(with an eggplant)
Now we know how they felt
when Marilyn died.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
More from the Motel
Your last report was very nice. I think the skyline view of New York
is a photo of a photo on the wall. This draws in the travelers. They can't
get a straight answer from the management. I can hear the
argument already. Through the bullet proof glass. Someone says
"try and stop me," turns out the lights. And the overconfident,
overly optimistic dad trying to make the best of it. Maybe intentions
like those should be stomped out like an old cigarette.
In the cafe, Luc Sante hangs out and drinks coffee. Smokes.
He does his typing here.
Maybe there's a family down the hall.
They live in the motel full time, trying to be appropriately suburban.
They occupy a few rooms. Go through the usual hassles. It's 100%
precisely like lives like ours . . . but the setting adds a degree
of absurdity. Tips things over.
The group that plays cards; the man that moves in to
have his nightmares. . . he has figured out a way to
batch them. Another man comes to do all his drinking
for the year. They meet somehow and swap potions.
An inventor of strange instruments. A man chained to a dead man.
Someone composing a religion. Two German techno legends.
Etc.
is a photo of a photo on the wall. This draws in the travelers. They can't
get a straight answer from the management. I can hear the
argument already. Through the bullet proof glass. Someone says
"try and stop me," turns out the lights. And the overconfident,
overly optimistic dad trying to make the best of it. Maybe intentions
like those should be stomped out like an old cigarette.
In the cafe, Luc Sante hangs out and drinks coffee. Smokes.
He does his typing here.
Maybe there's a family down the hall.
They live in the motel full time, trying to be appropriately suburban.
They occupy a few rooms. Go through the usual hassles. It's 100%
precisely like lives like ours . . . but the setting adds a degree
of absurdity. Tips things over.
The group that plays cards; the man that moves in to
have his nightmares. . . he has figured out a way to
batch them. Another man comes to do all his drinking
for the year. They meet somehow and swap potions.
An inventor of strange instruments. A man chained to a dead man.
Someone composing a religion. Two German techno legends.
Etc.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Suggested Topics for Holiday Phone Call
1. Current setting
2. Enemies (i.e., minor irritants)
3. Surprises
4. Non-monetary compensation
5. Parameters for Best-of List
6. The holy ghost, the ghostly holy
7. Handsomeness 2.0
8. Analogies that made us yawn, not smile
9. Becoming (the vs. a)
10. Bloomberg Business Week
11. That smell
12. The metaphysics of debt
13. Mustache strategy (bi-partisan if possible)
14. Expired diplomats
15. The launching of the tiny boats
2. Enemies (i.e., minor irritants)
3. Surprises
4. Non-monetary compensation
5. Parameters for Best-of List
6. The holy ghost, the ghostly holy
7. Handsomeness 2.0
8. Analogies that made us yawn, not smile
9. Becoming (the vs. a)
10. Bloomberg Business Week
11. That smell
12. The metaphysics of debt
13. Mustache strategy (bi-partisan if possible)
14. Expired diplomats
15. The launching of the tiny boats
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Duchamp Game
I wrote the rules to this game on July 30, 2007. Not sure if I shared it with you then. Should this be launched in January?
_____________________
Today, I was forced out of my house by a thick arm of restlessness. It said GO!, pushing me solidly in the chest, so I went. All the way up Broadway until I saw a store that said BOOKS. In it, I found a first (only?) edition of the book published on the occasion of a Marcel Duchamp exhibition organized by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art.
I took it with me (for the negligible sum of 15 dollars) to a coffee shop further uptown. Along the way I saw a man with a rash covering his entire face, a man in an army jacket digging around in garbage cans, eleven children (aged 6 months to 3 years) and several elderly couples: signs of the dawdling hour, late in the morning, well before lunch, when most people are at work. In the coffee shop, I flipped through my new book and found
Favored humor and chance as decisive tools in art and life
Raised dust, then found a way to preserve it
Distrusted language
Published a book of puns
Quit making public art and played chess instead
Called self a “chess maniac”
Even wrote a book about chess
Worked on a secret work – The Glass???????? – for 20 years.
Lived in a variety of apartments in New York City.
This last point stopped me, especially when I learned that I was a mere 20 blocks from one. I decided to go there immediately and see what I could discover. When inside, nearing the staircase, I was quickly asked to leave by the doorman, even after I showed him my book, but I hung around outside and wrote down a few ideas. Walking around with Duchamp in one’s head is like being in a bird's body!
On to the point of the letter. While sitting on Duchamp’s stoop, or what’s left of it, I thought of a game and 3 possible players. After sketching out the rules of the game, I decided that I would immediately return home, contact the 3 players, and ask them to generate a list of 3 additional players. Those 3 would generate a further list. You received this letter because your name was on this list. The rules are simple, and enclosed.
You were selected because one of the original 3 thought you would (a) be willing to go through with this and (b) thought your results might be interesting.
What’s in it for you? A few things, none tangible or guaranteed. Possible publication. If enough people respond, a book may emerge. So, in a way, you are writing for a literary magazine that does not exist. Also, and more profoundly, you will have the opportunity to have your life altered by chance.
This does not happen everyday.
This does not even happen every third day.
(c), you will be involved in a kind of network, secret of course (you will never know who else is doing this).
Giving up even part of your day to chance allows you to step onto a plateau where everything that happens is charged with the magic of chance.
If you choose to participate, skip ahead, explore the rules, ask no questions, and, when you are done, drop the completed game in the self addressed, stamped envelope. The game ends one year from today.
Sincerely,
Claude Cephalus
West 14th Street, NYC
Rules
1. When you find yourself at the brink of a small decision (i.e., should I go shopping or get a cup of coffee, should I eat fish or steak, should I call Glen or Glenda), flip a coin. Let the coin decide for you.
2. Keep track of the decision, the outcome, and the result. In other words, write down the two things on which you are deciding, the result of the coin toss, and the result of your decision. The “result” can be short or much more expansive. It can be text-based or you can draw a picture. Anything goes. Also, write down the date. (See example below)
3. Keep this information in the brown notebook—complete with coin—included.
4. When the notebook is full, put it in the envelope and mail it.
5. If enough of these notebooks come back, they will be shaped into some kind of further art work; you will be notified at that point about the result.
Typical Entry Would Look Like So:
7/30
Should I start the Duchamp Coin Flip Game?
Heads – Yes
Tails – No
The coin said YES. So I begin. I’m not sure what this will yield, but I know it will cost me roughly 27 quarters and the cost of 27 notebooks. Already the world seems charged and different. Knowing that 27 people will be allowing chance to govern at least a small part of their days. But will they play the game?
_____________________
Today, I was forced out of my house by a thick arm of restlessness. It said GO!, pushing me solidly in the chest, so I went. All the way up Broadway until I saw a store that said BOOKS. In it, I found a first (only?) edition of the book published on the occasion of a Marcel Duchamp exhibition organized by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art.
I took it with me (for the negligible sum of 15 dollars) to a coffee shop further uptown. Along the way I saw a man with a rash covering his entire face, a man in an army jacket digging around in garbage cans, eleven children (aged 6 months to 3 years) and several elderly couples: signs of the dawdling hour, late in the morning, well before lunch, when most people are at work. In the coffee shop, I flipped through my new book and found
Favored humor and chance as decisive tools in art and life
Raised dust, then found a way to preserve it
Distrusted language
Published a book of puns
Quit making public art and played chess instead
Called self a “chess maniac”
Even wrote a book about chess
Worked on a secret work – The Glass???????? – for 20 years.
Lived in a variety of apartments in New York City.
This last point stopped me, especially when I learned that I was a mere 20 blocks from one. I decided to go there immediately and see what I could discover. When inside, nearing the staircase, I was quickly asked to leave by the doorman, even after I showed him my book, but I hung around outside and wrote down a few ideas. Walking around with Duchamp in one’s head is like being in a bird's body!
On to the point of the letter. While sitting on Duchamp’s stoop, or what’s left of it, I thought of a game and 3 possible players. After sketching out the rules of the game, I decided that I would immediately return home, contact the 3 players, and ask them to generate a list of 3 additional players. Those 3 would generate a further list. You received this letter because your name was on this list. The rules are simple, and enclosed.
You were selected because one of the original 3 thought you would (a) be willing to go through with this and (b) thought your results might be interesting.
What’s in it for you? A few things, none tangible or guaranteed. Possible publication. If enough people respond, a book may emerge. So, in a way, you are writing for a literary magazine that does not exist. Also, and more profoundly, you will have the opportunity to have your life altered by chance.
This does not happen everyday.
This does not even happen every third day.
(c), you will be involved in a kind of network, secret of course (you will never know who else is doing this).
Giving up even part of your day to chance allows you to step onto a plateau where everything that happens is charged with the magic of chance.
If you choose to participate, skip ahead, explore the rules, ask no questions, and, when you are done, drop the completed game in the self addressed, stamped envelope. The game ends one year from today.
Sincerely,
Claude Cephalus
West 14th Street, NYC
Rules
1. When you find yourself at the brink of a small decision (i.e., should I go shopping or get a cup of coffee, should I eat fish or steak, should I call Glen or Glenda), flip a coin. Let the coin decide for you.
2. Keep track of the decision, the outcome, and the result. In other words, write down the two things on which you are deciding, the result of the coin toss, and the result of your decision. The “result” can be short or much more expansive. It can be text-based or you can draw a picture. Anything goes. Also, write down the date. (See example below)
3. Keep this information in the brown notebook—complete with coin—included.
4. When the notebook is full, put it in the envelope and mail it.
5. If enough of these notebooks come back, they will be shaped into some kind of further art work; you will be notified at that point about the result.
Typical Entry Would Look Like So:
7/30
Should I start the Duchamp Coin Flip Game?
Heads – Yes
Tails – No
The coin said YES. So I begin. I’m not sure what this will yield, but I know it will cost me roughly 27 quarters and the cost of 27 notebooks. Already the world seems charged and different. Knowing that 27 people will be allowing chance to govern at least a small part of their days. But will they play the game?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
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