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Experiments in Text: a somatic script

by Nicky Tiso & friends

Contents

The Elsewhere as Such ................................................6 Stein Translation: The Power of a King...........................7 Casino Dérive..........................................................8-10 The Blind Dérives....................................................11-15 Feelings on Fire......................................................16-17 Body Chain Biology Party!.......................................18-21 Shlack Shlack Boom................................................22-24 Invasion of the Cardboard Robots............................25-26 Dull Pink Milk Culture...................................................27 Glenn Beckett..............................................................28 The Elsewhere as Us.....................................................29

contact: nickytiso@gmail.com nickytiso.blogspot.com

editor’s note Somatic (ORIGIN late 18th cent.: from Greek sōmatikos, from sōma ‘body’) is defined as an adjective “of or relating to the body, esp. as distinct from the mind.” Somatic writing, then, can be understood as writing that is, at the least, about the body, and at the most, of the body. Whose or what body is a crucial question because it addresses the ethics of representation. Eleni Stecopoulos says in an interview about somatic writing: “we don’t need…to make this body me, but can remediate that objectification through an ethics of the other.” In this way, the body can be “a scene of disabused sovereignty,” seeing itself from the outside and seeing others from within. Such somatic writing voices a progressive social-‐political body like Occupy, that celebrates the multitude and the erotic potential of the human animal. CA Conrad’s idea for a “(Soma)tic Poetics” is “a poetry which investigates that seemingly infinite space between body and spirit by using nearly any possible THING around or of the body to channel the body out and/or in toward spirit with deliberate and sustained concentration.” Such playfulness gives birth to new proprioceptive discourses—living narratives that touch, feel, receive, and grow. However these narratives also do so against forces that bind them, or against the limitation of self and of skin, invoking new horizons of what it means to be numerous. Each of these pieces were composed through collaborative somatic exercises that frames the narrating subjects. Three-‐way (mis)translations, blindfolding, impersonating Glenn Beck YouTube videos—these are just some of the rituals we performed to produce this mystically weird text. When possible prompts help contextualize the script however as one returning to this draft after several years, the generative procedures utilized often eludes me. This project was created for an Evergreen State College undergraduate experimental writing class instructed by David Wolach the winter of 2010, who helped coordinate and supervise our progress. In the process we had a lot of fun and we learned a lot about what’s at stake in the body politics of discursive practice. This writing is alive. Thanks to each and every classmate, credited throughout. Works Cited Stecopoulos, Eleni. “Somatics Questionnaire.” Harriet Blog. Ed. Donovan, Thom. April 29, 2011. Web. Conrad, CA. “Somatic Poetry Exercises.” The Center for Programs in Contemporary Writing at the University of Pennsylvania. np. Web.

The Elsewhere as Such

Given absolutisms hide, what about an explosion is triumphant? If it lingers as the evidence of a bombed city, of a real city, within which you who are won’t sell, won’t matter, can be without being seen? Without that which it consumes heard as voices? Nothing but the bare mechanics of the environment cry out: How empty explosions are. My flesh meets horizon The mechanism of change My flesh, barely audible Compressed within space Becomes, for a moment Contiguous with Systematics of said space That I haunt, without destination Becomes, for a moment The processes of emancipation A method, to integrate The contingencies That resist, in order to cohere Without consumption Their specificity, is Continual, continually...

Stein Translation

Do you feel the power of a king? I doing this mind their shame for believing it’s not Christmas. It’s not Christmas. I evacuated colors. Now are you more of a man of the kingdom we can’t control? His voice however new eclipsed this voice in pursuit of gain. Finally, parties, art. Finally long intervals of acceleration. Finally coins, quantities behind closed doors initiating a desperate reach. There. No sound can keep you alive. The failed body pulls levers. Is that how you move forward? Coming, conditionalized, but “shut”? Blueness blames his exertion. My experience, characterized. My experience a culprit of sounds. Again, my experience, gears, promises, move to an urgent axis. This face can only be kept pretty so long. That’s such a finessed account. Is this resigned interior movement? Is this is this house so far becoming I’s traces? I believe in the same desk erupting down. Surfaces just emerge out of themselves.You feel big when the blinds are closed, from all that moving around for so long, listening to others’ listening sounds, initiating a desperate reach. Exertion is emotion. That’s what kept you alive so long. 7

Casino Dérive (with audio accompaniment)

Rushing water flushes, rinses with violent force. Doors open into the woman’s buffet. Order number announcement and the background noise is all over the place, the place is all background noise and mashed voices. A whistle here, there: “hey can I get a...” “tickets for the slots there” “you want one ticket” “or two” “you can get whatever” “two fives” “one ten” “dollar” “lowest this” “highest” “interaction for the” “slots alright” (laughing) “I gotta pace myself” “it’s the lucky way.” There you go, cut off again. The hum and lights and jingling dollars are not a big deal. Your teeth falling out from counting down strained cash when you win. Come see the panoramic thrill of beaming wails of sugary form sudden and shocked like a breaking news announcement. Now tender pause. Coins fall the button pressed the button pressed the button pressed no luck try again announcer announcing numbers clashing into scales, beeps there is a narcotic pulse the overwhelming array of cycling symbols; cherry, unicorn, trident, giant oyster, waitress, cherry, unicorn, trident, giant oyster, waitress carries drinks the working class getaway diversion becomes the same bland strip of trucker’s wives gawking loose and wiry with dangling Marlboro and implicit heartache just that ass-worn stool seating of lost income and holes for income dazed as in overabundance of the same and humans become figurines, moths flocked for warmth and respite about stalls, placated by digital harps strung optimistic on repeat as an interactive commercial would have it. 8

Sketches From Casino Derive: Gambling Fish and Woman Sitting at Slots

The Poker Players

[Prompt: blindfold person A. have person B carefully guide person A as they wander about the room or area, attempting to orally describe what they are feeling. Person B is to transcribe what person A is saying. Person A is also required to crawl. Person C writes through the A-‐B relationship in whatever manner they choose, as some sort of commentary upon the performance, like a sports narrator perhaps. We did this varying the roles for about 20 minutes each role, for around two hours, partly due to restrictions of class time. as an editor/participant i cannot exactly differentiate who wrote what, but have here reproduced the texts as I received them from the workshop participants. that said i might have made minor touches here or there.]

The Blind Dérives of Nicky Tiso, Alexa Carson, William Owen, and Tommy Purtle

1. I’ve begun feeling the smooth area, crawling. I’ve begun, the first door locked. The wall an open door I cannot go in. There’s the door again, on a big road. And a window. With the wish to escape, I press against every surface. What seems like vertical sways. Someone small and smooth, going the opposite direction, stops me. Offers me letters, says: “a curve like a hook sends me a message, it means something!” But I cannot read this message. Only soft walls lead to open spaces. A space to sit where I don’t. I’ve begun feeling. Offer me letters. And a window. 11

Small and smooth, going opposite. I cannot. There’s the door again, on a big road. Stop me. But I. But I. “curve like a hook,” he says, only soft. I’ve begun feeling again. Only soft. Offer me letters. Stop me. But I. But I. Oh, a surface! The wish to escape. Stop me going the opposite direction. Lock the first door. What seems vertical. I cannot bear another smooth device. Send me a message. Moan for me to get out. Crawling, I’ve begun feeling, there’s the door again. That will sway.

2. Arms stretched Up Up on the board bent Downcrouching slowly Hear without feeling Palms across the glass House of splintered laughter Commingle with the minds and arms of another Right angles twist together child stretch searching for a looming feeling Forbidden juxtapositions lost in grey surroundings, knees drag, knees bang, knees bend towards guidance

Hands claw the air, stale, recreating environments Between objects, vertical intentions, perfect destructing and ebbing Communication like currency, the end of something repeating, and ending

3. Weird. The cat sounding blockade was interesting Smooth hard and fake go together A good empty space To be claustrophobic Grain fibers you are looking for a confined feeling? I can feel light and I go into it. It’s cold. Twisting sharp squeaks Twisting is a pleasant feeling Cyclops on rampage The blind monster rage Swimming through air for dust You don’t even know what’s yours anymore Coats which way is up Some valve running into the vibrations fall down like things I’m shouting In any head or everything is like a toy a bit My pants have been overworn

Exhale. Imagine what it looks like this huge groovy bump...It keeps things from being together on the inside Cyclops interaction spreads

4. Smooth, metallic, mossy, obstacle Move slits, cold, window crawling, synthetic wood climb over, round, prison Upside down, tall above Will collide, little twisty bit, blindfolded, hey Franny laugh On my knees interesting, cave, open space ahead, darker, person obstacles, big wall, over It’s like an L, cloth, corduroy, she’s going in circles, foot, shoe, you’re close To where you started, a book changes surroundings She learned how to stand Swingy thing, balanced obstacles, rip it down Spongy, window open Pellets, BB gun pellets, it’s a machine, smooth Freedom trapped Entering a new damp environment. Things are uneven. I fall to my knees to feel the sand. Cracked and smooth my lips are blockades.

Repeat. Repeat. Redundancy keeps us grounded. Sometimes chalkboards seem like water walls to walk thru. Chalk trays bullet chambers. Where are we walking? Who holds the violence? Woman walking in the room, putting a chair away, confused. Double take to check it out. What are they writing? “This chair is different.”“Stuff is uneven, round and feels fake, misplaced.” “Why do you think it’s here?”It’s hard to remove yourself from known knowledge.”

Charles Burchfield, Orion in December, 1959

Ekphrastic Translation: the life of a Charles Burchfield painting in collaboration with Tommy Purtle and Ally Simmons

Stars! There are stars! Something organic changes, grows, in the sky. How does it multiply, upwards, downwards? How should we sprawl? Colors arenâ€™t real shades. Have we not made these names? If I am here, air is cool. I wish there was wind. Can we feel outside of dimension? Thinking concrete, speak to ourselves, walk thru blurbs. I can only remember that memory, nothing else. Natural explosions in the sky. Is multiplication natural? Sprawl to the slob should? What are colors? How we made their names! Is your blue my green? Can we feel outside of dimension? Do we speak to ourselves or to someone or to the place or to our past? 16

Melody is circular. Filipino refugees are going towards heaven. The volcanoes erupt. The grass meets the ocean. An island forms. Standing still light seems very basic. The natural elements lead us to a mood. Are these natural moods? Are there fireflies? There are so many questions. Ask about what it means to be natural. A feeling is on fire. I saw a dress with a shape. I am sad. No, Iâ€™m not. I lifted up Heaven. I walked down to gravity. I met it under the tree. The fire became real to the tree. She put the match to her head. The dress.

Ekphrastic Translation: YouTube animation of the life of a cell by Franny Waldear, Alexa Carson, William Owen, Tommy Purtle, and Nicky Tiso

Dance around the brain Synapses that equal movements Wild combinations March to the beat Through the tunnels of My nervesIs is this working? Weirder than I expected to feel Butterflies are just the feeling Of adrenaline shifting Blood From the stomach to the heart Multiply that by infinity Add a pinch of psychedelics And make it dance! Repeat this once in the dark But do it in reverse and Inside out Then add the noise Add the math To the beat Now go â€˘ Color, visual property, semblance Color, coded A drummer in a heart beat Valves clapping clapping clapping An army of biology infiltrates imprisoned virus Trajectory multiplies minds between coal lined eyes Pollute, pollinate, be complacent Beat broken boxes black Order attack defend Beat broken boxes black Order attack attack defend Present centuries playless Shot in a spiral

Non-complacent hierarchy of doom Blobs interconnected by wires transfused We are lifted Multiply multiply multiply Latch on to your brother and feed We can reassemble Gain strength and project Probe, prolong the problem to persevere Grow spine and create a sphere of interconnectedness Ring with vibrations Feel shit because everything is only grey matter Alone you are nothing a robotic flake You liquefy; absorption is so easy then â€˘ Body chain biology party! Everything is so connected Biology feet marching, but up! The big zipper With evil yellow pain Blob, donâ€™t get carried away by robots O no, dark tunnel and fascist dancing? What I see in this is divergent audiences.

Falltown Digestion, the final frontier It’s all a maze, the social network. Is this what poke means skinny penguin? It’s your job to carry aaaaalll the jellyfish It’s all in your mind, body! Your kite eukaryote knows what it is to be free. Are you a sicko? Chain and the gang. This all happens unbelievable slowly. Slowetry bead feet black branch. We call it a tar park. Skin party. • What are within? What world have we stumbled into? Inside me and you are cell patterns swimming. Cell patterns swimming Dive deep to find mini spines building Back bones of our blood We are intricate like swarmed locust coming together Reconstructing the cobs they previously devoured Building bridges to the blue ball This blue ball we devour Inside me and you Is grey matter, yellow serpents leading colonies We are just the cells of another species

We are within a big body hibernating in the universe, unconscious slumber Pit stop before Venus When will we rise to walk away When can we play legos with Mars? We are machines, machines of old men. Say it again, blessed cubes and cell circles Fuzz grub making you making credits in blue Gooey tendrils to become the human helix

[prompt: have one group of people use the environment and objects around them to generate as much noise as possible. have another group of people attempt to translate the sound into language. we ended up banging chairs, throwing chalk, slamming doors, sliding curtains, flicking lights, clawing walls, knocking tables, screaming, etc]

Ekphrasis, the life of noise by Franny Waldear, Nicky Tiso, Alexa Carson, and Tommy Purtle

Shlack shlack boom Guhrugh guhrugh gurungha Jrummmummmmajrmmmmaiamamamamamamamama Budadaddlunk budadadadddlunkMmmmmchmunu mummmmmmuhGramha tramba buh buh buhl, mmmmmWehhhaada wehhhhaaada wheeehaddadada Chechechchchchchchcchchchccheh • Shloomp! Schlooomp! Cauchh chick! Kateck teek uzzzzz hizzzzKuch kar gurg ungHoomph pa ching fun fun fun Da! Do dun DUN DUNTeeterslax cacthDlor?Doosh what sloog sasa ch FU DJOOA NA NA FU GUZ ti ti ti ti it chiak cloox • Bahhhhhcabach bach splick Chiii chi chi quitttchtttt aaaa Plullplyu ply llu pluy puu pll pli GrahhhhOOOOOO --------- Ppppppp brrooooo Carrchunkkkk c cccc xdccccc •clud clad clud clad ting

tackclankthudschinkety chinkety chinkety tip tap tip tap clink tip tap tonk a dink clittle shareep shareep and booms chinkety destructboom! destructboom! violence! violence!

Ekphrasis, the life of noise (spell-check translation)

Chalky check boom Gonorrhoea guarantees granola Mama barbarous barbarousness Mormon memo grammar tarmac bush bug buyI, meow warhead wellhead watered-down check Shallop! Chomp! Couch chick! Chaotic seek ooze hiss Much bar guru hung Homo china fun fun fun Dad! Do dun DUN DUN Tattersalls catch Dolor? Douche slug saga oh djin Knee knee It kick clocks Backable batch splice Chi chi quietest aye Plumply luau play pub pill ply 23

Guru Pooh brow Creation caw exec Cloud cloud ting Tack ton clientele Clank sharp Sherpa Thuds connect Connect Chicano chunkiest tap Destruct boom! Destruct boom! Violence! Violence!

Ekphrasis, translation of a weird noir Russian sci-fi flick by Franny Waldear, Alexa Carson, and Tommy Purtle

I’ll send these pixelated armies after you and they will form a terrible tesseract And destroy you in the4th dimension The more you resist the stronger you will be A hand to my chest or a hand on my breast That expendable dance it’s romantic sort of I’ll narrow my eyes at the internet And destroy this memory Until these smiles consume All of your bandwidth • Stick you sickness for salvation down my throat Burrow burdens trapt against fences as they attack Stuck orbiting the fingers of artificial intelligence He wears a corset, thigh highs and loves the color red Not a fan of advancement

But premeditated pleasure does the trick, ruthless All applaud the insect of the damned Technology is hell when boxes are the only defense to make music though Violence penetrates the naked masses Entwined in rope, we are Titans playing in the dark It’s your turn, fight • My child’s laser wrist robots are weak We are man, I am man Bet you didn’t know that Retreat back after the pillage to put sound to our victory I am more man with three boobs more believable that way One for me to play with two for you to drool Fight over me Start cardboard wars in choppy sequence. Climb these tombs to kill the dead I can only love a man Constructed glowing, speaking from the wrist You have won. For your prize I will share with you my yummy secret Ahhhhh Fuck the robots!

[warning: this piece contains difficult to read hate speech that is appropriated from YouTube comments to a particular Pakistani music video, complicated by the fact that the starlet it features has Western looking, whitish skin. The hate speech intersperses the attempted understanding of the subject matter]

Ekphrastic Translation: Bollywood YouTube Commentary

Mother/daughter nourish yr ecstasy (What the fuck, speak English, fuckbrain) The family grows wild, spinning (Cunt, Pakistan, perfume, shit, curry) Invitations get extended (Jihad turbine slumdog faggot) Yr palms white with pilfered detail (Bitch smelly India terrorist) Yr entrance astounds me (Dull pink milk culture) Clap joyfully fair actress (Lowlife cunt ass fuckface) We know not from what diverse mountain range you descend (Would the answer rescue us white ppl from your shitty fuck rocks? Or stuff yr smelly things In the rainforest, stinking the slums? Hot choice, fuckface) Sing to me yr Texas tune.

Glenn Beck: a translation based purely on his gesticulations by Alexa Carson and Tommy Purtle, inspired by Thom Donovan’s Three Proposals

Sometimes I am out of control. Can you really take one thing and join it with another? Can’t we just talk about it? I don’t really understand anything I myself am saying. Will I restart? Can I?- Now that is interesting. It’s got power, fists of steel! Don’t shrug it off, it’s the heart- Not what I’ve got up here! In my head doesn’t matter. I forgot what I was saying. But I’ve got it written for me here • Ah crap my head has been killing- I tried to find some help for this, clap- Made me sad and contemplative- Well you’re really an asshole, it makes me giggle-I mean was it your mom?- Well, yea, but, she kept screaming “you can do it!”- So I started pacing, looking around the room for some dogs. You know, I’m pretty good with dogs.- My mom raised me well- Your mom raised me well too- Tickled my chest til we became interlocked- I look down when I think of the next day when she put on her glasses to say

The Elsewhere as Us

O limited terrain of passion O fissure of relations I hold sand and bone in my hand A more important activity than was thought Or can be found In the constant current The general feeling Of sacrifice Once empire Becomes tedious, unglorified â€œSquare slabs of pavementâ€? (Or is there gold there too, undeclared?) We live laden Our unspoken shreds Secularized In a flourish of bacteria So much unsoothed thread Spread throughout the gene pool Suffering, and so on

Winter 2010 Olympia, WA Manifest Press