-ISLAND-OF-A-DAY-OFF-
TitelDeutschland: IRGENDWIE IRGENDWO IRGENDWANN
Genre: Ich bin kein Brioni-Typ
Laufzeit Kino: 7 7 M i n u t e n
“Welcome to the place that will help you sort out your little mess. ... Feel free to pick among the details as you please, everyone else does. But remember, ‘Das Schloss’ means both the Castle and the Lock, and the keys are never quite as simple as they seem.”
(Quoted from Das Schloss, a site for Franz Kafka)
DAS SCHLOSS
Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.
Kafka’s letter to Oskar Pollak, November 9, 1903.
(Quoted from Das Schloss, a site for Franz Kafka)
BRAVE NEW WORLD
~ A Defence of Paradise Engineering ~
No Utopia can ever give satisfaction to everyone, all the time. As their material conditions improve, men raise their sights and become discontented with power and possessions that once would have seemed beyond their wildest dreams. And even when the external world has granted all it can, there still remain the searchings of the mind and the longings of the heart.
Arthur C. Clarke, Childhood's End
UTOPIA: Utopias are sites with no real place. They are sites that have a general relation of direct or inverted analogy with the real space of Society. They present society itself in a perfected form, or else society turned upside down.
HETEROTOPIA: Heterotopias are formed in the very founding of society. They are real places. They are something like counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real sites, all the other real sites can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted.
. . .
(BRAVE NEW WORLD, NEXT STEP: RENT-A-BOAT)
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF A BOAT: The boat is a floating piece of space, a place without a place, that exists by itself, that is closed in on itself and at the same time is given over to the infinity of the sea. The ship is heterotopia par excellence.
Michel Foucault, Text / Context of Other Space, Diacritics 16.1 (1986)
LONELY PLANET
As Einstein used to say when he was deep in his cups, "It's like being on two trains at once. One is going nowhere and the other is going in the opposite direction."
MUSIC
pot-pourri
An artifact, as is accepted, is a multitude of data points, an infinity of possible attributes and measurements. Which ones are made and held to constitute its identity depends conventionally upon method and the questions being asked by the archaeologist. But I also hold that the artifact is itself a multiplicity. Its identity is multiple. It is not just one thing. The artifact does not only possess a multitude of data attributes, but is also itself multiplicity. We come to an object in relationships with it, through using, perceiving it, referring to it, talking of it, feeling it as something. This as is vital. It is a relationship of analogy - as if it were something. And it is always ironically something else - our references to the object are always metaphorical. That object find is not the word/label/category 'pot', though we can legitimately treat it as if it were, given certain interests and goals - projects. And these projects, interests and goals are culturally and socially constructed and meaningful. There is an infinity of possible relationships with an object and these literally ake it what it is for us. The relationships are not abstract or given, but social and historical. So the materiality of an object has a history. That pot found by an archaeologist is not what it was.
Michael Shanks, The life of an artifact
>> http://traumwerk.stanford.edu/~mshanks/traumwerk/index.php/HomePage
Instrucciones para cantar
Empiece por romper los espejos de su casa, deje caer los brazos, mire vagamente la pared, olvidese. Cante una sola nota, escuche por dentro. Si oye (pero esto ocurrirá mucho después) algo como un paisaje sumido en el miedo, con hogueras entre las piedras, con siluetas semidesnudas en cuclillas, creo que estará bien encaminado, y lo mismo si oye un río por donde bajan barcas pintadas de amarillo y negro, si oye un sabor pan, un tacto de dedos, una sombra de caballo. Después compre solfeos y un frac, y por favor no cante por la nariz y deje en paz a Schumann.
Julio Cortazar
TitelDeutschland: IRGENDWIE IRGENDWO IRGENDWANN
Genre: Ich bin kein Brioni-Typ
Laufzeit Kino: 7 7 M i n u t e n
“Welcome to the place that will help you sort out your little mess. ... Feel free to pick among the details as you please, everyone else does. But remember, ‘Das Schloss’ means both the Castle and the Lock, and the keys are never quite as simple as they seem.”
(Quoted from Das Schloss, a site for Franz Kafka)
DAS SCHLOSS
Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.
Kafka’s letter to Oskar Pollak, November 9, 1903.
Parodija na sve. Na roman (bez romana), na Uliksa, na život, na smrt, na umetnost, na filozofiju, metempsihozu, proces pisanja, Dedalusa, Dablin, arijevce, Jevreje, Irce, Engleze, na Svest, na Podsvest, na seks, na tekst, na poliglotiju, na kulu Vavilonsku, na kopno, na more, na čoveka, na ženu, na Kirku, na mene, tebe, njega, nas, vas, parodija na Sve i na Ništa. Parodija na parodiju. Na tome se drži cela stvar. Parodija je neizbežna i neminovna ako objektivnost potčinimo subjektivnim hirovima jezika.
Danilo Kiš (1959)
Let’s start from the very beginning...
But I digress. You’re not concerned with the village. You want the Castle, and you’ve already gone back to the proper authorities to get the needed documents, ..
..only to find out that the gods themselves are filing away your papers, gods who crawl up six flights of stairs just so they can climb into bed with the insincere wish for a little pet, a little crossbreed even, something just to whisper in their ears and dance about to keep them entertained. And when they’re not worried about that, they’re chasing down children’s tops and dreaming of one day visiting the sea, and that’s all you see when you follow them throughout the entire town, their whole lives are nothing and yours is less than nothing, because aren’t you the one who followed them through the village? And weren’t you looking for the Castle? ..
Danilo Kiš (1959)
Let’s start from the very beginning...
But I digress. You’re not concerned with the village. You want the Castle, and you’ve already gone back to the proper authorities to get the needed documents, ..
..only to find out that the gods themselves are filing away your papers, gods who crawl up six flights of stairs just so they can climb into bed with the insincere wish for a little pet, a little crossbreed even, something just to whisper in their ears and dance about to keep them entertained. And when they’re not worried about that, they’re chasing down children’s tops and dreaming of one day visiting the sea, and that’s all you see when you follow them throughout the entire town, their whole lives are nothing and yours is less than nothing, because aren’t you the one who followed them through the village? And weren’t you looking for the Castle? ..
..Who am I? I thought you were looking for the Castle. But who am I? I think you mean we. Yes, we, I know you can barely tell us apart from your vantage point but there are more of us all the same. We are your assistants, sent directly from the Castle, but not quite from the Castle, from an official of the Castle, but not quite that either, from a replacement of the official. I know, it’s as if we were sent by the translation of a desperately unfinished manuscript, but we were sent all the same, and our job is very clear. From what we hear you take everything very seriously. You come to our little village, throw off your tired old sheets, and pretend as if your very arrival were something momentous, a preconceived judgement, something to be remembered, but we’ve been told to teach you that it’s really nothing at all. In short, we’ve been sent to cheer you up, to always remind you that your little quest is nothing but a futile journey from nothing to nowhere, that this whole village and this chimera of a Castle are really shadows on strings manipulated by a malicious jokester in the sky. But we wanted to cheer you up, so we give you this advice: don’t believe anything we’ve just told you. Your arrival is momentous, you will assault the mighty Castle, you will penetrate its deepest door, and you will emerge outside triumphant, to redistribute the land to all us hopeless hopers. Go ahead, try your best, but by the end – never say we didn’t warn you – it may all backfire in your face. By the end we will be complaining that you cannot take a joke.
(Quoted from Das Schloss, a site for Franz Kafka)
BRAVE NEW WORLD
~ A Defence of Paradise Engineering ~
No Utopia can ever give satisfaction to everyone, all the time. As their material conditions improve, men raise their sights and become discontented with power and possessions that once would have seemed beyond their wildest dreams. And even when the external world has granted all it can, there still remain the searchings of the mind and the longings of the heart.
Arthur C. Clarke, Childhood's End
UTOPIA: Utopias are sites with no real place. They are sites that have a general relation of direct or inverted analogy with the real space of Society. They present society itself in a perfected form, or else society turned upside down.
HETEROTOPIA: Heterotopias are formed in the very founding of society. They are real places. They are something like counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real sites, all the other real sites can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted.
. . .
(BRAVE NEW WORLD, NEXT STEP: RENT-A-BOAT)
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF A BOAT: The boat is a floating piece of space, a place without a place, that exists by itself, that is closed in on itself and at the same time is given over to the infinity of the sea. The ship is heterotopia par excellence.
Michel Foucault, Text / Context of Other Space, Diacritics 16.1 (1986)
LONELY PLANET
...
the next time you’re alone
you can
create a world of your own
make it magic
give it love
make it all you’re dreaming of
...
it’s tempting to pack up your throne
move in
make this magic place your home
but nobody else can go
you’ll be forever all alone
forget
bounce from right to left
no longer broken hearted and I don’t know when it
started
oblivion
macy gray
From the Bible to Lonely planet – literature as travel liturgy, Adam and Eve.
From the Bible to Lonely planet – literature as travel liturgy, Adam and Eve went swimming?
OBJETS NOMADS / ISLANDS’ ARTIFACTS ETC
- i m p l i c a t i o n s . o f . a n . i n t e r p r e t i v e . a r c h a e o l o g y
which way to go? That's the idea, let's contradict each other.
I called for my horse to be brought from the stable. The servant did not understand me. I myself went into the stable, saddled my horse and mounted. In the distance I heard a trumpet blast. I asked him what it meant but he did not know and had not heard it. By the gate he stopped me and asked "where are you riding to sir?" I answered "away from here, away from here, always away from here. Only by doing so can I reach my destination." "Then you know your destination" he asked. "Yes" I said "I have already said so, 'Away-From-Here' that is my destination." "You have no provisions with you" he said. "I don't need any" I said. "The journey is so long that I will die of hunger if I do not get something along the way. It is, fortunately, a truly immense journey."
Franz Kafka, My Destination
the next time you’re alone
you can
create a world of your own
make it magic
give it love
make it all you’re dreaming of
...
it’s tempting to pack up your throne
move in
make this magic place your home
but nobody else can go
you’ll be forever all alone
forget
bounce from right to left
no longer broken hearted and I don’t know when it
started
oblivion
macy gray
From the Bible to Lonely planet – literature as travel liturgy, Adam and Eve.
From the Bible to Lonely planet – literature as travel liturgy, Adam and Eve went swimming?
OBJETS NOMADS / ISLANDS’ ARTIFACTS ETC
- i m p l i c a t i o n s . o f . a n . i n t e r p r e t i v e . a r c h a e o l o g y
which way to go? That's the idea, let's contradict each other.
I called for my horse to be brought from the stable. The servant did not understand me. I myself went into the stable, saddled my horse and mounted. In the distance I heard a trumpet blast. I asked him what it meant but he did not know and had not heard it. By the gate he stopped me and asked "where are you riding to sir?" I answered "away from here, away from here, always away from here. Only by doing so can I reach my destination." "Then you know your destination" he asked. "Yes" I said "I have already said so, 'Away-From-Here' that is my destination." "You have no provisions with you" he said. "I don't need any" I said. "The journey is so long that I will die of hunger if I do not get something along the way. It is, fortunately, a truly immense journey."
Franz Kafka, My Destination
As Einstein used to say when he was deep in his cups, "It's like being on two trains at once. One is going nowhere and the other is going in the opposite direction."
MUSIC
pot-pourri
An artifact, as is accepted, is a multitude of data points, an infinity of possible attributes and measurements. Which ones are made and held to constitute its identity depends conventionally upon method and the questions being asked by the archaeologist. But I also hold that the artifact is itself a multiplicity. Its identity is multiple. It is not just one thing. The artifact does not only possess a multitude of data attributes, but is also itself multiplicity. We come to an object in relationships with it, through using, perceiving it, referring to it, talking of it, feeling it as something. This as is vital. It is a relationship of analogy - as if it were something. And it is always ironically something else - our references to the object are always metaphorical. That object find is not the word/label/category 'pot', though we can legitimately treat it as if it were, given certain interests and goals - projects. And these projects, interests and goals are culturally and socially constructed and meaningful. There is an infinity of possible relationships with an object and these literally ake it what it is for us. The relationships are not abstract or given, but social and historical. So the materiality of an object has a history. That pot found by an archaeologist is not what it was.
. . .
So rather than saying that this illustrated object is a pot, we might also acknowledge that this object becomes a pot, that is due to my productive relationship with it. Of course, this does not mean that I can say it is an axehead, but I can make of it many things, depending on interest and purpose.
. . .
That pot can take us in many directions, but so many seem closed by the standard narrow and empirical definitions of archaeological method and science. We are invited to follow the artifact and the people it unites through their projects and interests to attend to the artifact. This is a sensitivity to its historicity, its life and the way it gathers many sorts of things, people, feelings, aspirations.
. . .
Artifacts are often treated as entities in themselves, self-contained, their interactions with people separable. We forget or ignore their living. Artifacts become black boxes - closed, technical, often a mystery.
. . .
What is this artifact? Well probably not a 'pot'. So what is a pot? It depends on all sorts of things; there is no generally applicable answer. An artifact is always active - tying together heterogeneous things, material and human. It is society made durable (Latour 1991). When, then, does an artifact belong to the object world? When it has disappeared beneath the ground and is no longer of concern.
So rather than saying that this illustrated object is a pot, we might also acknowledge that this object becomes a pot, that is due to my productive relationship with it. Of course, this does not mean that I can say it is an axehead, but I can make of it many things, depending on interest and purpose.
. . .
That pot can take us in many directions, but so many seem closed by the standard narrow and empirical definitions of archaeological method and science. We are invited to follow the artifact and the people it unites through their projects and interests to attend to the artifact. This is a sensitivity to its historicity, its life and the way it gathers many sorts of things, people, feelings, aspirations.
. . .
Artifacts are often treated as entities in themselves, self-contained, their interactions with people separable. We forget or ignore their living. Artifacts become black boxes - closed, technical, often a mystery.
. . .
What is this artifact? Well probably not a 'pot'. So what is a pot? It depends on all sorts of things; there is no generally applicable answer. An artifact is always active - tying together heterogeneous things, material and human. It is society made durable (Latour 1991). When, then, does an artifact belong to the object world? When it has disappeared beneath the ground and is no longer of concern.
. . .
Accepting the life of things enables an archaeology materially in the present. Archaeologists lose absolute objectivity rooted in the timeless reality of the past, but the discipline gains many other real and material qualities because archaeology is part of the social construction of the present. If timeless essences and their dichotomies are put to one side we do not lose the solidity of archaeological facts. They are still real and important, but so too are archaeologists, volunteers, publishers, television companies, photographers, feelings, interests, instruments and laboratories which gather and bring to historical reality those facts. There is no necessary monopoly of one particular archaeological mobilisation of people and things which is tied to objectivity. We are hereby more attuned to different archaeological projects. Reburial issues, treasure hunting, landscape art become commensurable with professional archaeology: they are but different assemblages of resources (things, practices, people, aspirations, projects ...). Archaeology may be placed on a par with such 'fringe' concerns, but this does not mean we cannot judge between them. Here it is important to distinguish epistemic from judgemental relativism (Bhaskar 1979). Epistemic relativism holds that knowledge is rooted in a particular time and culture. Knowledge does not just mimic things. Facts and objectivity are constructed. Judgemental relativism makes the additional claim that all forms of knowledge are equally valid. But judgemental relativism does not follow from epistemic relativism. To hold that objectivity is constructed does not entail that all forms of supposed knowledge will be equally successful in solving particular problems. Epistemic relativism simply directs attention to the reasons why a statement is held to be objective or strong; it directs attention to the heterogeneous assemblages of people and things and interests and feelings etc mobilised in particular projects. To argue a relativism which maintains objectivity is socially constructed is to argue simply for relationality (The issues are fully covered in Lampeter Archaeology Workshop 1997). Entailed through the lives of things is a congenial and living programme of conservation. How do you preserve nature? — pickle a squirrel! Instead of pickling the past, conservation, planning and architecture can be sensitive to the life of materials, cherishing ruin and pathology in a rediscovery of the romantic. This accompanies a green archaeology responsible to natural history. Nature acquires a life, a history, and an ethical independence of people. It is no longer the stuff of technical control. Involved also is a respect for the materiality which is ourselves — a project of embodiment. (For a philosophical angle see Adorno 1973; Buck-Morss 1977: chapter 3)
Accepting the life of things enables an archaeology materially in the present. Archaeologists lose absolute objectivity rooted in the timeless reality of the past, but the discipline gains many other real and material qualities because archaeology is part of the social construction of the present. If timeless essences and their dichotomies are put to one side we do not lose the solidity of archaeological facts. They are still real and important, but so too are archaeologists, volunteers, publishers, television companies, photographers, feelings, interests, instruments and laboratories which gather and bring to historical reality those facts. There is no necessary monopoly of one particular archaeological mobilisation of people and things which is tied to objectivity. We are hereby more attuned to different archaeological projects. Reburial issues, treasure hunting, landscape art become commensurable with professional archaeology: they are but different assemblages of resources (things, practices, people, aspirations, projects ...). Archaeology may be placed on a par with such 'fringe' concerns, but this does not mean we cannot judge between them. Here it is important to distinguish epistemic from judgemental relativism (Bhaskar 1979). Epistemic relativism holds that knowledge is rooted in a particular time and culture. Knowledge does not just mimic things. Facts and objectivity are constructed. Judgemental relativism makes the additional claim that all forms of knowledge are equally valid. But judgemental relativism does not follow from epistemic relativism. To hold that objectivity is constructed does not entail that all forms of supposed knowledge will be equally successful in solving particular problems. Epistemic relativism simply directs attention to the reasons why a statement is held to be objective or strong; it directs attention to the heterogeneous assemblages of people and things and interests and feelings etc mobilised in particular projects. To argue a relativism which maintains objectivity is socially constructed is to argue simply for relationality (The issues are fully covered in Lampeter Archaeology Workshop 1997). Entailed through the lives of things is a congenial and living programme of conservation. How do you preserve nature? — pickle a squirrel! Instead of pickling the past, conservation, planning and architecture can be sensitive to the life of materials, cherishing ruin and pathology in a rediscovery of the romantic. This accompanies a green archaeology responsible to natural history. Nature acquires a life, a history, and an ethical independence of people. It is no longer the stuff of technical control. Involved also is a respect for the materiality which is ourselves — a project of embodiment. (For a philosophical angle see Adorno 1973; Buck-Morss 1977: chapter 3)
. . .
With archaeology detached from the dualisms of society and object world, and no longer concerned with simply establishing correspondences with 'objective reality', there comes a sensitization to experience of our own materiality and historicity.
. . .
Herein is a recovery of strangeness (strange-mess) and historical particularity. A pot becomes something unfamiliar, yet still understandable. And we too are monstrous and outrageous assemblages of material practices, interests, goods and thoughts, both centred and dispersed through our projects in the world (Law 1991). Things have a life and particular histories. We are invited to open the black boxes of everyday things in a phenomenology of artifacts and archaeological experience, attending to the heterogeneity of the world. Such a phenomenology is an attention to the secret life of things; it is rooted in the realisation that there is something altogether different behind everyday things such as an axe or a pot (consider Spector 1991; see Thomas (1993a and 1993b) and Tilley (1996) on megalithic monuments). Indeed something altogether different within what we take to be archaeology. The archaeological involves us in energies of discovery, detection, mystery, genealogy and lineage, legality and judgement, authenticity, identity and belonging, energies beyond archaeology which nevertheless constitute its practices and are in turn constituted by them (Shanks 1992a: part 2). It is the realisation that there is no essence to things; it is the secret that their identity is fabricated piecemeal from alien forms. At the root of a pot is the dissension of other things, disparity (Foucault 1986b: 78-9). This is its life, its being in the world.
With archaeology detached from the dualisms of society and object world, and no longer concerned with simply establishing correspondences with 'objective reality', there comes a sensitization to experience of our own materiality and historicity.
. . .
Herein is a recovery of strangeness (strange-mess) and historical particularity. A pot becomes something unfamiliar, yet still understandable. And we too are monstrous and outrageous assemblages of material practices, interests, goods and thoughts, both centred and dispersed through our projects in the world (Law 1991). Things have a life and particular histories. We are invited to open the black boxes of everyday things in a phenomenology of artifacts and archaeological experience, attending to the heterogeneity of the world. Such a phenomenology is an attention to the secret life of things; it is rooted in the realisation that there is something altogether different behind everyday things such as an axe or a pot (consider Spector 1991; see Thomas (1993a and 1993b) and Tilley (1996) on megalithic monuments). Indeed something altogether different within what we take to be archaeology. The archaeological involves us in energies of discovery, detection, mystery, genealogy and lineage, legality and judgement, authenticity, identity and belonging, energies beyond archaeology which nevertheless constitute its practices and are in turn constituted by them (Shanks 1992a: part 2). It is the realisation that there is no essence to things; it is the secret that their identity is fabricated piecemeal from alien forms. At the root of a pot is the dissension of other things, disparity (Foucault 1986b: 78-9). This is its life, its being in the world.
Michael Shanks, The life of an artifact
>> http://traumwerk.stanford.edu/~mshanks/traumwerk/index.php/HomePage
Instrucciones para cantar
Empiece por romper los espejos de su casa, deje caer los brazos, mire vagamente la pared, olvidese. Cante una sola nota, escuche por dentro. Si oye (pero esto ocurrirá mucho después) algo como un paisaje sumido en el miedo, con hogueras entre las piedras, con siluetas semidesnudas en cuclillas, creo que estará bien encaminado, y lo mismo si oye un río por donde bajan barcas pintadas de amarillo y negro, si oye un sabor pan, un tacto de dedos, una sombra de caballo. Después compre solfeos y un frac, y por favor no cante por la nariz y deje en paz a Schumann.
Julio Cortazar
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.
I came along,
I wrote a song for you,
And all the things you do,
And it was called yellow.
So then I took my turn,
Oh what a thing to have done,
And it was all yellow.
...
I swam across,
I jumped across for you,
Oh what a thing to do.
Cos you were all yellow,
I drew a line,
I drew a line for you,
Oh what a thing to do,
And it was all yellow.
...
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And all the things that you do.
Yellow(?)
coldplay
rhythm & blues
und wir, die an steigendes Glück
danken, empfänden die Rührung
die uns beinah bestürzt,
wenn ein Glückliches fällt.
Alessandro Baricco - Castelli di rabbia
for German tourists only...
NUMBERS
three
Beyond a certain point there is no return. This point has to be reached.
Franz Kafka, from “Reflections on Sin, Suffering, Hope, and the True Way”
We must be lost. We've passed the point of no return three times in the last hour.
from Flightless Hummingbird, a pseudo periodical about Art, Paranoia, Eschatology, Fashion Tips
two
THE TIME OF OUR LIVES
A Cylinder Story
I met a traveller from a distant galaxy who lived with me for some time to learn our ways. What surprised him most was how we earth-bound beings remained such slaves to time. Our ways of measuring it seemed completely arbitrary to him. How, for example, could an hour spent with your lover be considered as the same period of time as an hour wasted in a dentist's waiting room? I did my best to explain that, however differently anyone might feel about the passing of any given hour, our measurements were as near as we could get to absolute and extremely useful when it came to organizing our daily lives. This logic passed him completely by. When he told me that his stay was nearly over, I asked him how he knew that his time was up. "Because that's what I presently know" he replied, then went on to invite me to visit his planet in exchange for all the help I had given him. Of course, I immediately accepted and, when he had cheek to ask me when I could leave, I answered: "There is no time like the present." So we set off at once.
He took me to the secret location where he had hidden his spaceship and I was astonished by how small it was. There was barely room for the two of us inside and when he started it up and it had risen smoothly into the air, I asked him how it was powered and how we were going to be able to travel the countless light years to his planet. But he just smiled and told me not to worry my little head about such things. Perhaps, some time, I might learn to understand. So I settled myself back for what I supposed would be an extremely long journey, regretting that I hadn't brought along Proust, or some other hefty author, to while away my time. But no sooner had we started, than we touched down and stepped out of the craft. I supposed that I must have fallen asleep, or gone into a trance, so I quizzed him about what had happened inside his ship. "Perhaps you're beginning to understand," he said. "Is not time like the present there?" I just shook my head in disbelief and followed him into his house.
His house was small, comfortable and surprisingly like any normal modest residence in any Western country. There seemed to be no sign of the benefits of the extraordinary technology they must possess in order to be able to travel from one side of the universe to the other, in what was apparently the twinkling of an eye. The only obvious thing missing, naturally, was a clock. He made us something to eat and we settled down in front of what looked like a large television set. The food was a strange blue colour and had a strong, pungent taste which it was impossible for me to identify. After watching what I imagined to be his local news station for a while, he apologized for boring me with programmes I couldn't understand, then channel-surfed until he came across a news bulletin showing what was happening on planet earth. The commentary was, of course, still incomprehensible but it was reassuring to see pictures of familiar scenes. I then asked him why he had bothered to go all that way, when he could see the earth on TV and, for that matter, why they bothered to plant journalists on our insignificant planet. "Lots of us have taken rather a shine to you." He replied. "That's why we like to keep up with your doings. But not many of us travel over there, that's true. But, note, I'm like the press sent there is. As curious as hell." Then we finished off our meals and decided to go for a stroll.
He reckoned that I should begin my education at once and offered to show me one of their more interesting religious ceremonies which happened to be taking place that evening. I shut up about asking him how he knew that it was the right date, if time wasn't measurable. But I was surprised that such advanced people still had a religion and so begged him tell me about their beliefs. "They're not really beliefs as such. Or not what you mean by that word." he explained mysteriously. Then he went on to say that their religion was more a matter of celebrating life and the universe and focusing their attentions on their present position in space and in time. It was a warm evening and, as we neared the small hill where the celebration was to take place, I was astonished to see that it was covered in snow and that, incredibly, a fire seemed to be burning in the middle of it. Not waiting to be asked, he immediately explained the symbolic meaning of the scene. The smoke came from a special preparation, rather like incense, but which had no name in our language. Their word for it could be translated literally as "praise-scent". It’s burning symbolized the way time consumes itself and, in that consummation, alters the atmosphere like a spreading fragrance. The snow had been carefully preserved for the occasion as it symbolized the melting of time, and also time's texture: an apparently homogenous mass made up of tiny, unique elements. "For us," he concluded, "time, like the praise-scent there, is snow." I nodded encouragingly and, after he had performed his celebration of life, we continued on our way.
The next few days, as I shall persist in calling them, taught me many similar lessons in how irreconcilably different our views were. But I didn't complain. The whole experience was so fascinating. What I did have to complain about, however, was the food. As far as I was concerned, it was completely inedible and when I did manage to swallow a decent amount, it seemed to pass straight through me. Seeing that I was rapidly weakening, my companion left me in front of the television, saying that I would be in for an agreeable surprise. In what seemed like no time, he was back carrying a large box, done up in extravagant gift-wrappings. He put it down on the table in front of me and a delicious, appetizing smell filled the room. I pulled off the wrapper and was delighted to find a covered dish containing what looked and smelled like a boeuf bourguignon. I dug in at once. It was almost perfect and, if I have eaten better bourguignons in my life, I wasn't about to criticize this welcome feast. Smiling at my obvious pleasure, he said: "Like the present? There is no thyme. But apart from that, I think it's pretty authentic." "It's wonderful, just wonderful", I stammered between mouthfuls.
From that point on, he continued to procure "Earth-food" for me. Fortunately many of them were not only interested in our doings, but had also become fans of alien cuisine. When he thought that I had begun to understand how time worked on their planet (alas, he was sadly wrong, I had simply stopped asking questions if I knew that I wouldn't be able to understand the answers) he decided to deepen my knowledge by talking about his experiences on another planets. Time, according to him, was still harder to understand in cultures that had a higher sense of the universe than even my hosts had. "There is a planet I know where they have achieved immortality. Perhaps it's rather like your vague ideas of what eternal bliss in heaven or eternal torment in hell might be like. I would even go so far as to say that the present there is not time-like. See what I mean?" I didn't want to disappoint him, so I just nodded as usual.
But what I did make a little progress with was their language. As I suppose you will easily guess they have nothing like our tenses. But apart from that obvious difficulty, the rest of it was easy enough to comprehend. Before long, I was able to start reading some of their literature, which seemed to be incredibly rich. My companion was delighted by my progress and lent me a copy of his favourite poet. I immediately fell under his charm. Some of his poems distinctly reminded me of John Donne and also of my friend's comparison between an hour with a lover and an hour in a dentist's waiting room, particularly the poem beginning (my translation):
'Thy bed is my universe,
Thine eyes all that mine can see.
Wrap me in thine infinite sheet -
Present there, is not time like thee?'
When I left, he gave me his copy as a souvenir. I am still working on a translation and hope soon to publish this example of extraterrestrial verse.
When at last it appeared that it was time for me to go home, he decided to accompany me and stay a while again in the hope of finally grasping why we were so obsessed with counting time. We climbed once more into his spacecraft, but this time, the journey seemed to take an age. Fortunately, I was able to occupy myself by working on my translation and my friend had thought to supply me with a large stock of soups and casseroles. So I suffered from neither boredom nor hunger. Suddenly, the craft came to a stop and we emerged to find ourselves in exactly the same place where we had set off, so long ago. Imagine my amazement to discover, when I got home, that only six of our days had passed during my absence. I had to admit that my friend was, in some strange way, right about how time worked. We had something to eat, then I settled down to ponder all the new ideas I had been taught. He, meanwhile, settled down in front of my mantelpiece clock and, tutting to himself, watched it go round. Both of us were now befuddled and hunting for some revelation. I lit some of his praise-scent, as I had learned to do when I needed to concentrate. Its odour filled the room. But if it was an aid to concentration there, here it only made me feel drunk on the memory of everything I had seen or heard of his culture. Whatever we were both looking for, his symbols couldn't help me, nor mine him. His thoughts were obviously following mine, he looked round at me and said: "Scent there is not time, like the prey". I smiled at him, took the clock from the mantelpiece and stamped it under my feet. He, in turn, doused my praise-scent. We embraced for a moment then I knew that, even though time remained between us, not even time could undo our love for each other.
Georges Perec
oops! one.
"...the Other is not simply the Other as coming from the outside so to speak. One is the one, I am the one, one is more or less the one and everyone is more or less the one and more or less one with him or herself. Which means that the Other is already inside, and has to be sheltered and welcomed in a certain way. We have to negotiate also, that’s a complicated unconscious operation, to negotiate the hospitality within ourselves."
Jacques Derrida
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