, Mexico, and a Web archive. SSF Press publishes artists’ books, experimental writing, and poetry. Each singular book unfolds itself in space and time, through exhibitions and mises-enscène. Pre-SSF is a collection of poetry publications edited by SSF Press. It showcases contributions in different media that knit themselves with one another while maintaining their original languages. The publication can be checked and downloaded freely at www.ssf.press. The printed version is part of a forthcoming library in Guanajuato, México. | 63 Pre-SSF — Núm. 0/ Issue 0 ÍNDICE Juan Carreño de/ from Oxicorte — pp. 21-22 11 37 39 40 Ismael Velázquez Juárez — pp. 30-31 un sueño a dream monólogo en la banca de un parque volver a la pintura carpe diem el desierto de mojave escucha al captain beefheart Trevor Paglen They Watch the Moon, 2010, Impresión cromogénica/ C-print, 36 x 48 pulg./ in. — p. 02 STSS-1 and Two Unidentified Spacecraft over Carson City (Space Tracking and Surveillance System; USA 205), 2010, Impresión cromogénica/ C-print, 50 x 50 pulg. / in. — p. 17 PAN (Unknown; USA-207) 2010, Impresión cromogénica/ C-print 48 x 60 pulg./ in. — p. 18 Large Hangars and Fuel Storage; Tonopah Test Range, NV; Distance approx. 18 miles; 10:44 am, 2005, Impresión cromogénica/ C-print, 30 x 36 pulg./ in. — p. 19 Chemical and Biological Weapons Proving Ground/Dugway; UT/Distance approx. 42 miles; 11:17 a.m., 2006, Impresión cromogénica/ C-print, 40 x 40 pulg. / in. — p. 20 Autonomy Cube, 2015, Medios mixtos/ Mixed Media — p. 39 Meredith Jay de la serie/ from the series Dimensiones Parallelols, 35 mm y fotogramas de super 8/ super 8 stills and 35 mm — pp. 32-33 Iacopo Seri Sin título/ Untitled I-IV — pp. 04-07 A Man with No Regrets — pp. 34-35 Dunja Jankovic — pp. 40-43 Sin título/ Untitled I-IV Jonty Tiplady PRE-YOUNIVERSAL — p. 08 SONATINE — pp. 52-53 extractos de/ extracts from THE PURE FEED — pp. 54-55 Elsa-Louise Manceaux de GRANDES HECHOS DE 2015 (QUE NO CUENTAN CON LA MATANZA DE CHARLIE HEBDO) — pp. 09-13 Matanza en iglesia en EE.UU., mueren 9 Le operan cerebro mientras toca guitarra Cámaras de seguridad graban ladrones de auto Nuevas aplicaciones para su celular La fuga del Chapo Andrew Birk Brown Box Tape — pp. 14-16 Óscar David López — pp. 23-26 CÍRCULOS EN EL TRIGO PREÁMBULO DEL ROCKSTAR McAmor, día 94 la bestia-godot Nikola Tosic — pp. 36-38 writing poetry one more love poem heaven my 40 days old son definition of human Jamian Juliano-Villani — pp. 44-48 Apparition of Master Haniver Jinx Stone Love Substance Free The Whirlpool of Grief Sergio Ernesto Ríos de El ganador del primer premio del centro de estudios interplanetarios from First prize winner of the Interplanetary Studies Center — pp. 49-51 mereces la ciencia ficción las corporaciones de telegramas son larvas dóciles especies en peligro Eduardo Padilla — pp. 56-58 Dios ve con buenos ojos a los buenos enumeradores Fábula La risa de un cascabel Joseph Reiter — pp. 59-61 Engrasando el ratio Finally I Have the Window Shivering Mangey Eyes Txema Novelo de la serie/ from the series Forty Poems for R.W.F — pp. 27-29 LOVE IS COLDER THAN DEATH FOX AND HIS FRIENDS VERONICA VOSS | 64 Pre-SSF — Núm. 0/ Issue 0 CRÉDITOS Juan Carreño (Rancagua, 1986) Trevor Paglen (Maryland, 1974) http://www.paglen.com Todas las imágenes cortesía del artista; Metro Pictures, Nueva York; Altman Siegel, San Francisco All images courtesy of the artist; Metro Pictures, New York; Altman Siegel, San Francisco Iacopo Seri (Arezzo, 1983) Jonty Tiplady (Wakefield, 1976) http://www.confuseyourhunger.com http://title-press.tumblr.com Elsa-Louise Manceaux (París/ Paris, 1985) http://www.elsalouisemanceaux.com Andrew Birk (Oregon, 1985) http://andrewbirk.blogspot.mx Óscar David López (Monterrey, 1982) http://oscardavidlopez.blogspot.mx Txema Novelo (Ciudad de México/ Mexico City, 1982) http://www.txemanovelo.com Ismael Velázquez Juárez (Iztapalapa, 1960) http://ismaelvelazquezjuarez.blogspot.mx Meredith Jay (Québec, 1988) http://www.meredithjay.com Pre-SSF es editada por/ is edited by María Paz Correa, David Araujo y J Mauricio Orozco. Agradecemos a/ Thanks to: Ana Karen G Barajas y Javier Munguía El material que aparece en Pre-SSF (a menos de que se mencione lo contrario) es publicado bajo una licencia de “Atribución-NoComercial-CompartirIgual 2.5 México”. The material appearing in Pre-SSF (where not otherwise mentioned) is published under a “Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 Mexico” licence. #0 Marzo 2016/ March 2016 Guanajuato, México Fundación de la Sensualidad Espiritual Press Spiritual Sensuality Foundation Press www.ssf.press | [email protected] Nikola Tosic (Belgrade/ Belgrado, 1977) http://tosic.com Dunja Jankovic (Mali Lošinj, 1980) Jamian Juliano-Villani (Brooklyn, 1987) http://jamianjulianovillani.com Todas las imágenes cortesía del artista y JTT y Tanya Leighton All images courtesy of the artist and JTT and Tanya Leighton Sergio Ernesto Ríos (Toluca, 1981) http://hangar-sergio.blogspot.mx Eduardo Padilla (Vancouver, 1976) Joseph Reiter (Seattle, 1979) http://bleaktotems.tumblr.com | 65 F U N D A C S E N S U A L I E S P I R I T P R E I Ó D A U A S N D L S