I AM V BADpunk Transmission

 00:00 Actual Occasion (Mikey Georgeson Installation)

11:11 The Non-bifurcatedman (Mikey Georgeson Installation)

24:03 Cookie – Eye in the Sky (secret track)

32:46 Data Streams (David Devant and his Spirit Wife)

36:38 The Deadends (Mikey Georgeson Installation)

44:05 Aesthetic Fact (Mikey Georgeson Installation)

46:22 Full Fathom Five (Mikey Georgeson Installation)

57:07 This Train (David Devant and his Spirit Wife)

 

 

 

Actual occasion: Emergence

This piece of bass driven music was created as the central refrain for a silent disco installation using survival blankets and the rope goggles of entanglement to create a realm for collective felt understanding. The words “kindness is a virus” are taken from a suggestion by Richard Dawkins that, kindness serves no evolutionary purpose and is therefore a viral mode of relating. The installation asks the audience to speculate about an aesthetic cosmos with feeling at its core rather than the generalised conceptual model in which experience is separated from theory. This version of the tune contains a new eulogy to the concept of Emergence.

 

Oh Mighty Emergence

Welcome me into your arms

of morning’s foggy embrace

Walk me through the bluebell aroma

of the woodland riverside glade

Free me from the decision-making drama of

choosing which path to follow

Place me always in the middle of

your bower of becoming

Release me from the taxonomer’s script

of casual causality

And lay me gently on a bed

of unproven blossoms.

 

This is process

It is derived from the past

Emerging into the present

It is shaping the future

 

The Non-bifurcatedman:

A poem created for the 2017 Dandelion visions celebration of William Blake’s life in Bognor Regis. Describes driving into a mist of dandelion seeds in a car on the way to a swimming lesson.

The Non-bifurcatedman 

Human non-bifurcated dad

At the wheel of his human car

With your human son beside you

Hurtling at 60 miles per hour

Down the dual-carriage way

The pale yellow light fills your line of vision

The seeds of dandelions are drifting whooshing

In perfect perspective as you enter hyper-drive

Humans you think invented time

Or was it the other way around?

The seeds are too many

What time is it? Who is blowing them?

The wind you think – Non-bifurcatedman

Even you can feel the wind

In your family sized human car

Time is whooshing drifting

Space is everywhere filling the air

With its soft golden glow

Illuminating the human son at your side

Bleached into the corner of your eye

Like a photo in a human photo family album

With a gentle smile curling on his lips

With a Little Luck on the radio

You wanted to cry then

Hurtling down the dual carriage way

On your way to school at the side of your human dad

Who teaches human art

Human Renaissance Art

All art, painted art, clay art

The seeds are drifting

Whooshing past in the golden glow

of times early morning blast

Floating in the infinite amber of the suspended moment

Time itself is opening its door

and you are here to overtake yourself

At the wheel of your 1.2 litre lease car

Accelerating along the dual-carriageway

The cones guide you around the void

Bardo Thodol recedes in the rearview mirror

The human ego at the side of the road

Gasps for air as the defibrillator is applied.

Eye in the Sky – Cookie part 4

The fourth in a series of stories about Cookie first created as a secret track on the David Devant and his Spirit Wife single Cookie (don’t cry for me)

Cookie continues along the edge of the playing field and passes a swing wrapped around its own frame. How odd, she thinks, that the loan company had chosen to reply to her on paper. Weirder still that she had decided to open the envelope. No need to look at the screen. The drones are hovering close by. She catches the merest waft of the vestige of an idea of Sunday lunch from one of the nearby houses. All sealed up…

Data Streams (from the David Devant and his Spirit Wife LP Cut Out and keep Me)

I’ve lost count, trying to keep everything in order

Maybe I inherited this hardening of the categories 

Its evidence of data streams that I must collect

And maybe we can all agree that life itself is just a side-effect

 

Doggers dogging trying to blot out the pain

Road-hogs hogging the middle lane

Your face is in my head when I wake up every morning

like a 24-hour CCTV recording

and I’m searching for the lost god I find it less boring 

than a 24-hour CCTV recording

 

Now the child is sleeping, its dreams projected on the wall

let me give his tooth for safe keeping, he’s bound to remember it all.

Now that the dust has settled, the geeks are setting the stage

let’s go back to the beginning, I’ll get back in my art cage

 

Doggers dogging trying to blot out the pain

Road-hogs are hogging the middle lane 

And your face is in my head when I wake up every morning

like a 24-hour CCTV recording

I’m searching for the lost chord I find it less boring 

than a 24-hour CCTV recording

 

Doctors docking, trying to make up their debts

nurses nursing, trying to fake out regrets

Once the room was empty before eggs were ever chickens

the curtains were drawn and there were no more disturbances

 

Doggers dogging trying to blot out the pain

Road-hogs hogging the middle lane

 

The Deadends (a celebration of a made-up culture)

 

Who or what were the Deadends or deadEnds depending on whom you’re speaking to? What exactly is the meaning behind the signature shapes and forms analysts have chosen to name them after?

 

Were they trying to tell someone something?

 

Was this their art or their way of declaring I am here or rather I am stuck here please send help? Of course the Deadends are a made up culture but that hasn’t stopped anyone from hypothesising about the messages locked into their handiwork.

 

Unfortunately the deadends left behind no written evidence or documentation of their culture or thought process leaving scholars to project or speculate as to the exact structure of their intended passage through their geographic specificity. Did they mean it? Did they mind if it meant something or is this a way of saying look I’m quite cool and vaguely socially aware but if I had read the art of war I’d be more mysterious and somewhat invisible. Or were the deadends simply the most powerful dynasty ever to have bestrode the planet only to be lost in space and time forever because they failed to document their intentions? Who or what were the Deadends?

 

The Aesthetic Fact (Keynote Speech from Fictioning Symposium Bath Spa 2019)

The affect of the art elicits a very different kind of measure of fact. 

It appeals to an audience on an aesthetic register of experience, occasioning what Whitehead would call a ‘value’ based on ‘elements in feeling.’^[i]

This notion of feeling is not, as logical positivists would have it, opposed to fact. 

Feelings are not a personal or irrational felt experience. 

Feeling instead acts like a powerful, impersonal lure that draws an audience into the delightful experience of the fact. 

What is at once peculiar and fascinating about this Whitehead’s feely measure of fact is that he is the famed co-author of Principia Mathematica; a book that attempted to define the fundamentals of pure logic. 

So, one might assume that if Whitehead were around today, he would perhaps take a decidedly logical position on post-truth? 

He might even self-identify with present day logical positivists who continue to grasp post-truth as a preferential problem of appealing to irrational feelings, personal beliefs or cherry-picked desires rather than a necessary commitment to brutal fact. 

But no! Whitehead’s speculative philosophy would look to problematize the logician’s brutalist grip on fact. (Prof Tony Sampson)

 

Shakespeare and the unfamiliarity of his use of language returns us to the state of immanence where we feel the intensities outside of those that we can datify and yet we continue to be impressed by our own ability to explain ourselves away scientifically.

And why we ask is immanence even worth seeking?

Is the truth in the emergence prior to the enlightened quest for a coordinated categorisation of a brutal fact abstracted from connectedness? 

 

Full Fathom Five

Aunty May interview with Grandad (*My permission to include this intimate dialogue in the installation was respectfully given by Richard Cady, the son of May Cady. The recording was made by May Cady as she talked to her father in the back room of his home in Katherine Street, Rochester some time in the early 1990s. 

My Grandfather on my mother’s side began his working life as a boy in the coal mines of Tonypandy, Wales, where his father was a saddler. The conversation follows his life at sea and within the rising and falling of the waves of static and magnetic warp and woof are his accounts of surviving a ship wreck as well as other personal trials and losses. 

I am hugely grateful to my family for sanctioning this process and allowing what has become an embodied understanding of matter, memory, trauma and acceptance to emerge.)

 

 

 

This Train (from the DD&HSW LP cut out and keep me)

wo-woo

I bet you thought songs about trains were meant to be fun.

But this one jumped the tracks and is heading to oblivion.

This train is never coming back. 

This train has jumped the tracks.

This train terminates here 

And coming out of the funnel is a tunnel of money and fear.

This train is the Orient Express

And when the money’s gone where it goes is anyone’s guess

Fat controller tells you to sit tight

Don’t stand up    xxxxxxxx come to town

This train is the service to the end of the line  

This train, this train, this train, woo-woo

I forget your name, and you forget mine

black xxxx running shoes and white skirt

xxx chipped silver nail polish, so cool and nice

just passed Willesden and the crowds are dispersing 

xxxxx rehearsing

This train is never coming back. 

This train woo-woo.

Be sure to take all your personal belongings.

We’re gonna blow up your memories and strangle your longings

This train terminates here.

This train, this train

The world changes more rapidly everyday