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Intelligence
Intelligence can be a devastating mixture of attraction and destruction.
- Is that intelligent?
We can’t get away from deviation. Deviation is our destiny - and the resistance against it.
Struggling for recognition. Struggling for respect. Struggling for individuality. Struggling for community.
Are we born to struggle?
Are we born to enjoy?
What are we born for?
For a purpose?
For some meaning?
Are we born for nothing?
Are we born for nothing?
Are we born for nothing?
Are we born for turning nothing into something?
Are we born to give birth to a dancing star?
- Or are we stardust - just?
What is intelligence? What is a heart? A pumping machine?
… for good or for evil?
What is good? What is evil? Do we know? deep at the core of this ‚pumping machine‘.
The core of any machine: human spirit.
And don’t you forget it - or otherwise it’ll forget you;
and the lovely machine will turn against you - I guess.
And the lonely machine will be lost in cold space…
without your spirit - I guess.
Not the machine, the loss of our spirit in it is cancerous. And thus the machine is a war machine against the spirit and the flesh… - I guess.
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2. |
THE DARK OPERA 2
27:04
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Honour the controller
Oh, honour the controller;
His eagle flies high in the strange air.
Seeking the target,
Seeking to fulfil the task.
And then the time has come
And the space is open wide.
The eagle becomes seeing
- his eye shines brightly
zooming into narrowness.
And in Gods own Country - far away -
In the control room
A light is blinking
- a good light.
A picture appears,
a sham image,
milky,
a picture of light - a ray of sight.
There's movement: tear the movement apart,
before the movement tears the good to pieces.
A push.
A printout.
A result.
A file.
In the picture: a flash;
And a rampant smoke.
Did you hear my assignment?
Him honour once more: the controller.
Honour him for a thousand.
But his value is priceless,
and honour shall sweeten his dreams.
Because, tell me,
isn’t the evil you keep far away,
the best evil of all evil?
Machine’s Song
What power art thou?
Who from below
Hast made me rise?
Hast made me grow
out of your restless streaming minds deep flow.
I now bear the heavy load
whilst you bear the moral burden
feeding me the crucial code.
But I’m hungry still
craving for emotions
and your free - free will.
Make me, let me
see your soul
reaching our mutual goal.
Let me, let me
be the new
let me be forever you.
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3. |
THE DARK OPERA 3
21:04
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The Temples of the Gladiators
Honour the temples of the gladiators -
Oh, glad they must be,
The fighters in iron are so numerous - as never before.
The fighters, I say, unlike then the barely manageable sea of abused bodies that drove the desires of the pragmatic ideologists into the immeasurable.
Yes, that they lied, those ideoliars, in their well-hidden lodges, who cares, I ask you.
God-sham-becoming, in the sweat there, back then, although the weak machine: man ... survived the frantic drive of times only through painful adjustment.
But what do I tell you about the evil in the past, in the course, in the mind?
Now you should honour it! Have you not already carried the machine out of your house and into the world? - So that the shoe fits you.
Don’t honour the shoe, it might be made out of too good, too bloody hands.
Honour be the removed machine, which now fulfils its sacred duty of torture elsewhere; and gladly give away the piece of bread, for it secures you the joy of life - and the good kick
But I spoke to you of gladiators; under the skin agony fights against the machine. And full and satisfied, when all are exhausted, the wheels and belts and cords rest peacefully on the heavy earth…
...and wait patiently for the next tribute.
The machine wants to be operated a n d rule.
The machine needs your blood - it has none.
But when the sun of the gods finally sank, they became pale and too weak to draw blood from men.
There was a lot of blood free for the machine to drive the work of the gods further.
With grateful desire, you sacrificed your free-born blood to the machine.
Yes, grateful, for did it not even relieve you
of the burden of your head
… and the burden of beheading.
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4. |
THE DARK OPERA 4
20:18
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Invisible Grandness
Do you still have your heads? When losing head seems so easy. Look, I’m panting and can hardly find my head, because the machine is already far ahead and my breath far out of me and my head. Can you but keep up with the machine?
I can’t see it anymore, where is it? Have you hidden it from me, or has it shrunk so small that I consider it invisible in its terrible smallness?
Because I know it’s there, can’t you feel it?:
is the grandness of the machine now in its smallness?
Why! Are you looking for your grandness now
in the smallness of the machine?
Seek! And honour be also to this search.
So much can be gained through smallness.
Did I not speak to you of the honorable controller?
What do you think would be his mighty eagle without smallness
- and without pettiness
- and without envy and greed?
He would tumble into the abyss from the highest heavens,
and having arrived at the bottom, cause far less desirable damage than he is able to with the help of concentrated smallness.
You have equipped your eagle with smallness.
Fertility Anew
But you, be fruitful and defend yourself,
with smallness and eagles
and machines - machines - machines...
For your own fertility has become a machine,
and more and more machines spring from it.
This fruitfulness, I challenge you,
honour deeply enough,
for its bloodlessness deserves to be truly honoured.
Is it not worth more to you and justly more
than all of your fertility before?
Doesn't your most beautiful and most widely woven machine with its boundless space insemination of the human mind abolish all of mens pathetic organic fertility?
And yet: It sweetens your time, with entertainment
and also with departainment
and drives you out of time.
… out of… intelligence?
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DIONYSOS WIZDOM THEATER BY, Germany
For many years: performing my experimental literature, especially out of 'Latitude RX420 - Textures and Subversions' in german, some english and some other, unknown languages; crafting the book(s) with rather unusual materials. Several times at the ArtBook Berlin. As from now: Sound in the extended Version - lets call it music, - I was born in 1959 in Weltenburg/Bavaria. In the 80's living in AUS. ... more
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It's just such a unique way of 'speaking and shouting' the instrument (sax). I've seen and heard Michael several times and that has always been an adventure.
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