Utopia Pipe Dream Memory

Utopia Pipe Dream Memory builds upon impossible imagined intimacies, relishing the pleasure of slow, attentive learning. In an unfolding of rhythms, repetitions, and distended narratives it envisions a space of play and ecstatic influence, drawing characters such as Gertrude Stein, Bernadette Mayer and Maya Deren into dialogues and visions that articulate the tension between embodiment and voice, identification and materiality. These narratives push towards a unified dispersal, a complex act of exultant feminine chaos, letting slip the boundaries between what is animal, what is describable, and what can be made to appear.

Interlude I

This being an account of or reckoning under the weight of a true fact that there are states only known through their being abandoned. There is no being without the generosity of limits. Bernadette Mayer is combing my hair. The world is a navel again. This being an account of shelter’s turning point. I do not have the language for the violence of personhood, she said as she unknotted me. Had I known then how to see the field of unknotting figuration, I might have also seen the unknotting evening dipping into the unknotted and knowable eardrum, tuning in and out collapsed, combed through, the distance from each instrument bodily begun.

I am indebted to trash. I am indebted to the speech act. I am lodged in my debts to my no name body.

I shouldn’t admit to it

I was supposed to become an artist

the music in the room was an instrument too

I am indebted to the illegal middle. borrowing from the outskirts I can say with certainty there is a center.

I wanted to be a writer detecting changes

narrative barraging what is and is not available to us

directly on tape you see I am doing this consciously

I present precious immobile dimensions

being sometimes called sex

finally I get to write my own

full of sloppy knots

being indebted I pierce the no name courtship in the wake of the no name spirit’s death

I have something to sell

there was never anything to sell

even when I thought it wouldn’t be meaningful

hear a vibration pattern

I put it all in

indebted to the concept of the walk I go for a walk, what else would you have me do?

I couldn’t bear to put it in, all of it

I see a hand pointing towards a door

I see as if these images were a story

this is a reply

I would like to speak to you now of the sacred contested walk

I was just trying to do this impossible thing

bypass all the others

experience performance and rest at the same time

being indebted to the umbilicus, I saw this is how you flourish, bait and catch, this is how the dirty aesthetic calls on you. there we were acting out the eclipse, performing the moon, and discussing how the divine would always and forever be contested

basically I couldn’t cure myself of writing in space and time close up

and if the pen would just run out already

in other words this is an excerpt pulsating

enlightened reach I delight in idiocy in my own stupidity for I am truly and gloriously indebted

I am working on naked listening masked

also there were these people who used to be in cages

whatever the human limit is a carnival is laced with

I found myself using that phrase ‘the human limit’ and pictured brackets around my experience, but more of that later, history as a cage

because being indebted I saw our own vessels were not lost enough

what am I doing here? I had to write what my intentions were

perform this process of an ordinary phrase

but then I didn’t

I gave up in despair because when you study you generate all ways of thinking

the idea of being indebted to the no name free falls down my shoulders. no name is caressing me.

what would you think about someone who is in a cage? you see, I had claimed the individual was a thing that exists

the first to conceive of the bond and separation in the unwork of work

you have to try to remember your frustration

impossible intimacies hovering

borrowing from joy I could say with certainty I had my private research

what should we do next with desire? I want to read this poem

and by doing so I could ignore the abstraction of endings

seeing you free fall I could say there was gratitude

I know it came from me

I was able to be accurate, I own that it had more to do with my own shape

there is nothing logical or meaningful thank god I am devoted to walking

except in the way I’m speaking about drifting and associations I own that I am a recurrence

I had been wanting for a long time to associate this image of the cage with a kind of defiance the performance which speaks as a form of payment

then suddenly it was pointed out to me a cage is anything but

so I ask, should you throw this away? what I previously called splendor

it’s no more than anything that is written on paper

an explanation of my own education

can’t something be made of all of that?

I shuffled and amassed and it was incredibly raw I never overcame the no name spirit that I once saw on display in the no name garden the no name inhalation closing against the suckled fiendish and raw there is nothing left to know

I tried to make something of what I had learned

all of a sudden there is an equation a shape of logic a spectrum

as sound I found it interesting

to put things next to each other that’s how you encounter the folds

these are my horrible notes otherwise where do ideas come from?

all gone somehow

before it’s even talked about

lists of dates of battles, the warring consciousness restored

what do you do with that whatever speaking is

as a writer as someone who deals in variation

I don’t know exactly

I felt in the end I had to say this is what happened and who even am I?

being indebted suddenly this day was lost, remainderless, toss it

there is a problem in writing

I expect something

murmurs backlogs in a fictive stupor and being in debt as the solitary figure

to be alerted to levels of meaning

when I understand better this bug

all speak or else someone speaks for it, myself becoming the world

this final page of my notes is about indifference

the adorned face of the confusion of having been taken by storm

the face of my education upon me

and I do, I walk out and I expect something

Interlude II

Cut off from exchange I could see that loss exists. Greedily I wanted the germ of impulse. Bernadette Mayer is working to disentangle our dialogues. She is trying to remember if previously all of life was a dense grid chant. Everyone pictures a blue triangle forming when she says grid. Someone describes to her a film and she sits with her eyes closed, picturing it. You said the image burns before we can describe it? You said we burn the images as we describe them? Cut off from the classic exchange of friction with shadow I could see that I had the capacity to self-interrupt. I took the innocent form safely, the balm of an infant structure still being distributed. The eyes were sincerely closed as the self of all things implodes in a sonic feed. Pre-verbal upsurge this better be resilience at work, that morsel. The mind does so well to picture it.

fallen I thought I could organize my life according to some theme

the capacity to tap a foot and have a pattern

sound harbors tradition in waves

we don’t even have a music I’m learning

a door that says sanctuary and maybe this is just how I see things now

I will be using sound

the idea of air as a threshold acts as a pacifier

gains dimension resonant in the raw

it comes in later hear the interior take this home with you

no more against us I slowed, dimmed also developed magic and loss

I built it, sure

the loop is an environment we all are

I slowed it all down this presence and I will encourage it because this is when I’m feeling really good when we all are this disappearance and humming ideal forms a charge the servitude of consciousness, it’s many members roused

just as they are I become

your turn now, encounter

assess the light unrelated is the line broken irreducible receiver

learning how to carry that question the prison the mind in all its chattiness

what I’ll do to pass the time someone else does becomes visual becomes sounds maybe it isn’t art though I’m still deciding how to see what I said, the cuts

to travel and live through my own sounds

the apparatus arrives and it is myself and it / me laughs, being anything

what is collaborative about it though every thought secured retreats reads like the birth litter kept from perishing born under the jaw nobody knew at their fingertips

I’ve replicated the room as that day I hadn’t played in years there is a seismic room it could be argued not just listened to shooting a swarm your skull was designed a piece crowded or empty trust me it will happen you are already speaking

the guest imagines and plays delivery as consumption do I then disappear where music lives

city sounds and urban crisis sensual crisis some kind of navigation trigger broken off

land a dark hallway dream house permanence her whole existence is within it sounds as colors pit pain against rub down so the world does exist noise exists errors hashing out placeholders

we arrive dream house art making sensory constructs spread a phenomenon among them an electronic reality the body never dies glimpse a cooling bottom we arrive up zone cusp still I’m forward moving

expression constants order keep singing in drones long allegiances

gravitational within pre-gravity ferocious a purely aural statement of influence the year shall see oh unrelated immanence received as existing offhand holy favorite metaphors

the listener process is outside of the body

open baby crying emulated without being pushed just sounds misheard unstitched relations to the illusion of sculpture a power relinquished although written still I’m that turned on

words fill the page to be lost temporality this is an homage amplified then it took three hours ten days I began to notice time a limited number of fullness fixations on where must I be struggling becomes not art or autonomy notably present tense serves here a shape largely mathematical volume reprise the illusion that actual art desires form

the bedroom the world the university the exerted personal swells up towers saw spirals in whatever walls politicized distinct mapping function over but distinct corporeal always existing in oscillation alarm running I had said we arrived

non-physical space simple light space evolved portray a building as diary as partner and evolved hedonistic fluff driven out into the field stimulation an account of my life definition beauty taken together