constant risks, return uncertain. Oh, a museum of loneliness... MoL x Purge x Dry Hump (Pillow Talk)

Museum of Loneliness (Chris Petit & Emma Matthews) presents Lee Harvey Oswald’s Last Dream. 50-minute soundtrack released in an edition of 30 police issue cassette tapes, stamped and numbered, in a heavy semi-transparent sleeve with the first edition of Dry Hump magazine.
Performance of Lee Harvey Oswald’s Last Dream debuted at Oberhausen Short Film Festival as part of Mika Taanila’s Film Without Film programme, presumed 2014. The magazine, published by Pillow Talk, features original content specific to (and beyond) the performance and soundtrack. 

get it hither >>>>

It simply unfurls and expands this world (the only one): drained of its opacity... ASR

A small incomplete history of the rebellious apple that I wrote for new french journal, ANTICHAMBRE de la SUBSTANCE RAYONNANTE, edited by Edgar Sarin.

to read (AP)PLE on g drive, come hither >>>

to find out more about ASR, >>>>>>>

Photo by sati leonne faulks, >>>> 

a simulated experience or a dream; simultaneous reality and fantasy; And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee; Ghost in the Shell l'Eve Future FN AK

The Android, as we've said, is only the first hours of Love, immobilized, the hour of the Ideal made eternal prisoner / l'Andréïde, avons-nous dit, n'est que les premières heures de l'Amour immobilisées, l'heure de l'Idéal à jamais faite prisonnière

This spectral vision could cloud my eyes, my senses, my soul; but could I ever forget that she is nothing personal? My self-consciousness cries out to me coldly: how does one love zero? / Vous pourrez troubler mes yeux, mes sens et mon esprit par cette magique vision: mais pourrai-je oublier, moi, qu'elle n'est qu'impersonnelle? Comment aimer zéro? me crie, froidement, ma conscience.

Auguste, comte de Villiers de L'Isle-Adam; L'Eve Future, 1886

That's all it is: information. Even a simulated experience or a dream; simultaneous reality and fantasy. Any way you look at it, all the information that a person accumulates in a lifetime is just a drop in the bucket.

If the essence of life is information carried in DNA, then society and civilization are just colossal memory systems, and a metropolis like this one, simply a sprawling external memory.

Who can gaze into the mirror without becoming evil? The mirror does not reflect evil, but creates it.

>> Batou x 2, Major Motoko Kusanagi / Ghost in the Shell 1 & 2 / 1995, 2004

When one contemplates the streak of insanity running through human history, it appears highly probable that homo sapiens is a biological freak, the result of some remarkable mistake in the evolutionary process. The ancient doctrine of original sin, variants of which occur independently in the mythologies of diverse cultures, could be a reflection of man's awareness of his own inadequacy, of the intuitive hunch that somewhere along the line of his ascent something has gone wrong.

>> Arthur Koestler / The Ghost in the Machine / 1967

He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.

>> Friedrich Nietzsche / Beyond Good and Evil; Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future, 1886

fluid neon origami trick; And somewhere he was laughing, in a white-painted loft, distant fingers caressing the deck, tears of release streaking his face... WG Neuromancer

`The matrix has its roots in primitive arcade games,' said
the voice-over, `in early graphics programs and military 
experimentation with cranial jacks.' On the Sony, a two-dimensional 
space war faded behind a forest of mathematically generated ferns, 
demonstrating the spacial possibilities of logarithmic 
spirals; cold blue military footage burned through, lab
animals wired into test systems, helmets feeding into fire control 
circuits of tanks and war planes. `Cyberspace. A consensual 
hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate
operators, in every nation, by children being taught mathematical 
concepts... A graphic representation of data abstracted
from the banks of every computer in the human system. Un-
thinkable complexity. Lines of light ranged in the nonspace of
the mind, clusters and constellations of data. Like city lights,
`What's that?' Molly asked, as he flipped the channel se-
`Kid's show.' A discontinuous flood of images as the se-
lector cycled. `Off,' he said to the Hosaka.
`You want to try now, Case?'
Wednesday. Eight days from waking in Cheap Hotel with
Molly beside him. `You want me to go out, Case? Maybe
easier for you, alone...' He shook his head.
`No. Stay, doesn't matter.' He settled the black terry sweat-
band across his forehead, careful not to disturb the flat Sendai
dermatrodes. He stared at the deck on his lap, not really seeing
it, seeing instead the shop window on Ninsei, the chromed
shuriken burning with reflected neon. He glanced up; on the
wall, just above the Sony, he'd hung her gift, tacking it there
with a yellow-headed drawing pin through the hole at its center.
He closed his eyes.
Found the ridged face of the power stud.
And in the bloodlit dark behind his eyes, silver phosphenes
boiling in from the edge of space, hypnagogic images jerking
past like film compiled from random frames. Symbols, figures,
faces, a blurred, fragmented mandala of visual information.
Please, he prayed, _now --_
A gray disk, the color of Chiba sky.
_Now --_
Disk beginning to rotate, faster, becoming a sphere of paler
gray. Expanding --
And flowed, flowered for him, fluid neon origami trick, the
unfolding of his distanceless home, his country, transparent
3D chessboard extending to infinity. Inner eye opening to the
stepped scarlet pyramid of the Eastern Seaboard Fission 
Authority burning beyond the green cubes of Mitsubishi Bank of
America, and high and very far away he saw the spiral arms
of military systems, forever beyond his reach.
And somewhere he was laughing, in a white-painted loft,
distant fingers caressing the deck, tears of release streaking his

the signifier is always facialized... People who want somebody to wear costumes, people who want somebody to sit with them while they watch dirty movies and jerk off.. Stewart Home

The Neoist's face is part of the collective soul of his memory (see fetishism). It is a signifier marking the boundaries of the object of his desire. Tell me who's the boss. All faces envelop an unknown, unexplored landscape; all landscapes are populated by a loved or dreamed-of face, develop a face to come or already past. To come. Tell me what you like. The signifier is always facialized. Faciality reigns materially over that whole constellation of significances and interpretations. Tell me how much you like it. When his memory says, "tell me how it feels" or some other such thing, it's not just about the words but about faciality, watching the words being spoken by the Neoist, watching the significance process through faciality. A face is such a subjective thing. The collective soul contains gaps and ruptures, never to be closed.

Tools exist only in relation to the interminglings they make possible or that make them possibleTools and plagiarism: There is an entire system of horizontal and complementary appropriation, between hand and tool. Tools form the appendages of a hypostasis.

Two kinds of fetishism occur during the reading--that of the commodity as value and that of the Neoist as the object of desire. The fetishization is not of use value or meaning; rather it is about being drawn to the system of signification, it is a generalization of the structural code of the object: It is thus not a fetishism of the signified, a fetishism of substances and values called ideological, which the fetish object would incarnate for the alienated subject. Behind this reinterpretation which is truly ideological it is a fetishism of the signifier. That is to say that the subject is trapped in the factitious, differential, encoded, systematized aspect of the object. This entrapment can be called desire. People who want somebody to wear costumes, people who want somebody to sit with them while they watch dirty movies and jerk off, people who want to be tied up, people who want to wear diapers and be given a bottle. Beauty as fetishism: we are bound up in a general stereotype of models of beauty. The generalization of sign exchange value to facial effects. Thus fetishism is being drawn to representations of Akademgorod, fascination with the system of encodement represented on minds through images in magazines, movies, television, advertising, etc. Fetishism is integral to logic of, to construction of his memory.

The indivisible becomes divisible, space becomes ideal space, sentiments become one and insensible, the body will be pure... (Proklos, Platonis Timaeum commentaria, iii, 287): "Monty can't sin."

The Neoist performs plagiarism on his collective soul during the reading, which stands in for his own desire. Your collective soul is my psychical activity. I am immaterial. The impossibility of the collective soul being ever reached is plagiarized by his memory as desire, the Neoist as object of desire. "Our doctrine is nothing new, it has been set up a long time ago." (Plotinus, vi, 8, 10) The more the system is systematized, the more the fetishist fascination is reinforced. Desire, for the object of desire, is plagiarized as the coded mind, through the system of representations then again through Neoism"Act like you're enjoying it."