ESCOLAR

ESCOLAR presents: JONATHAN, a luxury model in its day, (or) a vocal chord poached in oatmeal. by Caye Hridipidagnittusuoayomojorfnagrolliskipwikabeccopyxlbepurz Faster! Faster, Bambi! Don’t look back! - Bambi’s unnamed mother, 1942 Caye Hridipidagnittusuoayomojorfnagrolliskipwikabeccopyxlbepurz & Emily Lucid perform a sensible lament on vocals and keys. Not too tragic though— we don’t want to be weepers in the coming planetary lamentation. Jonathan, a heap of spare parts strung to electrical devices loops into the scene. Bambi the goat will slump, or not. These representations are collective by definition, but not necessarily social. A sociality which has not yet found a definition and is less and less likely to, due to the groans and growing cracks in the social machine. Using the word sensibility in order to avoid subjectivity, the familiar travel companion of its dialectical partner, objectivity: thing-ification of others; living beings as objects; nature as resource, muted to recreational scene. Every civilization at a certain technological stage gradually finds itself up to its ears in garbage. Until the dumps are emptied into cosmic space and shot into captive orbit, it descends into a growing ring of refuse. It is precisely this occasion that indicates a higher level of devOlopment. To call artifice intelligence is perverse. It’s a tenuous connection between intelligence and understanding. Intelligence is a misappropriated synonym of understanding. Sadly for us, “intelligent machines” have no understanding because they have no world; they experience nothing. What they do is not language, but mimicry. Which is to say; They don’t know how to live, and they want us to share their impairment. An evening where we sense and sense. A space for encounter and joyful association–which may go well or may not go. Assuming that we are sensory beings with a direct line from heart to head, at any moment one is free to walk away. We can walk away, but not move away, because there is no longer an away to move to. While we all are trying to decide what getting real means, we attempt to reduce our complicities. In which case we are being realistic, as if that were a virtue instead of a sad passion. For the beings squashed by the social machine, for the wrecked lands and the dying oceans, for the angels that ended up in the asylum, for the murdered towns and debauched countryside, for the offense done to this world, and for all the worlds that couldn’t come into being. This is Jonathan’s Lament. ALIMENTATION