tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20195792758673095512024-03-05T14:06:39.685-08:00BLaCK MiRRoR KuLTuRe SuRVeiLLaNCeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-12605254757936444552011-06-04T02:34:00.000-07:002011-08-29T00:39:18.965-07:00THe iTCH.<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://s1237.photobucket.com/albums/ff478/blckmrrr/?action=view&current=tumblr_lm8324leSC1qfq2jno1_1280.gif" target="_blank"><img alt="THe iTCH." border="0" height="355" src="http://i1237.photobucket.com/albums/ff478/blckmrrr/tumblr_lm8324leSC1qfq2jno1_1280.gif" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">silly video sound performance that got lost in the fire.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">this is all that remains.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-36057308799168909862011-05-23T01:36:00.001-07:002011-05-23T01:38:22.930-07:00Rise of the Transtextuals<a href="http://rdrcomm3300.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/gerard-genette.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-144" height="300" src="http://rdrcomm3300.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/gerard-genette.jpg?w=205" title="gerard-genette" width="205" /></a>In my most recent searches into the void I have come across the concept/theory/ideology of transtextuality. Right off the bat I was hooked. "What the hell is transtextuality?" "What the hell is transtextuality?" "What the hell is transtextuality?" This has become my internal mantra. I have scoured the net and found many theorys and writings at length upon the subject, but every addition to this new current literary trend leaves the hallmark question answered by yet another question. Still undefined and awash of speculation built upon few source materials, I am so drawn towards this emerging classification of communication. The deeper I fall down this rabbit hole the stronger my current realization become...I am a transtextual.<br />
<br />
Transtextuality was originally coined by <b>Gérard Genette </b>in his book <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=KbYzNp94C9oC&printsec=frontcover&dq=G%C3%A9rard+Genette+Palimpsests&source=bl&ots=iSr16uxVVN&sig=BvASzBMevUG_6DrMXrazhNTzwfY&hl=en&ei=xJWCTYjbLsSRgQeyh6jbCA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=4&ved=0CC8Q6AEwAw#v=onepage&q&f=false" target="_blank" title="Palimpsests"><i>Palimpsests</i></a> which can be found within the Google Books library. Of course, being ever so busy attempting to fool myself and everyone else into believing that I am the budding erudite, I have not read Genette's book...yet. Despite this minor roadblock in time management, I see no reason as to hold back my insightful take on the whole transtextuality thing. There is a plethora of regurgitation amongst the blogashere on Genette's concepts; here is the gist of it all. According to<a href="http://helmer.ca/blog/2003/07/06/theory-of-transtextuality/" target="_blank" title="helmer.ca"> helmer.ca</a> there are four sub-categories of transtextuality. They include intertexuality, paratextuality, architextuality, and hypotextuality. this is the comman basis for the breakdown of the trantextuality within the multiple net pages dedicated to it's definable understanding, though some sources do interchange intertextuality for metatextuality but their definitions remain identical. Intertextuality and or metatextuality refers to the concept of one text referring to itself as well as a secondary text referring to a primary text where in the understanding of the secondary text helps to define the primary text. Paratextuality is the textual information that surrounds and or supports the main text. this can be defined through the uses of specific fonts, illustrations, embedded videos and audio files, headings, prefaces, dedications, footnotes, and ect. Architextuality comments on related texts connected through genre. this definition I find a bit elusive but it's terms are easier understood as<a href="http://helmer.ca/blog/2003/07/06/theory-of-transtextuality/" target="_blank" title="hemler.ca"> helmer.ca</a> puts it <i>"the division of a play into acts"</i>. Finally, hypotextuality refers to a secondary text that supports a primary text by creating interjections into the original text. I understand this concept most clearly in regards to the modern phenomenon of the remix and remix culture. Essentially that is the basis for the transtextual, all originally conceived by Genette and published in France in 1982 but it's prime importance is just now being conceptually understood and practiced through the renaissance of new media.<br />
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Currently, rhetoricians are revisiting Genette's proposed transtextuality and correlating it to modern communication modes and means. The ideals of transtextuality are specifically the fundamental elements of new media communication. all four of the predefined transtextual sub-categories are explicitly utilized within current new media trends. As the lines between consumer and creator are becoming ever so blurred transtextuality is becoming the norm. Within my own interpretations of the subject, this new media revolution is slated to make transtextuals out of us all. We are collectively referring to and morphing texts upon texts. Within the bounds of social media we are creating volumes upon volumes of text genre all of which intesects and interprets one another anew. many of the new media artists and designers are basing their work on cross platfomisation as remix of idea, concept, and content lead towards new contextualizations. personally I feel that the crux of transtextuality lies within the unfettered bounds our new media. We are still in the fledgling infancy of our "new printing press". we are all still learning to typeset our new communicative paradigm. This new openness and availability towards active communication lends itself towards the concepts of transtextuality. It is time to open the closet door and embrace our transtextual tendencies.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-86134689159557922462011-05-22T03:29:00.000-07:002011-05-22T03:31:36.566-07:00FLUXUS FUXUS: Shelley Jackson- New Media Author and Artist<a href="http://www.egs.edu/uploads/pics/shelley-jackson-2002-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="alignright" height="293" src="http://www.egs.edu/uploads/pics/shelley-jackson-2002-2.jpg" title="shelley jackson" width="200" /></a>Recently I bumped into Shelley Jackson. Of course our encounter was metaphoric and far from literal, but through the onslaught of short bursted information centralized within keyword searches about the incredible creativity that this woman has exude over the last twenty years; I began to feel some sort of kinship towards her. I never realized how in depth and "out of the box" an author/artist could be. Shelley Jackson is doing things that literally blow my mind. Certainly she is not the "be all end all" of text creation, but what she is doing is flipping the script on what modern publishing and literature is and can be. Jackson is on the front lines of the new media renaissance and she is paving inlets into this vast open new media terrain so that future creatives can tread deeper towards the evolutionary precipice of which we seek.<br />
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Shelly Jackson grew up in Berkley, received her Bachelors of Arts from Stanford, and her Masters in Fine Arts from Brown University. In 1995 she published her first <i>hypertext</i> novel entitled<i> Patchwork Girl.</i> Apparently, a hypertext novel is a literary work that is displayed electronically and framed through the use of hypertext links. These hypertext links within the literary work allows the reader an in depth control of direction to the narrative, kind of like the choose your own adventure stories I read as a child wherein the reader makes choices about the direction of the story by making selections from different prompts at the end of a set of pages. Jackson's <i>Patchwork Girl</i> is a loose non-chronological adaptation of Mary Shelley's <i>Frankenstein</i>. Shelly later wrote two more hypertext novels with her sister Pamela Jackson. They are entitled <a href="http://www.ineradicablestain.com/dollgames/" target="_blank" title="the doll games"><i>The Doll Games</i></a> and<a href="http://www.altx.com/thebody/" target="_blank" title="my body"><i> My Body</i></a>.<br />
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One of Shelley Jackson's most recent projects, one in which I have become a supper huge fan, is called Skin. Skin is a short novel of about 2,000 or so words. The short novel is currently being published but not on paper as typical novels are printed and distributed. In this project Jackson has recruited volunteers to tattoo one word form the novel on their skin. This is the only means in which this novel will be published. Jackson has set up an informative <a href="http://ineradicablestain.com/skindex.html" target="_blank" title="skin project">web site</a> describing in detail all angles of this project. A short video piece has also been created where in each participant in the Skin project videos their tattoo and says the word. All of these submissions have been edited together to tell a shortened version of the multimedia novel. In an article published in the <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/jacketcopy/2011/02/shelley-jacksons-skin-project-20.html" target="_blank" title="article in LA Times"><i>Los Angeles Times</i></a>, Jackson discusses the project participants;<br />
<blockquote>I usually call them words, or my words, as in, "I got an angry email from one of my words," or "Two of my words just got married!" I really like the ripple of surreality this induces in listeners who haven't yet become inured to the usage. It comes from my original call for participants: I specify that once they are tattooed, "participants will be known as 'words'. They are not understood as carriers or agents of the texts they bear, but as their embodiments. As a result, injuries to the tattooed text, such as dermabrasion, laser surgery, cover work or the loss of body parts, will not be considered to alter the work. Only the death of words effaces them from the text. As words die the story will change; when the last word dies the story will also have died." I am a word myself: the title, Skin.</blockquote>The importance of Shelley Jackson's work is still yet to be determined. She is creating outside the norm of her generalized medium, but is that not the point. Within the spectrum of the new media renaissance all restrictions, traditions, and economics are tossed into the fire. Creatives working in this new medium must embrace the multidimensional type set. No longer are we bound to the type faced text. No longer must we hold tight to deteriorating economic models that have defined our expression. Shelley Jackson is of the vanguard of this new paradigm. She creates beyond our past and is actively defining the future: a new horizon of expressed communication.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/viF-xuLrGvA" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-47521052206710845162011-05-20T01:53:00.000-07:002011-05-20T01:53:02.098-07:00Hype Huffer<a href="http://rdrcomm3300.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/hype-logo.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignright size-full wp-image-35" height="236" src="http://rdrcomm3300.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/hype-logo.jpg" title="hype-logo" width="193" /></a>Media hype is the thing. One sees it everywhere. In this postmodernist culture driven by consumerism there is nothing more than the inflated bubble. Certainly there is legitimacy in aspects of the media but generally it is taken outside contexts of measurable truth. It is no surprise that the facts as they are presented in popular culture are skewed for ratings. This has become the constant within many of our own lives. Hype has become the new black as we all add to the gestural descriptions of our exaggerated selves via social media. So where have we as a culture learned to ingrain this behavior of hyper exaggeration? Is it the fault of the media creators; or should the blame of hype rest upon the heads of the consuming masses drawn obediently towards the beautiful car crash?<br />
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Speaking personally, I am enthralled by hype. My intentions are to be curator of hype. I lavish my time on the latest trends in music, art, and design. I am constantly seeking the new for I am one of the many seeking a seemingly new experience. Thus is the crux of the hype situation. Reality is cyclical. Constant creative attention must be focused in order to repackage the same old thing.<br />
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Hype is a part of our legacy. It was derived around the fires of our first archaic oral cultures. These first cultures communicated without written records, thus the truths of the presented knowledge changed with each oral recitation. The foundations of hype are rooted in our past traditions in that we gravitate towards creative interpretations. The need to exaggerate has evolved with the ways in which we communicate. Many of the first journalistic endeavors produced after the assimilation of the printing press were tabloid orientated. News conglomerates of the past created sensational headlines that were so far removed from actual truth, yet it was these fictitious narratives that influenced political and sometimes militaristic actions despite relevance to actuality.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-28702182214979172502011-04-18T23:00:00.001-07:002011-04-18T23:00:54.002-07:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<h6 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: x-large;"><span class="messagebody"><span style="line-height: 115%;">For Fluxus, reality is the medium, experience the utensil, and language the means of distribution.</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></h6>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-64231078047327318742011-04-04T21:24:00.000-07:002011-04-04T21:38:14.274-07:00Fluxus Fuxus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpadKcVRjMcQELZR2DAqFn6oubgfcByc4SI-UsQcrtB5kaEU2lWOhoOPYRBwalCqx8p1KCNtiribDmKRSeoAeKuhVcTUvkDwSWhBenGdJAEKA-8zL-9TtV6XG5MC7kZQSA6BGjnI2_d2A/s1600/fluxus.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpadKcVRjMcQELZR2DAqFn6oubgfcByc4SI-UsQcrtB5kaEU2lWOhoOPYRBwalCqx8p1KCNtiribDmKRSeoAeKuhVcTUvkDwSWhBenGdJAEKA-8zL-9TtV6XG5MC7kZQSA6BGjnI2_d2A/s400/fluxus.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;"><u><i>The following was first published in 1979 in:</i></u></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;"><u><i>Horizons: The Poetics and Theory of the Intermedia</i></u></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;"><u><i><br />
</i></u></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A Child's History of Fluxus</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Dick Higgins</i></span></div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;"><br />
Long long ago, back when the world was young - that is, sometime around the year 1958 - a lot of artists and composers and other people who wanted to do beautiful things began to look at the world around them in a new way (for them).<br />
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They said: "Hey! - coffee cups can be more beautiful than fancy sculptures. A kiss in the morning can be more dramatic than a drama by Mr. Fancypants. The sloshing of my foot in my wet boot sounds more beautiful than fancy organ music."<br />
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And when they saw that, it turned their minds on. And they began to ask questions. One question was: "Why does everything I see that's beautiful like cups and kisses and sloshing feet have to be made into just a part of something fancier and bigger? Why can't I just use it for its own sake?"<br />
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When they asked questions like that, they were inventing Fluxus; but this they didn't know yet, because Fluxus was like a baby whose mother and father couldn't agree on what to call it - they knew it was there, but it didn't have a name.<br />
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Well, these people were scattered all over the world. In America there were George (<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/gbrecht--.html">George Brecht</a>) and Dick (<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/dhiggins--.html">Dick Higgins</a>) and La Monte (La Monte Young) and Jackson (<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/jmaclow--.html">Jackson MacLow</a>) and plenty of others. In Germany there were Wolf (Wolf Vostell) and Ben and Emmett (<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/bpatterson--.html">Ben Patterson</a> and <a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/ewilliams--.html">Emmett Williams</a>) who were visiting there from America, and there was another visitor in Germany too from a very little country on the other side of the world, from Korea - his name was <a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/njpaik--.html">Nam June Paik</a>. Oh there were more too, there and in other countries also. They did "concerts" of everyday living; and they gave exhibitions of what they found, where they shared the things that they liked best with whoever would come. Everything was itself, it wasn't part of something bigger and fancier. And the fancy people didn't like this, because it was all cheap and simple, and nobody could make much money out of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; color: magenta; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, FreeMono, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">(READ THE REST OF THE STORY...click link below)</span></span></span> </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
But these people were scattered all over the world. They sometimes knew about each other, but they didn't see each other much or often. And they spoke different languages and had different names for what they were doing, even when they were doing the same thing. It was all mixed up.<br />
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Well, La Monte had a pal - another George, <a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/gmaciunas--.html">George Maciunas</a>: his name looked strange but sounded easy enough-- "Ma-choo-nuss". And George Maciunas liked to make books. So La Monte said, "Let's do a book of-our kind of thing." And his friend Jackson agreed. And they did it. La Monte collected the things for the book, and George Maciunas put it onto pages, and after a while, they were able to take it to a printer and have it printed. They called the book <i>An Anthology</i> which is a fun word for a collection. No fancy name. Not "A Fluxus Anthology", because Fluxus things weren't named yet. Just <i>An Anthology</i>. It was a beautiful book and you can still buy it and look at the beautiful, simple things in it - ideas and piles of words and ways for making your own life more wonderful. Well, it costs money to make books, and if you spend your money on one thing you can't spend it on another. George Maciunas had rented a beautiful big room in the fanciest part of New York City, and there he had an art gallery where Fluxus kinds of things were shown and shared or allowed to happen. But when there was no money to pay for all that, once the book was done, George Maciunas had to give up his AG Gallery, as he called it; and he decided to go to Germany. With him he took some big boxes all chockablock full of leftover things that La Monte and the others had collected, but which didn't fit into the <i>Anthology</i>.<br />
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George Maciunas' idea was to get together with the people in Germany who were doing the same kind of thing, and to do something like a book and something like a magazine - it would be printed every so often, and it would always change, always be different, always be really itself. It needed a name. So George Maciunas chose a very funny word for "change" - Fluxus. And he started taking Fluxus things to the printers in Germany, to make his magazine. To let people know about this kind of book, he decided to give some Fluxus concerts there, so the newspapers would write about them and people would find out about his books. So in September 1962 the first of the Fluxus concerts happened in a little city where George Maciunas was living, in Wiesbaden, Germany (you say that - "Vees'-bodd-en"). Dick went there from New York, with Alison (<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/aknowles--.html">Alison Knowles</a>) his artist wife, and they took with them lots of pieces by other American people who had been finding and sharing Fluxus kinds of things.<br />
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The concerts certainly did get written about! They were on television too. Poor George Maciunas' mother! She was an old-fashioned lady, and when the television showed all the crazy things that her son George was doing at the Fluxus concerts, she was so embarrassed that she wouldn't go out of her house for two weeks because she was so ashamed of what the neighbors might say. Oh well, you have to expect that kind of thing. Actually some of the neighbors really liked the Fluxus concerts. The janitor at the museum where the Fluxus concerts were happening liked them so well that he came to every performance with his wife and children.<br />
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By and by other museums and public places wanted Fluxus concerts too. So Fluxus concerts happened next in England and Denmark and France. And new pieces kept being found or done -Fluxus people (we called them "flux-people") sent things from Japan and Holland and all kinds of places. Fluxus got famous.<br />
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And then Fluxus began to get copied. Fancy people began copying Fluxus things and ideas. But they tried to make fancy things out of them - and that changed them. When teacups were replaced by millions of teacups they weren't simple any more, so they stopped being Fluxus. That was always the difference: they stopped being art of life. You could always tell the real Fluxus thing from the fake ones because the real ones stayed simple, while the fake ones had fancy names attached to them.<br />
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Once fame began to happen George Maciunas and the other Fluxus people had to figure out what to do next to keep Fluxus fun and working for everybody. George liked to be the boss; but he was smart enough to know that he couldn't be boss and tell the Fluxus artists what to do. because they'd quit and they were mostly better artists than he was. So he became the chairman instead. That meant that he couldn't tell people what they had to do, or what they must not do if they wanted to stay part of Fluxus; instead he could tell the world what Fluxus was, and anyone who wanted to do that kind of thing was Fluxus. That was smart because it meant the Fluxus people didn't break up into gangs that disagreed, the way lots of artists' groups did before that. They stuck together to do Fluxus kinds of things, even when they were also doing other kinds of things at the same time.<br />
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Twice George Maciunas forgot this. Once, in the winter of 1963, Dick and Alison went to Sweden and gave Fluxus concerts; but there was no money to buy tickets so George Maciunas or Ben or Emmett could come to Sweden. So Dick (that's me) and Alison gave the concerts with new Swedish Fluxus people there. George got very angry and told Dick and Alison they couldn't be Fluxus people any more. But so what: nobody paid any attention to that. because Dick and Alison were doing Fluxus concerts of things by Ben and Emmett and George (Brecht) and Bob (Watts) and the Japanese Fluxus people and so on. It was fun and it was Fluxus, which was what counted.<br />
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In 1963 George Maciunas came back to America. He opened a Fluxus store and gave Fluxus festivals. The German Fluxus people came to visit; so did the artists' groups before that. They stuck together to do Fluxus kinds of French ones. Invitations began to come from fancy places - museums and colleges; but the Fluxus people were too smart to get involved with those. They would have lost their freedom. So the colleges' and museums got the fake Fluxus people and things (and they still have them, mostly). You could tell the fakes because they weren't themselves: because of their famous names. The real things were much cheaper, and this confused the fancy folk. But oh well.<br />
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But by 1965 some of the Fluxus people themselves began to get famous. This would have been okay, except that George Maciunas didn't know how to handle them anymore. He kept trying to be boss. He got very very angry when a group of Fluxus people decided to join some artists who weren't Fluxus people in a big performance that was kind of a circus, called <i>Originale</i> ("Or-ee-ghee-noll-eh"). Maciunas and his friend <a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/hflynt--.html">Henry Flynt</a> tried to get the Fluxus people to march around outside the circus with<a href="http://www.artnotart.com/fluxus/hflynt-actionagainst.html">white cards that said <i>Originale</i> was bad</a>. And they tried to say that the Fluxus people who were in the circus weren't Fluxus any more. That was silly, because it made a split. I thought it was funny, and so first I walked around with Maciunas and with Henry with a card, then I went inside and joined the circus; so both groups got angry with me. Oh well. Some people say that Fluxus died that day - I once thought so myself - but it turned out I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Why was I wrong? Because Fluxus things still needed doing and Fluxus people kept on doing them. Maciunas kept printing Fluxus things - cards and games and ideas - and putting them into little plastic boxes that were more fun than most books. I made little books that were really Fluxus, though they didn't have that name on them. And every so often there were flux-concerts.<br />
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And there still are. A lot of time has gone by now. As I write this it is almost 1980. George Maciunas died last year of a long and horrible illness. But he knew before he died that his mistake was forgiven, that all the Fluxus people were together again - they came together for concerts, for New Years' parties, for many things like that. And when Maciunas was dying, they came together to his house to help him finish up a lot of his Fluxus boxes and works before he died. When Maciunas went into the hospital for the last time, his doctors said, "We don't know why this man is still alive". But the Fluxus people knew. Being friends and sharing simple things can be so very important.<br />
<br />
And though Fluxus is almost twenty years old now - or maybe more than twenty, depending on when you want to say it began - there are still new Fluxus people coming along, joining the group. Why? Because Fluxus has a life of its own, apart from the old people in it. It is simple things, taking things for themselves and not just as part of bigger things. It is something that many of us must do, at least part of the time. So Fluxus is inside you, is part of how you are. It isn't just a bunch of things and dramas but is part of how you live. It is beyond words.<br />
<br />
When you grow up, do you want to be part of Fluxus? I do.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-35626003576715283012011-04-04T20:13:00.000-07:002011-04-04T20:39:34.422-07:00FLUXUS FUXUS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNQLcjvz06udRVmT4q8reAyRgL-Lja87efMespEdS9EcQb03or1UeFOI0RrY3xdEitbmdFf8dtbG17rWM6DXJdoM0fTojik2cm1FBtZCtBpvfHuzY54FQcVFFaXGp2EEBZoMvCMKB8Y4/s1600/manifesto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNQLcjvz06udRVmT4q8reAyRgL-Lja87efMespEdS9EcQb03or1UeFOI0RrY3xdEitbmdFf8dtbG17rWM6DXJdoM0fTojik2cm1FBtZCtBpvfHuzY54FQcVFFaXGp2EEBZoMvCMKB8Y4/s640/manifesto.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-68216857848772219542011-03-29T22:43:00.000-07:002011-03-29T23:01:16.993-07:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKsXjjDURonsiF-1ABUaHU3yVF_QYoiSeU8EOGFq6PEII5oLVvMzt4o4dTwdDbMJx3dIYV0e5zv4CXHblCAl8rVlhZUILixgE68E0mGwZ36o483Yw_EHB289bZIbXNmeE3r7rnbWIxCI/s1600/eyewriteabstractart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKsXjjDURonsiF-1ABUaHU3yVF_QYoiSeU8EOGFq6PEII5oLVvMzt4o4dTwdDbMJx3dIYV0e5zv4CXHblCAl8rVlhZUILixgE68E0mGwZ36o483Yw_EHB289bZIbXNmeE3r7rnbWIxCI/s640/eyewriteabstractart.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NoTHiNG eLSe TWo Do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-25527708560716888352011-03-27T00:20:00.000-07:002011-03-27T00:37:43.715-07:00Letters to the Muse - Episode #2<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RoutLoDo3_66q0n08_Mz0cObrCr3bY8NQthfb1-5O8bT2CLDBLwWkQ7dY8a-huxXAspGsY6_P80zBNFVYOKN8UswP7x1U-qhlw7PgPruHx-LendZBh4Ipwzn7L5HDAN4b4-1PpqjcDQ/s1600/tumblr_liondgG6ri1qawlwvo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RoutLoDo3_66q0n08_Mz0cObrCr3bY8NQthfb1-5O8bT2CLDBLwWkQ7dY8a-huxXAspGsY6_P80zBNFVYOKN8UswP7x1U-qhlw7PgPruHx-LendZBh4Ipwzn7L5HDAN4b4-1PpqjcDQ/s320/tumblr_liondgG6ri1qawlwvo1_500.gif" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BLaCK MiRRoR</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;">3-20-2011 </div>Dearest Muse-<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">So here I am tripping my ball's off in Possum Kingdom. Eye drove about 309.67584 miles west; then specifically 5.7564 miles north to the lake. Eye had to ask around, it is so hard to type communications to you at this point. I am sitting on top of a hill, fire going and I am lit up on the inside. I came out here to right, to get right, and to write about it all. Things just haven't been right so much lately. The will just releases itself unto the most beautiful experience, it is all some sort of metaphysics, all of it. There are waves upon waves. Wind speaking to the wind. Out hear you never really know what time it is, but you also really know what time it is not. It comes through you, it takes over you. All the greats just automatic right. Right.?? At least that's how this story keeps getting told.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I came all the way out this way to bee with you, only because I knew I would bee without you. I mean; I knew that I would find you in the wind. I knew that I would find you in the camps smoke whipping about mine dayglow eye. I know that I would find you in the sounds, all the notions of the night. All creeping about me; and you make me smile. Mine eye smiles from east rise to west you set together a place for us, just shelter away from the annoyances, just a place for us to lie to one another for just awhile, to lay there awhile- just with you. Just with you we would lie; here under this universal sky. And we would begin our dance listening to the external sounds, dancing to this nights call.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These kids round here totally fucking kool. There are all these kids up here while I am peacefully tripping along. This ruckus bunch of kids came round and they began their dance too, and the skies opened up, the walls all came down on to this. Where it is hard to blur the lines between the here and the now is also where the worst interpretations just splatter all of the over the place. But these are the muddlings of the moment; here you are and you are not- you have become the meta experience. Within these meta experiential fractalizations, even the most random of wanderings can become art. Eventually you just look like you are some really weird dude typing away every experience as it is. Every experience as it is will undo any recognizable narration. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Its only 2 am and all the kids are still a ruckus. They found me. I tried to get away; I tried to find some peace but they found me- though I found the spot first. The wind brought me here as if it was a prayer from my mother. She often worries about her young, and the winds and the tides move to her chants of enduring. All these unneutered souls; they are their own fire. We allow them to burn. We allow them to burn.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hackers are working on it. It is getting so close. You do not have to be so close the source anymore. The links and exchanges have become distant and different. Psychedelics and writing go hand in hand. The funny thing about communication is that it actually becomes interesting once you add the psychedelic equation into the mix. So in these instances playing with the text and the way in which we communicate is the way we go inside it; and we are communicating to it- as I sit. Hear I am the channel of the infinite in every stroke of the key- the divine speaks through me. O forgive me goddess. O forgive me goddess. I just realized that I was supposed to apologize for all the silly silly art I was making. I am sorry. This is me conjuring you to speak through the winds. To speak through the whispers that lay just beyond the edge. Forgive me goddess. Forgive me goddess. I do just want to be with you. Eye do just want to be with you. Eye have figured out who you are. This is a larger part of your magic. You have drawn me here. You will sculpt the light vibration eye hold. You will sculpt this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is going to be the only record. This is going to be the final story. You tap into it so that you can stay alive, but you hide in coves on full moonlit evenings. All the little ones went off to get high. They left me alone to do my thing and to just let bee. They came and they followed me. They came and here I sit waiting to bee spoken to. Hear I am from among the darkness. Eye feel the need to tell you all these things. They followed me. They came and they followed me. They came and we all followed you. You got me lost in it for a seconded. I get so close to you but you are not even here. Playing with these words is gibberish. You are gibberish. You have brought the black mirror here. There is a black mirror here. We just let it happen. Volumes within volumes of hidden meanings lie within this. There is an experience behind these texts. All the little kids have to get away. They come and they go just like you do. I figured out who you are. Angry fire goddess please forgive mine transgressions. I am but a weak and stupid follower of your light. Please forgive me goddess. Never leave, never leave, never leave. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wait! The whole world exists because a handful of dudes an laptops are typing out the world before it happens and is happening. Like the new way to make money is to be the hacker with the goods. The one who can get into the consciousness and communicate it back to the masses. There needs to be this wolf in the wild typing about at the keyset to make all of this happen. So hackers are the new drug dealers. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Drugs are now just bits of code. Moving around from festival to festival. There is a certain code that will enable you to live in a specific way. One just has to reach the code. One just has to reach that code. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think that I have been pissing everyone off. Sometimes you just need to piss on the fire. "Wow" this is only like two pages...I need to get to work. Like I have ten more pages to write before I go to sleep or the boss is going to kill me. I mean I am down here in the thick of it writing away; documenting every little thing just so that you can exist. Yes my life is so boring! It is my job to sit and express every thought in the world. The duty has fallen upon my head to look into this relentless void and right every word.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every single code is just there for me. It is as if I step through the air watching tides and falls of truest hallucinogenic reflections altering space and time as we know it. It is hard to get into the trance but eventually she will come to the seeker. Unto this the seeker becomes aware of the incoming data transfers. Eye miss you and your voice; though I have never actually heard it. Though I have actually never heard it. So that the words do not have to line up, but a form of meta data can be derived from the random and senseless typing that I am doing now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to touch and caress every part of you you you are all that eye want. You are all that I need. You are you are you art you are the reason for everything. You are the reason for every thing you are the reason for every thing you the reason for every thing you are the reason for everything you are the reason for every thing you are the reason for everything you are the reason for every thing. If I can just get outside of your breath and away from your scrawling. Into the wilderness. Into the wilderness. Into the wilderness. There is something hidden within all of this. There is something hidden deep within this. There is something important attempting to pull forth some significance from some other place- a place eye have never been- a person eye will never meet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">BLaCK MiRRoR and WHyTe WiNDoW are the meta text that is all ready happened and is happening in the now. It is happening write now in front of us; and eye can not contain it. I can not try to even describe it. But it is real. All the love that Eye have within this piece of flesh. All the love that exists in all the worlds laying in on top of themselves; all this love Eye give to you. All of this love eye give to heal the scars that Eye have born. All the scars that EYE have born. All the scars that eye have born. Bee bourn unto us. Bee born unto us. All that is or is not becomes a part of this story. Of this story. Of this story. Of this story.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is the seconded time that I have been visited by the skunk. The skunk seriously crept up on me just as I was writing about the Skunk creeping up on me. Eye jumped out of my skin because of Skunk. Skunk came write up on me; Skunk came right up on me. And there it was...the Possum King. The Possum King and all the hoards of possum made me jump. The possum made me jump. The possum made me jump. The possum made me jump. The possum made me jump. The possum the possum made me jump. One fine night amongst the hoards of Possum Kingdom the kingdom and the kingdom and the kingdom and the kingdom. All of this meta text. Meta text meta text meta text meta text meta text meta text. Meta text meta text meta text meta text meta text meta text meta test meta test meta text meta test meta test. Meta text. Meta text. Meta text. Meta text. So the possum came upon me. Eye came upon the possum down near the waters. Down near the waters the possum made me jump.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you just keep writing then eventually you will come the point where everything is automatic and what eye write becomes automatically real. Eye create real with my eyes and then eye write about what eye am seeing and that is written down so the that the very next moment gets written down or other wise all this writing would not make and any sense. Non of the this writing is making any sense. And all of the is writing does not make any sense. Eye just want to be a part of something. Eye do not want to be left out. Eye want to all ways bee involved with all the things that Eye find so unbelievably remarkable about you. Eye so wish you were here. Eye so wish that you were here with me. Eye would sit so close to you. Eye would stay warm by you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you. Eye would love to love you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It all gets played in back in on itself. How can any of this mean anything. How can these lines of text bee all that there really is. All that there really is; is these lines of text. All that there really is; is these lines of text. All that there is; is these lines of text. All that there rally is; is these lines of text. All that there rally is; is these lines of text. All that there rally is; is these lines of text. All that there rally is; is these lines of text. All that there rally is; is these lines of text. All that is really here is me right here alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eye want you. Eye really want to be with you . Like I want to totally do it with you. Like I totally want to do it with you; so eye like totally want to do it with you . So eye like totally want to do it with you . So like BLaCK MiRRoR was born from the womb of BLaCK BuRKa. Eye want to do it with you. So eye like totally want to do it with you. So eye like totally want to do it with you. So eye like totally want to do it with you. Eye want to kiss you. Eye want to kiss you. Eye want to kiss you. Eye want to kiss you. Eye want to kiss you. Eye want to diss you. Eye often hiss at you. Eye sometimes piss-ant you. Eye often times hiss at you. Eye often times diss at you. But BLaCK BuRKa put BLaCK MiRRoR and WHyTe WiNDoW together. All a really want is to kiss you. All eye really want is to kiss you. All eye really want is to kiss you. All eye really want is to kiss you. All eye really want is to kiss you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You live inn this as some sort of meta text darling. You live here amongst us. You live here amongst us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;">So it is morning now. All the light of the day is up with us. Eye am still waking form the dreams and conversations eye had with you last night. Thank you for being here with me. Eye really needed you to listen, and you were hear for me. You heard my words and you gave to me answer. I just wished eye could have kissed you goodbye. Eye just wished eye could have kissed you goodbye. You are this huge meta text for me and I do not think you can handle it. I mean it is a lot to handle. But if it were me in your shoes- Eye would follow. Eye would follow you. Eye would follow you. Eye miss you already. Eye love you eternal. Our loves eternal. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love. Eternal love eye need you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;">Eye will find you at the end of this story. Eye will right it all. Eye write it all. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;">Sincerely Yours-</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75pt;">BLaCK MiRRoR.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-77314313270642696402011-03-26T11:53:00.000-07:002011-04-13T00:59:33.724-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqrDu4osuDZ4l8NAg6RLqTeuPLndp7qSSW9cUi5VYxckcDSZRxutCzR1DCXEKKPIKLns0dJ4u9oNWJTK3NMXqVMG6sklDIYwCrKM7qbJzPsbyviHIlJdAUhu70YyfSKRlE7yXSYxUOIo/s1600/atomic_bomb_explosion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqrDu4osuDZ4l8NAg6RLqTeuPLndp7qSSW9cUi5VYxckcDSZRxutCzR1DCXEKKPIKLns0dJ4u9oNWJTK3NMXqVMG6sklDIYwCrKM7qbJzPsbyviHIlJdAUhu70YyfSKRlE7yXSYxUOIo/s400/atomic_bomb_explosion.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>SeLF iMPRoVeMeNT iS MaSTeRBaTioN.</b><b> SeLF iMPRoVeMeNT iS MaSTeRBaTioN. </b><b>SeLF iMPRoVeMeNT iS MaSTeRBaTioN.</b></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-76629138767046335582011-03-16T02:12:00.000-07:002011-03-25T13:02:20.466-07:00Letters to the Muse - Episode #1<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVJklP9w1Fyk9iZarfC-KGwEUviEa2_6Az1B_IY8dyIn6urATxVBj0AaIqwVRkiQcpar6skusda5VMTaYkVBhE3wMXGPBT9nsy-4gQ2N1gJhmgX-0QXfMK3U8ojUl_iuTIQNZjlD_wTc/s1600/tumblr_lfrpzyRLqT1qawjc8o1_500.png.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVJklP9w1Fyk9iZarfC-KGwEUviEa2_6Az1B_IY8dyIn6urATxVBj0AaIqwVRkiQcpar6skusda5VMTaYkVBhE3wMXGPBT9nsy-4gQ2N1gJhmgX-0QXfMK3U8ojUl_iuTIQNZjlD_wTc/s320/tumblr_lfrpzyRLqT1qawjc8o1_500.png.jpg" width="299" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BLaCK MiRRoR</td></tr>
</tbody></table>3/16/2011 3:16AM<br />
<br />
Muse-<br />
<br />
So this is the first time I have written to you in this way. It has been awhile since you boiled my blood to write. Then was a different time. We were connected in the old ways, flesh and bone. Now only the passing dream catches young men's eye. Some of us are past the wisdom of the young; only our heart remembers the song...but we still continue the march towards this empty. Sometimes there is nothing else two do. Maybee that is why eye heard your name whispered on the tongues of the in know. Whilst beers and shots cross o=ver the bound swirling into the dance of collective numbing rituals... your tale was spoken. Eye didn't hear much mind you; but always remember eye have scouts strategic about. Inn this dream you are still right here betwixt us all.<br />
<br />
Apparently you are all still in flame. Fiery Goddess writhing and sharp. When do you think all this might settle and kool towards more chance encounter. It was you that visited me in my waking thoughts. Eye so believed the curse was benign; that eye had thwarted the serpent's kiss, but still soon your poison engulfs my vision...and eye sea your face and hair tossed unto the wind. The dark scrawl was still upon your brow, but at the time I thought it an invitation. For luck and maybee a bit of foresight, eye did not act upon my first inclination. Deep inside eye still seek your connection, whether it be false or filled with the precision of a moments truth...eye still listen for your whisper. Your chants reached mine ears this morn, but your trap was eye NOT snared. Within the reflection of this mirror becomes the grove of thorn. Eye shall walk around it and converse with you on the other side; if you wish.<br />
<br />
Often all eye seek is the simple discourse. To share and understand through common fluidity can surely build ones strength. To sit and reflect in purity might stop my hearts beat. It only makes sense this foreign war we wage. Across land and air we traject our worst cause. Surely our game is understood by only the most depraved aspects of our reflection. Our darkness must be met by uncomfortable invitations to parties where we are the entertainment...and later after we leave; we become their joke. They gawk and lurch amongst the most ungrateful crimes, but we also have our punch. Such noble birth and tax bracket hordes often shit out diamonds and nuggets of gold. Of course they try to conceal their excrement, but we were taught to dance the Gypsies clever hand and to distract, deflect, and then pocket the change. Hold in all the gold pieces till out the door and down the way we count up our spoils. Those nights are how eye chose to embrace your silhouette; amongst the cold night we swept away with the kings crowned jewel.<br />
<br />
Stay on fire if you like. Eye will go back in time and recall past symmetries; while waiting for you to kool. I will hear of the stories and piece them together into thread barren blankets. Eye shall travel this week. Away eye am stalking a time to disperse and inebriate into invisible colors. There are large parties happening down south, and eye wish to find a golden experience. Eye wish eye could find you there but eye know you are not even real. You are the elusive siren's song. One day eye wish to crash amongst thine shores and claw out mine eyes to the pitch of your call.<br />
<br />
Until Then-<br />
BLaCK MiRRoRUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-36450541572296915432011-02-24T19:32:00.000-08:002011-02-24T20:09:26.324-08:00Two Eye Map<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFW9N0phwwmq9dVFJQ4FPnVvU8Elshnx4CG99DO_gWByBUghefuuMApv8AcHQ6TadY7J9ihQ12RNsbTbgsuEeqploiYFGkpyt3wAKwfgHzP4Sh99vTBBak57fQRwZu34STWLG6s2E6vU/s1600/map1_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFW9N0phwwmq9dVFJQ4FPnVvU8Elshnx4CG99DO_gWByBUghefuuMApv8AcHQ6TadY7J9ihQ12RNsbTbgsuEeqploiYFGkpyt3wAKwfgHzP4Sh99vTBBak57fQRwZu34STWLG6s2E6vU/s1600/map1_1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">This particular mapping diagrams a reoccurring day/night dream. It also acts as a visual reference setting intentions towards curse reverse. Our thoughts emulate the scratched record. A reality delay overtakes ones perceptions and blinds the seer. Such dreamlike mantras are embedded within the psychic structure of the seer through the works of a dream walker. The seer must acknowledge, accept, and reflect back these embedded intentions in order to free themselves from the imposed psychic drain.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-6310026031654769182011-02-24T19:07:00.000-08:002011-02-27T21:43:50.018-08:00The WHyTe WiNDoW Manifesto (the short version)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihdBFGyvtu6ADnO6wFCKjra2tHrIey4hjYOqDFRUOBkc8sH4_optoOPsD97XJ9a0LqgRkKqQdUPm47dY2rT9edJyit2z3o8EgimBroeZSmHQr99qtxHsD-BVur7NN9Qr7Bu4Ir7CSpvU/s1600/Monkey+Ski+Mask_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihdBFGyvtu6ADnO6wFCKjra2tHrIey4hjYOqDFRUOBkc8sH4_optoOPsD97XJ9a0LqgRkKqQdUPm47dY2rT9edJyit2z3o8EgimBroeZSmHQr99qtxHsD-BVur7NN9Qr7Bu4Ir7CSpvU/s400/Monkey+Ski+Mask_1.jpg" width="335" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The WHyTe WiNDoW Manifesto:</b></span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Rules of Engagement:</span></i></div><ol style="text-align: justify;"><li><b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> is an army.</li>
<li><b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> does not promote, provoke, or take part in actual violence.</li>
<li><b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> only reflects the violence of personal ego and cultural demise.</li>
<li><b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> does not proliferate or endorse text/media/rhetoric that promotes hate speech or physical/mental/sexual abuse of any kind.</li>
<li><b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> is art. </li>
</ol><div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>Soldier Guidelines:</i></div><ol style="text-align: justify;"><li>All <b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> Soldiers must adhere to the five rules of engagement.</li>
<li>All <b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> Soldiers must conform to a top down control structure. <b>BLaCK BuRKa</b> is at the top of this control structure. If any <b>WHyTe WiNDoW</b> Soldier changes access codes to any account registered for the use of the <b>WHyTe WiNDoW Army</b>, Then those new access codes MUST be immediately forwarded/submitted to <b>BLaCK BuRKa</b>. </li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-43939763453214231662011-02-24T17:43:00.000-08:002011-02-24T17:43:47.822-08:00The WHyTe WiNDoW Story - Episode #1<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGT5BKWyBevE2pBYJX6TmkgD0hDivX2_DNoHTz27karT9LGj3Pp-2pcsge_t5BUrA2ErZPD1YeGjgucZiUzQPfGS_0CD_VTwlbn_wplHYSaIrvYhZO6JjLgzD1kNomnkhAj4FNM1eFP8c/s1600/2978689272_b3df1dba4d_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGT5BKWyBevE2pBYJX6TmkgD0hDivX2_DNoHTz27karT9LGj3Pp-2pcsge_t5BUrA2ErZPD1YeGjgucZiUzQPfGS_0CD_VTwlbn_wplHYSaIrvYhZO6JjLgzD1kNomnkhAj4FNM1eFP8c/s640/2978689272_b3df1dba4d_o.jpg" width="510" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very first WHyTe WiNDoW</td></tr>
</tbody></table><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="messageBody">The very first Whyte Window; ten years old and sentenced to one month's hard labour in Wandsworth Prison 1872 for stealing two white rabbits.</span></span></h6>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-50113233170385389302011-01-14T14:13:00.000-08:002011-02-24T20:09:54.878-08:00Mapping Possible Future Realities<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RXeWLpYi7PY-kTpK3mrSNZqGDXbkNvwy1loMMnLsW4vV3DStwsGV3ftMehq4yBkqrdC0W9ERtLCl3yFNyjmZpN45-tieZz2QvQRY2QwF5cVhmbDmV8RU5wBP1igdOOij0lPvvtoTZSg/s1600/map_2_blckmrrr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RXeWLpYi7PY-kTpK3mrSNZqGDXbkNvwy1loMMnLsW4vV3DStwsGV3ftMehq4yBkqrdC0W9ERtLCl3yFNyjmZpN45-tieZz2QvQRY2QwF5cVhmbDmV8RU5wBP1igdOOij0lPvvtoTZSg/s640/map_2_blckmrrr.jpg" width="494" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-84691018680372385482011-01-13T23:23:00.000-08:002011-01-19T00:36:43.591-08:00"Self Reverence Never Works Without Leaving Scars"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIssbKftrwzUH6af1b0XuFfHTVwL-8YpfUUesjbptyip7BHSo4zn-kv1p23GKHdUlL8CRBvDLg4YO8-KmmfpgPP4JioIQ14xI_jjAw0CbM24LLeQOou5sWblouXVyGyYQqokSusQl3YA/s1600/self_portrait_2011.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by: Robert David Reedy 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;">This is my self portrait entitled “Self Reverence Never Works Without Leaving Scars”. I decided to create a collage from various images that I have collected. Typically this is the manner in which I prefer to work, for my aesthetics are firmly rooted in the ideals of remix culture. Giving some insight into the individual images that I have chosen to remix for this collage is difficult, though describing the entire image as a whole offers me greater availability with words. The experience of life is about discovery and deterioration. My body is actively moving towards it’s demise, whilst my spirit is constantly grasping for elevated reason toward mystical understanding. This is all opposed by my selfish ego as it attempts to elicit sympathy both internally and externally. Many mystical practices speak of a union of three – mind/ego, body, and spirit. Here I have visually remixed similar philosophic tendencies.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-17481848509826912132011-01-13T22:03:00.000-08:002011-01-14T01:00:44.859-08:00Defining New Media Art<div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITmwkDaP2c3yC3IQS4kJXv1EzpIiEA0sU6MI25f0hn7M2HQXCP2ljIaoTLWT0qjBB9MrTiq4hahGO4LJF_E-bgtDPP6EWvkLGm_lgmwtQ3PpD3bdUxdH_7POumgcYJ66ZPOF_GDT2OZA/s1600/stelarc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITmwkDaP2c3yC3IQS4kJXv1EzpIiEA0sU6MI25f0hn7M2HQXCP2ljIaoTLWT0qjBB9MrTiq4hahGO4LJF_E-bgtDPP6EWvkLGm_lgmwtQ3PpD3bdUxdH_7POumgcYJ66ZPOF_GDT2OZA/s320/stelarc.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">+this is/not art+</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Mark Tribe's<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: small;">"<a href="https://wiki.brown.edu/confluence/display/MarkTribe/New%2BMedia%2BArt%2B-%2BIntroduction">Defining New Media Art</a>"</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span>is a compelling read. Of course many might argue that statement, but I am continually being pulled towards the <b><span style="font-size: small;"><i>New Media Arts</i></span></b> aesthetic. I personally feel that the old models of art making and propagation have become <em>passé</em> and redundant. The art world as we know it is collapsing under it's own self imposed importance. From my naive perspective, it is the <b><i>New Media</i></b> artists that have pulled out the foundations of the stagnant and stale art world- paving inlets to new possibilities of human expression.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Artists have always led the vanguard of change. This current digital upheaval is no different than the cultural revolutions of the past. Of course the elements of change have evolved, but it is still the wide eyed artists at play that spur the tide forward. Tribe's introduction to <b><i>New Media Arts</i></b> gives historical reference to this current movement and offers a "Who's Who" list of the dominant players.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: blue; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Check out the videos and links below to further your understanding of this current cultural movement.</span></div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="long-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="vertical-align: top;" title="ACCESS - an interactive art installation by Marie Sester">ACCESS - an interactive art installation by Marie Sester </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="long-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="vertical-align: top;" title="ACCESS - an interactive art installation by Marie Sester"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/678EaXPekFo?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/678EaXPekFo?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="font-size: large; vertical-align: top;" title="Ouija 2000 Art Opening">Ouija 2000 Art Opening</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xs8kpQPcd4s?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xs8kpQPcd4s?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object> <span class="" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="font-size: small; vertical-align: top;" title="Mendi + Keith Obadike - 4 Electric Ghosts"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="font-size: small; vertical-align: top;" title="Mendi + Keith Obadike - 4 Electric Ghosts"><span style="font-size: large;">Mendi + Keith Obadike - 4 Electric Ghosts</span> </span><br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/o3Lythcver0?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/o3Lythcver0?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://eyebeam.org/"><img border="0" height="99" src="http://eyebeam.org/sites/default/files/eyebeam_logo2.png" width="640" /></a></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Eyebeam is the leading not-for-profit art and technology center in the United States. Founded in 1997, Eyebeam was conceived as a non-profit art and technology center dedicated to exposing broad and diverse audiences to new technologies and media arts, while simultaneously establishing and demonstrating new media as a significant genre of cultural production.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.0100101110101101.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/catt-sculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.0100101110101101.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/catt-sculpture.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.0100101110101101.org/blog/"><span style="font-size: large;">0100101110101101</span></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Eva and Franco Mattes are the artist-provocateurs behind the infamous website 0100101110101101.ORG. Since meeting in Madrid in 1994 they have never separated, living a nomadic life throughout Europe and the US. <br />
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Among the pioneers of the Net Art movement, they are renowned for their masterful subversion of public media. They first gained notoriety by snagging the domain name Vaticano.org (1998) in order to undermine the Catholic Church’s official website. They then went on a cloning spree, copying and remixing other artists’ works, targeting “closed” websites, and turning private art into public art.<br />
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Over time the Mattes have turned from virtual to physical space for their surreal artistic interventions. They caught the mainstream art world with its pants down with the invention of Darko Maver: this reclusive, radical artist achieved cult status and was featured in the Venice Biennale before turning out to be pure fiction. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
Their performances include affixing fake architectural heritage plaques (An Ordinary Building, 2006), rolling out a media campaign for a non-existent action movie (United We Stand, 2005) and even convincing the people of Vienna that Nike had purchased the city’s historic Karlsplatz and was about to rename it “Nikeplatz” (Nike Ground, 2003). Recently Franco committed suicide on a chat webcam, sort of (No Fun, 2010).</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-83009396679719973592011-01-08T02:59:00.001-08:002011-01-30T02:44:08.509-08:00This Started It All...<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This STARTED it all. Eye randomly bumped into this media genius by way of a blog entitled<b> </b><a href="http://awewwe.blogspot.com/">all we ever wanted (was everything)</a>. The star of this vid goes by<a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/x0verb0rgx"> x0verb0rgx</a>- on his YouTube profile page he lists himself as Nathaniel. Whatever or whoever this fallen star is-</span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b style="color: black;">BLaCK MiRRoR</b> LOVES</span><span style="font-size: large;"> him. We here at the <b>BLaCK MiRRoR</b> studios have become obsessed with this artist's video content. His YouTube channel is blown up with</span><span style="font-size: large;"> <b>19,284 channel views</b> and <b>220,418 total uploaded views</b>. This kid is on it...LITERALLY; and </span><span style="font-size: large;">we can't get enough. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">subscribe to <a class="inline-block" href="http://www.youtube.com/user/x0verb0rgx" id="watch-username"><b>x0verb0rgx</b></a>'s channel </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/o5OazkkYg6Q?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/o5OazkkYg6Q?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">+more of <a class="inline-block" href="http://www.youtube.com/user/x0verb0rgx" id="watch-username"><b>x0verb0rgx</b></a>'s videos below+</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u4KvGkm5_qg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u4KvGkm5_qg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-88667760791830274262011-01-06T23:43:00.000-08:002011-01-30T02:46:02.916-08:00Brainstorming Infestructure, Navagation, and Content Direction;<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQNKJlDJeaLmn7WgCMnCg4EtcfALsJyOiXeWGhn4RwnNKvip_gP0Naph5yuj_Dt0E1SVnN_yf6f0IgMTKOs_9ToCP3zRvNjkImSXzG9zCifN6rAzKcPluEek92LgNK11JnWiorkW28vM/s1600/mm_blckmrrr_1-7-2001_8x10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQNKJlDJeaLmn7WgCMnCg4EtcfALsJyOiXeWGhn4RwnNKvip_gP0Naph5yuj_Dt0E1SVnN_yf6f0IgMTKOs_9ToCP3zRvNjkImSXzG9zCifN6rAzKcPluEek92LgNK11JnWiorkW28vM/s640/mm_blckmrrr_1-7-2001_8x10.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by: RDR 2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">THiS iS HoW We Do iT...<i>working the base elements.</i></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black;">BLaCK MiRRoR</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> is attempting to demonstrate experimentally on the material plane the validity of a philosophical view of the Cosmos.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019579275867309551.post-24793412564375828942011-01-06T02:25:00.000-08:002011-01-20T23:22:47.634-08:00BLaCK MiRRoR Nuerons<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">BLaCK MiRRoR nuerons in your skull. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Soft wired to belong.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> (</span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">FIND YOUR REFLECTION</span><span style="font-size: small;">) </span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/l7AWnfFRc7g?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/l7AWnfFRc7g?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirror_neuron"><span style="font-size: large;">via Wikipedia: </span></a>A <b>mirror neuron</b> is a neuron that fires both when an animal acts and when the animal observes the same action performed by another.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-RizzolattiCraighero2004_0-0"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirror_neuron#cite_note-RizzolattiCraighero2004-0"></a></sup> Thus, the neuron "mirrors" the behavior of the other, as though the observer were itself acting. Such neurons have been directly observed in primate and other species including birds. In humans, brain activity consistent with that of mirror neurons has been found in the premotor cortex, the supplementary motor area, the primary somatosensory cortex and the inferior parietal cortex.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; text-align: left;"></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0