Handbook of the Spontaneous Other - Ebbe Vandenberghe

Ebbe Vandenberghe

Handbook of the Spontaneous Other

Standing there petrified in white ripples.

The embrace began a motion Will we turn our backs and dance to unknown rhythms?

Will be thrust our hands up in joy or despair?

Will we find a language with which to speak?

Will we find a place from Where to see?

Will we find the time to think?

We will become a threat.

Another threat?

The Other Threat.

The flesh pierces through as if a rose bud. Like thorn that splinteers away; revealing a pale vibrant pink that envelops all.

And transforms.

A landscape, an insect, a plant, an object.

Reverberating and expanding, as if a brooding wind, as if a crisp light, as if we become the Other Flesh.

We look back.

We smile.

Our working labouring body.

The working labouring bodies.

Entangled, intermingled, cross-pollinated.

A collective yellow web nesting inside the head.

Projecting the outside.

Looking straight into the camera even when naked.

We see all production.

We see the Other Reproduction.

Submerged.

The orange dust sprinkled water exposes the image. The image becomes fixed, while we dance with hands and legs spread out.

We move in all directions.

It moves in all directions.

We are in the Abyss.

It is in the Other Abyss.

We look at each other.

Our gaze creates a pulsating rhythm.

The rhythm of the pendulum moving back and forth.

Like a rainbow.

Depositing possibilities at either end.

A red ray touches the image and dances with the camera.

We stick our tongues out.

We move.

Basking in the joy of our Other Agility.

We don’t have to escape into new green pastures.

Into a body that never sleeps.

We have spilled the beans.

We have turned our backs.

We have become pleasure.

We haven’t left the body.

The body is our space.

We are thinking of the Other Escape.

Spreading as if a yawn.

Into a purple ground of domesticity.

We are comfortable in our flesh.

Adjusted to a place and time.

The Other Ground touches our hands.

We crumble.

All possibilities exist.

We don’t know if we should fix them into a new light.

The blue light of our thoughts.

We are not new.

We are not expressing.

We are social. We coexist.

We occupy this Other Space.

Walking in circles.

The movement of the sun has already changed the colour of the landscape.

We are left in darkness.

Like the eyes touching the eyelids We are not confused.

We speak.

We are the Other Uprising.