DC's

The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Page 898 of 1103

They will never exist. *

*(restored)

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Reanimation from cryonic suspension: A fundamental problem with the state of cryonics today is not the idea behind it, but the method of preservation. We’ve believed since the publication of K. Eric Drexler’s Engines of Creation that reanimating a perfectly preserved brain will someday be possible, using molecular nanotechnology. A critical assumption behind this theory, however, is that the brain needs to be perfectly preserved, to avoid what’s called “information theoretic brain death.” Simply put, if there’s too much damage to the cells in your preserved brain, there will be no way to bring you back. And unfortunately, virtually every cryonic preservation that has been done to date has experienced problems. Despite the use of sophisticated cryoprotectants, every preserved brain has undergone severe fracturing during the freezing process. It’s also very likely that the cells will turn to mush during thawing (unless the cryopreservants do their job — which has obviously never been tested). Now this is not to suggest that reanimation from some other preservation scheme won’t eventually be possible, such as brain plastination or chemical preservation. Turning bodies into popsicles just probably isn’t the best way to do it — but as cryonicists like to say, it’s still the second worst thing that can happen to you.

 

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Columbarium Habitabile proposed a vast concrete mausoleum to which houses set for demolition could be removed and stacked on shelves like so many objects in a cabinet of curiosity.

 

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6 of Greg Sholette’s unrealized projects

 

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Director Guillermo del Toro’s videogame project Silent Hills died a tragic death in development hell, but here’s what could’ve been. The folks at Konami unceremoniously pulled the plug on the project after co-creator Hideo Kojima (Metal Gear Solid) departed the company in a very public exit. The game would’ve starred Walking Dead favorite Norman Reedus (aka Daryl Dixon) at the center of a new Silent Hill mystery, though del Toro says the real star of the show would’ve been the terrifyingly creepy atmosphere. He didn’t want to spoil everything but did offer up a nice tease of what they wanted to do: “What we wanted to do with the game – and we were very much in agreement on this – was to take the technology and make it as cutting-edge as we could in creating terror in the house. The idea was very, very atmosphere-drenched. But what made Silent Hill so great was that you had the atmosphere but then you a pay-off with a very active, very intense series of moments. We wanted to do some stuff that I’m pretty sure – just in case it ever comes back, which honestly I would love for somebody to change their mind and we can do it – but in case it comes back there was some stuff that was very new, and I wouldn’t want to spoil it. Norman [Reedus] was super happy, Hideo was super happy, and so was I. I’ve tried twice with video games now and I don’t know if I’ll ever come back to the form. In one instance, the company went down, and in the second, the completely unexpected happened, which was Kojima and Konami separating. It’s kind of left me reeling … Honestly that’s what surprised me. It was a sort of scorched earth approach. It was not a gentle and ambiguous cancellation.”

 

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Clint Enns: What are the Hauntings?

Guy Maddin: Hauntings are film narratives that haunt me. In most cases, they are films lost to film history. About 80% of all silent films ever made are lost. Films made in the art form’s early years were poorly stored in less than ideal conditions. The years often turned these movies into a vinegar-smelling gelatin. Just as often, silent film product was cleared off a studio’s shelves and destroyed – in staff picnic bonfires or by getting dumped in the ocean – just to make room for the next year’s product. If the films survived either of these fates, a shipping error or projection booth holocaust would consign a print to oblivion. Canonical and not-so-canonical films alike were lost in this fashion. Sometimes a director would go mad and destroy his or
her own work, or simply leave it on a subway train or a stranger’s doorstep, abandoned like a baby in a dumpster, vaguely hoping perhaps someone might find it and make a good home for the unwanted thing. No matter how, pictures got lost. These are the film narratives with no known final resting place. They are doomed to wander in limbo over the murkiest landscapes of cinema history, no one ever quite recognizing them, no one ever getting anything more than a fleeting fragmentary glimpse of these sad narratives. They are miserable, haunting… and haunting. These films haunt me because I need to see them and I can’t. Some of these films are by Murnau (who made ten now lost films), Hitchcock, Lang, Warhol, Frampton, Tourneur – even Terrence Malick has a short film – made in his youth – that is only rumored to have been screened. All these titles haunt me.


I figured the only way I could satisfy my compulsion to see these narratives would be to remake them myself. I decided I could invoke them in séance-like conditions produced in a dark studio atmosphere. I could make my own short-film adaptations from synopses or reviews I’d dug up concerning the lost films during nocturnal researches into the subject. My partner Evan Johnson and I dug up over 200 titles of lost films. In addition, I realized that I was also haunted by aborted, mutilated and unrealized movies that cram the bloody margins of film history. Therefore, we included some especially powerful titles that fell under this banner, ones whose non-existence tortured us most. Then we decided to make them all.

CE: In total, how many lost, unrealized and aborted film ideas have you and Evan Johnson uncovered?

Guy Maddin: We have found exactly 1024. We took that number as a sign to quit looking because there are 1024 megabytes in a gigabyte. That’s got to be good luck!!!

CE: That is clear and precise logic, pure and simple. What are some of your favourite lost, unrealized or aborted films that you have uncovered?

Guy Maddin: I love Oscar Micheaux, who worked from the late teens till the 40s during last century. He is often described as the black Ed Wood (unfairly, to both Micheaux and Wood). Micheaux would finance his films by selling bibles door-to-door. He would show the films by four-walling them, namely, by renting out space in which to project his films, then he both sold and redeemed tickets himself. He made a living in this fashion and also struggled to get the first films made entirely by African-American producers, writers, crew and actors out into the world. Alas, so many of his titles are gone, probably lost forever. I needed, needed, desperately needed to see these films and finally, sadly, came to the conclusion that in order to see them I would have to remake them myself. Most of his films involved moral conflicts endured by African Americans who can pass for white and therefore were free from racism, but in doing so they always would leave loved ones behind. It is endlessly fascinating and painful stuff. Since I decided that hauntings are race and gender-blind, the stories are reconfigured – by Robert Kotyk, Evan Johnson and myself – so that characters who once passed for white are now passing for something else altogether. I love the sudden elasticity of this metaphor for passing – very Douglas Sirk. I’m not trying to steal the African-American film away from Micheaux and keep them in my greedy white hands; I just want to honour the great man without resorting to literal imitation while exploring the possible stretch quotient of his plots and metaphors. I think Douglas Sirk was already onto this idea that everyone passes, or attempts to pass, in his Imitation of Life (1959). Utterly fascinating!

CE: Given that filmmakers are prone to deceiving, have you stumbled across any filmography padding?

Guy Maddin: Some people think that Hollis Frampton never made Clouds Like White Sheep (1962) and that he just made up both its existence and its loss on that NY streetcar. I chose to reshoot it anyway since I am just as haunted by its possible existence as I am by its possible loss.

CE: I even conjecture that some supposedly lost films are actually not in fact lost. For instance, I recently uncovered a few of James Benning’s erotic films that are considered “lost”, namely Gleem (1974) and An Erotic Film (1975). Since these are the only films in his entire filmography – in addition to 57 (1973) – that have been lost, something tells me this was intentional. Have you ever wanted to lose any of your films?

Guy Maddin: I have lost a few of my films. I melted the only tape of my 1995 TV exercise The Hands of Ida at a picnic. Too bad, it had a few good friends in it, but I needed to destroy it in a black magic ceremony because this was the first film I made strictly for money ($5000), and the first film I made with producer Ritchard Findlay. This film triggered the first profound depression of my life – all these damned good reasons for throwing the cassette into Satan’s flaming asshole. I had a great time making the movie, but all too often one has a great time doing business with Satan. Twilight of the Ice Nymphs (1997) should really be lost as well, although I am happy to have met two great characters while working on it – Shelley Duvall and Frank Gorshin. If I had made a play with them instead I still could have gotten to know them and there would be no aide memoire linking me to such a terrible time.

 

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Grape Ice Cream: There is no such thing as grape ice cream. The reason? It has a lot to do with dogs, girls, the 1876 World’s Fair, pharmaceutical companies, and it’s more complicated than you might ever imagine. After his successful invention of the ice cream soda in 1874, Philadelphia’s Robert Green began to tackle a request from his customers. Green boldly stated, in an 1876 interview with the Pennsylvania Inquirer, “The people are tired of vanilla and chocolate. They want something more.” What Green did not know, is that grapes contain a special molecule Anthocyanin that prevents freezing, so he kept turning up with grape milk. Companies such as Baskin Robins made a few futile attempts, but failed because of the anthocyanin. No breakthroughs were made until 1976, when Ben from ‘Ben and Jerry’s’ decided to try his hand. As it turns out, he was motivated by a challenge from Jerry’s attractive sister Becky. Ben confessed in a People Magazine interview in 1984 that he had a huge crush on Becky and promised to create the flavor just for her. Knowing the history of grape ice cream, she coyly requested it, thinking it to be impossible. Ben began to include the grape skin and juice to better see the differences between batches. While he didn’t understand the science behind this at the time, he found that including the skins increased the levels of anthocyanin enough to make the ice cream freeze. When Ben gave Becky a grape ice cream cone, she jokingly gave her dog a lick from the cone. He liked it and took a couple of licks. Then he just gasped and dropped dead. He flipped down onto the floor and was just gone. Ben had had no idea grapes are toxic to dogs. Specifically to the anthocyanin. Ben relayed this information to the pharmaceutical industry, and in 1982 the FDA banned the sale of research of any grape flavored ice creams or sherbets, natural or artificial due to pet hazards. This ban is in effect until 2028.

 

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Photos that let grieving mothers see their dead sons as they might have been.

 

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In 2005, Gregor Schneider was officially invited to realize the CUBE VENICE 2005 at the Piazza di San Marco in Venice during the 2005 Biennale. Shortly before the opening of the exhibition the sculpture was rejected due to its “political nature”. CUBE VENICE 2005 was intended to be an independent sculpture in form, function and appearance, inspired by the Kaaba in Mecca, the most holy place of Islam, the destination of millions of believers who make the pilgrimage every year. Kaaba means “cubic building”. This artwork became an international controversy discussed widely in the media. As a result it was rejected shortly before being realized in the courtyard of the Hamburger Bahnhof, museum of contemporary art in Berlin.

 

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The Zombie Apocalypse: You know how you have separate clothes for winter and summer? That’s because getting extremely hot or cold is bad for the human body (you may have gleaned this, over the years). Extended exposure to harsh summer sun and/or the frigid temperatures that normally accompany snow and ice will absolutely kill fully nourished and healthy humans. So how would people with open wounds, no shelter, and rapidly decaying flesh and bone respond to being out in the sun for hours or days or weeks at a time? With an intermittent diet consisting only of human/animal flesh, their bodies would quickly become dried out and malnourished, and they would soon turn to sticky puddles of death on a hot stretch of highway. And if any zombies were caught in a frigid climate, their likelihood of survival would be even further reduced. Frostbite on the limited remaining blood and fluid in their bodies would quickly eliminate motor function, reducing them to mildly cool heaps of flesh itching to be plowed into snowdrifts.

 

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“Polychroniadis”, unrealized building to contain 5,700 apartments by Oscar Niemeyer

 

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David Lynch was to team with anime producer Bandai and two Japanese partners including the respected game design company Synergy to produce a digital adventure to be released on DVD-ROM, the Internet, and in novelization form. The project was tentatively entitled Woodcutters From Fiery Ships. “I saw the work that Synergy did on GADGET – the way that the game delivered an immersive experience to the user,” Lynch said at the time. “By collaborating with Synergy, I look forward to Woodcutters From Fiery Ships expanding existing forms in terms of story, characters and environment. I hope we will give people totally unexpected experiences.” Unfortunately, the project never came about. Lynch says it was “blocked from the get-go” because it would have been “completely boring to game buffs”. The game was going to be a “conundrum thing.. a beautiful kind of place to put yourself. You try to make a little bit of mystery and a bit of a story, but you want it to be able to bend back upon itself and get lost … Certain events have happened in a bungalow which is behind another in Los Angeles. And then suddenly the woodcutters arrive and they take the man who we think has witnessed these events, and their ship is… uh, silver, like a 30`s kind of ship, and the fuel is logs. And they smoke pipes.”

 

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Are all things that don’t exist still things? : An object is something created/ intuited/ observed/ pick your verb by a subject. Any talk of objects presupposes the existence of subjects. In that sense, there is a presupposition of existence within the concept of “object” — the object itself may not exist, but the subject who is speaking of this non-existent object certainly exists. This sharp distinction between object and subject is questionable; i.e., if the subject exists, then its object somehow exists too. “Its object”; this does not apply to “any imaginable, though not-yet-imagined, object”. Another say to put this would be to say that objects of thought have some degree of existence, to the extent that they occur in the thought of an existent subject. They may have powerful effects on some apparently “more existing” things.

 

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Forty-four years ago artist James Turrell and Robert Irwin collaborated on a ganzfeld installation for LACMA’s “Art and Technology” initiative. They were assisted by Ed Wortz, a Garrett Corporation psychologist who did human-factors engineering for NASA missions. In August 1969 Turrell walked off the project, and the ganzfeld installation was never realized. Since then the Turrell-Irwin-Wortz collaboration has taken on mythic dimensions as the greatest light and space work that never was. Turrell’s recent series of perception cells are the closest approximation to it.

“Ganzfeld” describes the experience of snowblind arctic explorers or pilots navigating dense fog. When everything in the visual field is the same color and brightness, the visual system shuts down. White is black is nothing is everything. When this occurs for an extended period, the person is subject to phantasmagoric hallucinations: the “prisoner’s cinema” experienced in isolation cells or collapsed mines.

Caltech physicist Richard Feynman escorted Turrell and Irwin on a tour of the Garrett Corporation. The artists met Wortz and immediately hit it off. The three agreed to collaborate on an experiential artwork to be shown at Expo 70, a world’s fair in Osaka, Japan, and a 1971 LACMA exhibition. At that time Irwin had a considerable reputation as a painter and had already produced his iconic disk paintings. The younger Turrell was far less known, but he had already had a solo show at the Pasadena Art Museum in 1967. That same year Pasadena did a show of Irwin and Doug Wheeler’s light and space works.

Irwin-Turrell-Wortz envisioned a “sensory chamber.” Visitors, perhaps blindfolded, would enter a pitch-dark, soundproofed room. This would permit various perceptual tricks in the name of art. As part of the R&D;, Turrell and Irwin had volunteers sit in darkness in a soundproof room at UCLA, for 4 to 10 minutes. Even in that short period, many reported dream-like perceptions: “rod-shaped blue things… faces from weird angles… mainly ‘Christ-like’ and blond-female’ types… water sounds, walking sounds, stomach gurgles, bone creaking.” Turrell described the intended Osaka-LACMA artwork as a 12 x 12 x 12 foot black room—the antithesis of the white cube—wherein the visitor would sink into to the comfortable chair of modern art. Psych!

“The chair the visitor is seated in,” Turrell wrote, “is constructed of moveable parts which will slowly flatten as it is hydraulically lifted up to the third, upper chamber so that the visitor will end up prone on the floor of the upper chamber. There will be no light or sound stimuli at first in the chamber… stimuli will increase gradually to the point which seems to be between hallucination and reality.”

Ultimately Irwin and Turrell became less inclined—through the Spring and into the Summer of 1969—to carry out their original plan for designing an environment combining an anechoic chamber with a Ganz field for the Museum… Then, in August, Jim Turrell suddenly abdicated from the project. He terminated his relationship with Irwin, though he has continued to the present time to see Wortz. Irwin said later that had Turrell maintained his participation in the project, they might eventually have consummated an environmental piece, but that he didn’t feel inclined to pursue it on his own, or with Dr. Wortz.

Wortz said the collaboration became “non-goal-oriented” and spoke of a “problem” between Irwin and Turrell. “Bob approached information differently than Jim or myself. Jim and I are primarily information sops. Bob withholds information. He keeps the information at a distance, which is interesting, because he would arrive at the same observations and the same set of conclusions by holding off information. It was a very effective technique. Jim and I would sop it all up.

 

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True 3D Imagery: The 3D image is dark, as you mentioned (about a camera stop darker) and small. Somehow the glasses “gather in” the image — even on a huge Imax screen — and make it seem half the scope of the same image when looked at without the glasses. I edited one 3D film back in the 1980’s — “Captain Eo” — and also noticed that horizontal movement will strobe much sooner in 3D than it does in 2D. This was true then, and it is still true now. It has something to do with the amount of brain power dedicated to studying the edges of things. The more conscious we are of edges, the earlier strobing kicks in. The biggest problem with 3D, though, is the “convergence/focus” issue. A couple of the other issues — darkness and “smallness” — are at least theoretically solvable. But the deeper problem is that the audience must focus their eyes at the plane of the screen — say it is 80 feet away. This is constant no matter what. But their eyes must converge at perhaps 10 feet away, then 60 feet, then 120 feet, and so on, depending on what the illusion is. So 3D films require us to focus at one distance and converge at another. And 600 million years of evolution has never presented this problem before. All living things with eyes have always focussed and converged at the same point. If we look at the salt shaker on the table, close to us, we focus at six feet and our eyeballs converge (tilt in) at six feet. Imagine the base of a triangle between your eyes and the apex of the triangle resting on the thing you are looking at. But then look out the window and you focus at sixty feet and converge also at sixty feet. That imaginary triangle has now “opened up” so that your lines of sight are almost — almost — parallel to each other. We can do this. 3D films would not work if we couldn’t. But it is like tapping your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time, difficult. So the “CPU” of our perceptual brain has to work extra hard, which is why after 20 minutes or so many people get headaches. They are doing something that 600 million years of evolution never prepared them for. This is a deep problem, which no amount of technical tweaking can fix. Nothing will fix it short of producing true “holographic” images. Consequently, the editing of 3D films cannot be as rapid as for 2D films, because of this shifting of convergence: it takes a number of milliseconds for the brain/eye to “get” what the space of each shot is and adjust. And lastly, the question of immersion. 3D films remind the audience that they are in a certain “perspective” relationship to the image. It is almost a Brechtian trick. Whereas if the film story has really gripped an audience they are “in” the picture in a kind of dreamlike “spaceless” space. So a good story will give you more dimensionality than you can ever cope with.

 

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Gamera vs. Garasharp is an unfinished Gamera film from 1971-1972. It would have been a follow-up to the dismal Gamera vs. Zigra (1971), but Daiei Studios folded in December 1971, but not before leaving some conceptual and amateurish art and a few clips on the table. Gamera vs. Garasharp features what appears to be a giant cobra-like creature with a bizarre orb-like tail with an articulated gyro-thing and a head with flexible harpoon appendages. The Wikizilla entry for the film also refers to another crab-like monster called Marukobukarappa, but this creature’s role is not known. A reconstruction of a portion of the film is below.

 

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Claude-Nicolas Ledoux (1736 – 1806) was one of the earliest exponents of French Neoclassical architecture. He used his knowledge of architectural theory to design not only domestic architecture but also town planning; as a consequence of his visionary plan for the Ideal City of Chaux, he became known as a utopian. His most ambitious work was the uncompleted Royal Saltworks at Arc-et-Senans, an idealistic and visionary town showing many examples of architecture parlante. The first (and, as things were to turn out, only) stage of building was constructed between 1775 and 1778. Entrance is through a massive Doric portico, inspired by the temples at Paestum. The alliance of the columns is an archetypal motif of neoclassicism. Inside, a cavernous hall gives the impression of entering an actual salt mine, decorated with concrete ornamentation representing the elementary forces of nature and the organizing genius of Man, a reflection of the views of the relationship between civilization and nature endorsed by such eighteenth-century philosophers as Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The entrance building opens into a vast semicircular open air space that is surrounded by ten buildings, which are arranged on the arc of a semicircle. On the arc is the cooper’s forge, the forging mill and two bothies for the workers. On the straight diameter are the workshops for the extraction of salt alternating with administrative buildings. At the centre is the house of the director, which originally also contained a chapel. The significance of this plan is twofold: the circle, a perfect figure, evokes the harmony of the ideal city and theoretically encloses a place of harmony for common work, but it recalls also contemporary theories of organization and of official surveillance, particularly the Panopticon of Jeremy Bentham. The saltworks entered a painful phase of industrial production and marginal profit, because of competition with the salt-water marshes. After some not very profitable trials, it closed indefinitely in 1790 during the national instability caused by the French Revolution. Thus the dream of success for a factory, conceived at the same time as a royal residence and a new city, ended.

 

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Sadness was a survival horror video game in development by Nibris for the Wii console and was one of the earliest titles announced for the system. While the game initially drew positive attention for its unique gameplay concepts, such as black-and-white graphics and emphasis on psychological horror over violence, Sadness became notorious when no evidence of a playable build was ever publicly released during the four years it spent in development. It was revealed that Sadness had entered development hell due to problems with deadlines and relationships with external developers, leading to its eventual cancellation by 2010, along with the permanent closure of the company. Sadness was promoted as a unique and realistic survival horror game that would “surprise players,” focusing on psychological horror rather than violence, containing “associations with narcolepsy, nyctophobia and paranoid schizophrenia.” Nibris promised that Sadness would provide “extremely innovative game play,” fully utilizing the motion sensing capabilities of both the Wii Remote and the Nunchuk. For example, it was suggested that players would use the Wii Remote to wield a torch and wave it to scare off rats; swinging the controller like a lasso in order to throw a rope over a wall; or picking up items by reaching out with the Wii Remote and grabbing them. Sadness was also planned to have open-ended interactivity between the player and the game’s objects, being able to use any available item as a weapon. Suggestions included breaking a glass bottle and using the shards as a knife, or breaking the leg off a chair and using it as a club. The game would also not utilize in-game menus (all game saves would be done in the background) nor a HUD in favor of greater immersion.

 

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Leprechauns: Now let’s imagine that we have a conversation one day and I say to you, “I believe in Leprechauns. You cannot prove that Leprechauns do not exist, therefore they exist.” You actually have heard of Leprechauns. There are lots of books, movies and fairy tales dealing with Leprechauns. People talk about Leprechauns all the time. Leprechauns even have a popular brand of breakfast cereal. A page like this describes/defines the traits of Leprechauns. But that does not mean that Leprechauns exist. If you read the folklore around Leprechauns, you realize that certain aspects are impossible. For example, Leprechauns are defined to be beings who keep a crock of gold at the end of a rainbow. But anyone who understands rainbows knows that there is not a geographic location associated with rainbows. Rainbows are not physical objects, but instead are optical phenomena dependent on an observer. Therefore rainbows do not have fixed X/Y locations for their ends on the ground. This is the problem with the Leprechaun legend – Leprechauns have a property that is impossible, and therefore we can say that Leprechauns do not exist. There is no “end” to any rainbow, and therefore no pots of gold located at such a point, and therefore no Leprechauns. They are as imaginary as the gerflagenflopple. Is there something that would prove Leprechauns to be real? First, we would need to change the definition of Leprechauns. We would have to drop the “pot of gold at the end of the rainbow” part of the definition, because that part is impossible. But if we do that, we are not talking about Leprechauns anymore.

 

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Albums That Never Were: hello i am soniclovenoize. because i have too much time on my hands, i waste it by reconstructing famous unreleased albums. here are some of them. enjoy.

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band It Comes To You in a Plain Brown Wrapper

This is a reconstruction of the unreleased 1968 double-album It Comes to You in a Plain Brown Wrapper by Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. Originally scrapped with half of the material re-recorded and infamously “psychedelicized” for the album Strictly Personal and the other half released as 1972’s Mirror Man, this reconstruction attempts to cull all the originally intended material for the double album that was supposed to be their sophomore release, more successfully bridging the gap between 1967’s Safe As Milk and 1969’s Trout Mask Replica. Some tracks have been crossfaded to make a continuous side of music (notably Side D) and the most pristine sources are used for the best soundquality, including a vinyl rip of an original pressing of Mirror Man.

Side A:
1. Trust Us
2. Mirror Man

Side B:
3. Korn Ring Finger
4. 25th Century Quaker
5. Safe As Milk

Side C:
6. Moody Liz
7. Tarotplane

Side D:
8. On Tomorrow
9. Beatle Bones n’ Smokin’ Stones
10. Gimme Dat Harp Boy
11. Kandy Korn

The Who Who’s For Tennis?
This is my reconstruction of the proposed and promptly withdrawn 1968 album Who’s For Tennis? by The Who. Originally intend as a proper studio album (or live album, as some maintain) that would have been released in-between The Who Sell Out and Tommy, the idea for the album was scrapped and the recorded material instead came out as either single releases or remained in the vaults. This reconstruction draws from numerous sources to create a completely stereo, cohesive album, utilizing the best mastering available and is volume-adjusted for aural continuity. Also, a completely new and unique stereo mix of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” was created, unavailable elsewhere and exclusive to this reconstruction.

Side A:
1. Glow Girl
2. Fortune Teller
3. Girl’s Eyes
4. Dogs
5. Call Me Lightning
6. Melancholia

Side B:
7. Faith in Something Bigger
8. Early Morning: Cold Taxi
9. Little Billy
10. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
11. Shakin’ All Over
12. Magic Bus

Neil Young Chrome Dreams
This is a reconstruction of the famous unreleased 1977 Neil Young album Chrome Dreams. Originally compiled from material recorded between 1974-1977 and slated for a release after an acetate was allegedly compiled, Young withdrew the album and restructured it into American Stars ‘n Bars. This reconstruction collects all the best possible source tapes into the sequence generally accepted as being Chrome Dreams. It is banded as a cohesive album and attempts were made to create a large dynamic range between the acoustic Young songs and the full-band Crazy Horse songs. While my reconstruction isn’t necessarily anything that hasn’t been heard before, it attempts to be as close to a finished album as possible with the best possible soundquality, an improvement on circulating bootlegs.

Side A:
1. Pocahontas
2. Will To Love
3. Star of Bethlehem
4. Like A Hurricane
5. Too Far Gone

Side B:
6. Hold Back The Tears
7. Homegrown
8. Captain Kennedy
9. Stringman
10. Sedan Delivery
11. Powderfinger
12. Look Out For My Love

The Velvet Underground IV
This is a reconstruction of the fabled ‘lost fourth album’ by The Velvet Underground, recorded in-between 1969’s The Velvet Underground and 1970’s Loaded. Although much of this material has been released as the 1985 compilation album VU, the label made no attempt to reproduce that lost fourth album. In contrast to VU, this reconstruction attempts to be true to what the actual fourth Velvet Underground might have been like. I also utilized alternate sources of the songs from those contained on VU in order to include the longest edits of the songs as well as the best mastering available.

Side A:
1. We’re Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together
2. One Of These Days
3. Andy’s Chest
4. Lisa Says
5. Foggy Notion

Side B:
6. I Can’t Stand It
7. Coney Island Steeplechase
8. I’m Sticking With You
9. She’s My Best Friend
10. Ocean
11. Ride Into The Sun

Blur Britain Versus America
This is a reconstruction of the unreleased 1992 Blur album Britain Versus America, which evolved into their sophomore and band-defining 1993 album Modern Life Is Rubbish. Originally designed to sonically follow their debut Leisure using featuring the Madchester sound, the album got a complete facelift to become the first of their “Life Trilogy” and signaled a new era of the band, featuring a more traditional Brit-Pop sound and image. This reconstruction attempts to present the album as originally envisioned during the band’s dismal American Tour in 1992 and follows the abandoned aesthetic of their “PopScene” single, using alternate versions and a concise track sequence influenced by the setlists of that tour. Original masters are used when available and all tracks are volume adjusted for a cohesive listening experience.

Side A:
1. PopScene
2. Advert
3. Colin Zeal
4. Pressure On Julian
5. Oily Water
6. Beachcoma

Side B:
7. Never Clever
8. Star Shaped
9. Into Another
10. Miss America
11. Turn It Up
12. Resigned

 

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Human Teleportation: A staple of the Star Trek universe is the capacity to beam, or teleport, humans from one location to another. As legend has it, Gene Roddenberry came up with the idea as a work-around to filming expensive scenes involving ships taking off and landing. But his idea slashed both the budget and common sense. Yes, quantum teleportation has been demonstrated in the lab — but spawning a pair of entangled photons across vast distances is a far cry from teleporting an entire human body. Moreover, Star Trek’s teleportation scheme involves what’s called “destructive copying,” meaning that the source person must be obliterated (as evidenced in the TNG episode “Second Chances” when you accidentally get two Rikers). So, even if teleportation is somehow possible, it doesn’t solve the problem that you’d be stepping into a suicide machine. And finally, the physical and energy requirements of teleportation simply won’t allow for it. The system would have to be capable of the instantaneous scanning, recording and relaying of all 1045 bits of information that make up the human body, then transmit all this data to the destination, and finally compile the person without so much as putting a single molecule out of place.

 

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Cancelled Dubai property projects list now features more than 150 developments


Wave Tower


Ajar Tower





Rotating Residence


Donna Tower


Orchid Residences


Hampstead Residencies



Zenith Tower A3



The Windsor Residence


Global Golf Residence



G-Office Tower


Beti Ul Funoon


Sobha Sapphire


Escan Tower


Eden Gardens


Sunset Gardens




Wings of Arabia


Rufi Century Tower


Century Tower


Quattro West


Infinity Tower


Tower 88


Eden Blue


Sanali Capital Avenue


Integral 05


Dunes Lilac


Al Tafany Tower




Jehaan 2, 3, 4, 6, 9, 11


Diamond Arch


Oasis Heights



Iris Mist


Mario Valentino Boulevard


Burj Alalam


Rufi Royal Residency


Paris Residence


Dream Harbour


Dream Square


Sanali Flamingo


Westar Galaxy


Sheffield Classic



Royal Bay Resort


Mystica


Burj Al Faraa


Image Residences


Platinum 2


Sternon Tower




Jasmin Garden


Soccer Tower


Metropolis Lofts


Mosia Stone


Pisa Tower Residence


Zenith Tower


Elegant Tower


Berlin City Center


Blue Moon Tower


Sanali Quantum


Prodigy 2


Prodigy 3


Prodigy 4


Mira Palace


Ashai Tower 5


Rufi Twin Towers



The Palisades


Kensington Krystal Tower



Pangkor Laut Luxury Residence & Spa Village






V-Greece on the World


Alduaa Marina Tower


Dolce Vita


The K Hotel


Santeview


Hydra Tower


Fortune Serene


Eclipse Tower


Victory Bay Tower


The Plaza


Zero Five Zero


Sebco Residence


Crown Avenue


Ten Tower


Apeiron Hotel

 

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Although TikGames announced, Chucky: Wanna Play? in May 2011, it appears that the game will never see the light of day. TikGames had a license to develop and publish a PC game based on the creepy doll, but lacked the funding. The company turned to Kickstarter, a website where fans can support different projects by becoming backers. The Kickstarter launched on Oct. 15, with TikGames reporting that they already had over “half a million dollars and 18 months of development invested so far.” In developing the Kickstarter page, the goal was to get $925,000 pledged by Nov. 14. Unfortunately TikGames cancelled the project funding on Oct. 22 after only getting 19 backers and raising $585.

 

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Robert Sobel is the vice president of research and innovation at the flavor company FONA International. In the last few years, he’s been researching ways to use smells to trick our brains into thinking food contains high levels of sugar and salt, even when it doesn’t. Sobel first came across this concept, called “phantom aroma,” in a 2009 article called “Taste, Aroma, and the Brain” in the magazine Perfumer and Flavorist. The term, inspired by the neurophysiological phenomenon of phantom limbs, is the process by which the brain fills in the perception of a certain taste perceptions even when the ingredient may not exist. We perceive a food’s flavor through a variety of stimulants—taste, of course, but also texture and smell. There’s a lot that’s still unknown about the neuroscience of taste, but the current prevailing theory is that we take in taste through the gustatory nerve and smells through the olfactory nerve, and information from both receptors combines in the orbital frontal cortex. Over the last six years, Sobel has taken different aromas like vanillin—the compound that gives vanilla its distinctive smell—and tested them with people who rate how salty or sweet they think the food would taste. Predictably, people who smelled odors most commonly associated with sweet tastes (like vanilla), said they expected the food item to taste sweet. After each consumer panel, Sobel returns to his lab and tinkers with the concentration of aroma that he adds to the test food products. The trick, he says, is to get the aroma to barely detectable levels so that we don’t actually know that we’re smelling it, but we can perceive it when we’re eating the food. While we don’t particularly want a ham-smelling bread, for example, it may be possible to add just enough ham flavor to bread that we still associate it with a salty flavor without realizing the salt isn’t actually there.

 

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Isamu Noguchi, model for Sculpture to Be Seen from Mars (1947)

 

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Copperfield’s Magic Underground was scheduled to open at the Disney/MGM Studios in the summer of 1998, but never even started construction. Themed restaurants were all the rage. Hard Rock Cafes started popping up all over the world and still remain a strong brand to this day. Planet Hollywood had over 100 different locations worldwide and, as of this writing in 2015, seven still remain. Venture capitalists Glenn Tullman and Robert Compton propositioned Copperfield and would have meetings with him into the wee hours of the morning after the illusionist performed in various cities around the country. From these encounters, LateNite Magic was formed as their company name and once he agreed to let them use his name, license and serve as head creative consultant on the project. The entrance to the restaurant/attraction would have sat just to the right of the main gate of the Disney/MGM Studios. Fantasmic! was being constructed for the park and the restaurant would have been wedged between the stadium and the front entrance. The restaurant would have had a 45-foot statue of Copperfield with 18-foot tall gas torches on either side of him. Every hour, a 90-second light show presentation would take place that beckoned passersby inside. Inside, diners would have found themselves inside a 70-foot tall atrium with gargoyles perched on the trusses above them. Located all around them would have been giant video screens featuring pre-recorded segments of David where he would suddenly have an entire table seem to levitate right in front of them. Another segment had a selection of diners disappear and a lucky volunteer would have the opportunity to be “cut in half” via Copperfield’s famous Death Saw illusion. The problem? Construction started before the full concept had been laid out. Ultimately, some of the eye candy wasn’t doing what it was supposed to and Copperfield, being the professional he is, requested changes be made so the illusions remained consistent and unspoiled to anyone regardless of their vantage point. In the end, investors couldn’t raise enough capital to get the restaurant up and running. Even if Copperfield’s Magic Underground got the cash injection it needed, in order for investors to get their money back they would have had to charge an enormous amount for food and drink. This might have made the restaurant collapse on itself. With no more funding and all parties involved at a standoff, LateNite Magic ultimately folded and walked away from the project. Copperfield’s Magic Underground was reportedly 85% completed and cost investors $34 million by the time construction halted.

 

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UBC’s Museum of Anthropology has cancelled “The Forgotten Project”, an exhibition of portraits painted by Vancouver artist Pamela Masik. In case you’re not familar with this project, from the project’s website: “THE FORGOTTEN is a large-scale, powerful series of portraits of women’s faces. Sixty-nine portraits, to be precise – the number of women from Vancouver’s downtown eastside who have been missing for more than a decade. The majority of them have now been identified, yet the public’s knowledge of them has, for the most part, consisted of small police photos aligned in a grid on a poster, showing most of them as blurred and haggard representations at their worst.” There is a justifiably scathing review of the work at FUSE Magazine. Here’s an excerpt: “The majority of the pictures on the website for the project feature the artist in front of her creations. In the image found next to her Artist’s Statement, Masik’s fashionable attire and flawless make-up stands in stark contrast to the blood-red paint that drips from her subject’s nose. In another shot from the Press Gallery, the artist’s sophisticated pose denotes a socio-economic privilege that disconnects her from the classed and racialized likeness found in the painting behind her. It is perhaps this disconnect that makes the paintings feel so insulting (jarring is too mild a word). There seems to be a lack of connection not only between the artist and the models, but between the artist and the social conditions that frame the painful circumstances she has set out to represent.”

 

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Ghosts: (1) Why bother referring to things as “life” and “death” if, because you thought you saw a dead person, they mean the same thing? If we’re going to argue the definition of death, how are we supposed to settle on the definition of a ghost? Do ghosts and death even have anything to do with each other, by definition? And without a definition, how can it exist? (2) Many sources pin the ratio of all species in the history of the earth that are now extinct at around 99.9%. That’s all species. So it would stand to reason that the ratio of all living things that are now dead is, well, significantly higher to say the least. So where are all of the ghosts? If orders of magnitude more things died on this rock than are currently living, where are their disembodied spirits? Shouldn’t we be knee deep in ghosts of all shapes in sizes? (3) A believer might say, “Well don’t be silly, there’s so few ghosts because only people become ghosts, because only people have spirits!” I don’t buy this argument because the arguers contradict themselves with stories of ghost men with spectral dogs and even of inanimate objects that appear as apparitions; entire doors and windows, even events that play out as “ghosts”. Does a gunshot have a spirit? Does a horrible fire have a spirit? If so, shouldn’t be haunted by all of the ‘dead’ furniture as well? (4) There’s no scientific process anywhere near being documented which could describe the transition from solid physical object, to mystical apparition, aside from quantum mechanics, and that deals primarily with things on the subatomic scale. And it would be one thing if you could recreate a physical object as an apparition, but it’s another thing entirely to capture the psyche of a person or the sounds of an event. These things are slightly less tangible, as they deal with the flow of energy from one system to another, often in very random ways. (5) It may seem obvious that most of the ghosts people see are wearing clothing. In fact, most of the reports of ghosts describe them as being in “period dress”, whatever that means. But it doesn’t make any sense either way. When a person dies, do their clothes die too? Do they only haunt places in the clothes they died in? What if they weren’t wearing anything at all? I’ve not heard of many naked ghosts, though I’m sure the sightings are documented somewhere.

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Sypha, Thanks, James. So far so good. ** Kirk, Hi, Kirk. Good to meet you, and thanks for coming in. I agree with you, no surprise. Take care. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, David. Thanks a lot for your knowledge and wisdom re: Jerry Lewis. I’m really glad you managed to make it to the screening. And immense gratitude for your fantastic words on the film itself. I’m very honored, and Zac is too. ** Dominik, Hi, Dominik! Greetings from halfway (or more?) across the globe! I hope your mood has had time to recover, and your energy is sky high again. Things are good here. The screenings have gone really well, the LA one in particular, which was a big success. Mm, on Christophe Honore’s films, I would start with the mid-earlier ones: ‘Dans Paris’ or ‘Love Songs’ maybe. I look forward to talking with you again ASAP. ** JM, Hi, man. ‘The Bellboy’ is really great. That’s the one that totally turned me around him. How’s stuff? You doing great? ** _Black_Acrylic, Hey, Ben! How’s everything hanging? When will you hear back about the funding proposals? Oh, I just saw your later comment. A month, gotcha. I’m glad the work on it is going so excitingly. ** Bill, Hi, Bill! It was really good to get to see you for even a short bit in SF. That visit was such a rush. Thank you about PGL, and I hadn’t seen the letterboxd reviews, and they’re really heartening. Thanks a ton. I did know about the Bark Psychosis reissues, but I haven’t scored them (yet). I’m glad SF IndieFest is showing stuff worth seeing. We got unlucky re: their programming while we were there, not that we would have time to see anything. How was ‘Octavio is Dead’, if you saw it? ** Steve Erickson, Hi. Is your arm normalised again? Look forward to your review. Everyone, Read what Steve thinks of Asghar Farhadi’s EVERYBODY KNOWS by clicking this. And two more reviews: Steve on Bob Mould’s new album SUNSHINE ROCK here, and on the Chilean documentary LOS REYES here. Thanks for your input on post-rock. I didn’t curate the post, obviously, but maybe Talk Talk, starting so much earlier, are more ‘proto’? ** James, Hi, James! It was really great seeing you too! Thank you so, so much about PGL. That’s so great to hear. I’m technically in LA until the 17th, but it looks like I might travel in and out of here a bit before I leave. Thank you so much again, and take care! ** Keymouth, Hi, buddy. It’s good to know where to find you if I need you ‘cos you never know. Cool, I’ll check your newest blog input. Everyone, Keaton, the d.l. of innumerable names, put something new on his tasty blog, which is always a treat, so join me in luxuriating in its topmost. ** Brendan, It was great to see you. I got your message, and I’ll get back to you pronto. ** Jay, Hi, Jay! Really nice to see you! Things are good. It’s nice being here. It’s the first time I’ve been here when it wasn’t boiling hot, so my hometown’s charms are crossing over more fully. Mm, in a way my pad here feels like home, but I still am loving living in Paris too much to plop back down here. As of yet. Happy you enjoyed Chris’s Screw shebang, and thanks a lot for the adds. I’ll go hunt them down, and I imagine Chris is out there somewhere doing the same if he hasn’t. Take care. ** Mark Stephens, Hey, big M! I’m seeing you this very night in fact! ** Rewritedept, Hey, Chris! It was great to finally meet you. Sorry for my distractedness. Those kinds of events are stressful and preoccupying for me. Thank you a lot about PGL. Good luck with the crush. Yeah, it’s usually a pretty good idea to find out if someone is straight just to begin with before falling too hard, unless one finds the unrequited crush useful, and it has birthed a lot of great art, let’s face it. Thank you for the sweet words. Right back at you. ** C Whittle, Hi, welcome, and thank you for that great news! Everyone, C Whittle  passes along this excellent news to those who were intrigued by the post on Néstor Perlongher: ‘Cadáveres in published in English by Cardboard House Press, translated by Roberto Echavarren and Donald Wellman.’ ** Corey Heiferman, Hi, man. How’s stuff? Cyprus in the winter sounds delicious. Hm. Upped. ** Tosh Berman, Hi, Tosh! Yes, Michael said he had a great time with you. I’m hoping to catch up with your episode as soon as in a minute. ** Chris Cochrane, Hi, Chris! Well, I’m not home quite yet, I’m still ensconced in the Western edge of your country. I saw your email. I’ll check the vid as soon as I can and get back to you. I’m still running around a lot, but it’ll be as ASAP. ** Okay. We are now officially caught up. You’ll get restoration posts for as long as I’m away from Paris, and today’s takes you to back to things that didn’t exist when I originally made the post and still don’t. See you tomorrow.

Spotlight on … Jenny Erpenbeck The End of Days (2012) *

* (restored)

 

‘At one point in Jenny Erpenbeck’s remarkable novel, The End of Days (Aller Tage Abend), a woman who is falling to her death thinks of how thinks of how, throughout her life, she had done things for the last time without knowing it. “Death was not a moment but a front,” he thinks, “one that was as long as life.” As in the books of W. G. Sebald, life and death in Erpenbeck’s novel are separated by so thin a membrane as to render both a kind of purgatory. But the coexistence is uneasy—something as immeasurable as death doesn’t seem to fit naturally within the measured limits of a life, nor does the intimate clock of a lifespan appear to synch with that of historical time. In this book, Erpenbeck is most interested in what can be recuperated from the space between.

‘Published in Germany in 2012 and now available in a careful English translation by Susan Bernofsky, the novel takes its German title from the saying “Es ist noch nicht aller Tage Abend,” meaning: “It isn’t over until the end of all days.” It begins with the burial of an eight-month-old Jewish girl in a small Galician town around the year 1900. The child’s mother stands by the grave and, as each handful of dirt is thrown in, mourns the death of the girl, woman, and crone the baby might have become: “She doesn’t know how she can bear it that her child’s death still persists, that from now on it will persist for all eternity and never diminish.” As a result of the death, certain events unfold: the baby’s “goy” father emigrates to America; the mother learns that her own father was killed in a pogrom; the family is torn apart. But Erpenbeck is less interested in what happens than in how the story intersects with what might have been, giving life to the possibilities foreclosed by, but nonetheless coexisting with, the child’s death. In an “Intermezzo,” she imagines the way things might have been different, “if for example the child’s mother or father had thrust open the window in the middle of the night, had scooped a handful of snow from the sill and put it under the baby’s shirt,” allowing the girl to breathe. With this small exchange—a handful of snow for a handful of dirt—Erpenbeck finds an exit from fate, a layer of freedom hidden inside—or under—events. In each of the four chapters that follow, then, the girl survives, living out another stage of life as her mother imagined: an impulsive teenager in Red Vienna, a young wife in Moscow haunted by the Stasi; a middle-aged Soviet author in East Berlin; a befuddled elder spending her last days in a nursing home. These lives, too, are lost for the smallest, most contingent of reasons—the road is iced up; she gives someone a hug; she walks downstairs five minutes too soon—and each of these chance errors is caught up in the vastness of historical events: There is ice on the road because the men who would clear it have been lost in the war; the receiver of hugs is a Trotskyite.

‘The flipside of such contingency is that nothing is without consequence. A true miniaturist, Erpenbeck adorns her character’s lives with a catalogue of minute incidents and disasters: a beetle crawls up a blade of grass, causing it to bend imperceptibly, a puddle freezes in the shape of South Africa, a stone scrapes the spine of a volume of Goethe, an Aryan bride buys a clock. In Erpenbeck’s hands, these seemingly meaningless moments ripple outward to touch the character’s lives, effecting, as one character puts it, a “constant translation between the far outside and deep within,” binding history to the personal. Although the novel is seemingly narrated from a distance, it’s no small measure of Erpenbeck’s mastery that a similar translation occurs within the novel’s prose. She subtly modulates its tone throughout, from the first chapter’s placid, almost folkloric depth to the fractured upheavals of the third. She continually recalibrates, shifting ever-so-slightly in style to register political events and tiny shifts of emotion alike: “Someone who was a Soviet poet, and she’d have sworn he almost, and with her body, and he would have, and then the two of them, and then, oh, simply given away, what?” Particular phrases, playing in and out of the minds of different characters, create a layered, intertextual mosaic of historical and personal memory, like a symphonic leitmotif or holy text annotated in different hands. Marking her prose in this way, Erpenbeck proves herself an artist of that “deep within,” making poetry, for instance, out of the gorgeous nonsense-profundities of a ninety-year-old (“Slowly, his mother says, I want to try to address the burden with the burden title”), for whom “time is a paste made of time.”

‘This is, in large part, a novel about time, how the eternity of death might coexist with the measured hours of a clock. The novel’s constant present, tending to foreclose the possibility of things being different, might seem to struggle against this conceit, and the text is full of precision—latitudes, distances, the length of a piece of twine, “how much a herring weighs compared to three apples.” Yet such exactitude is undermined by an equal amount of narrative hedging: “for example,” “possibly something like,” “perhaps.” In this tension between the precise and the haphazard a kind of space is created, something immeasurable, a furrow in what is. In Moscow, the young writer wonders: “Was it possible to change the world if only you found the right words?”

‘At one point, the dead girl’s great-grandmother recalls “debating whether the realm of God could in truth already be found here on Earth if one only knew how to look . . . [whether] there were two different worlds or just the one.” The suggestion, which comes out of the Jewish faith, is that there is a divine world interleaved into our own—if only we knew it was hiding. The End of Days allows for a similar interpenetration of its narrative world by a world of the dead, enlivening the past with a host of potential presents. In allowing possibility and chance to share a reality with certitude, whether that of death or of the 20th century’s upheaval, Erpenbeck creates the possibility of a kind of creative freedom inside of it, a space where something is saved. The great-grandmother sings a song about a man who makes a coat out of a piece of cloth, and when that is tattered makes a vest, and on and on, until he makes a button, “and a nothing at all out of the button, and in the end he makes this song out of nothing at all.” Death here, as Walter Benjamin once wrote, is the sanction of everything the storyteller can tell.’ — Jenny Hendrix, Bookforum

 

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Further

Jenny Erpenbeck @ New Directions
‘People in the west were much more easily manipulated’
‘only the inevitable is possible’
JE @ goodreads
‘An essay by Boyd Tonkin on Jenny Erpenbeck’s The End of Days’
‘Homesickness for Sadness’, by Jenny Erpenbeck
Jenny Erpenbeck @ The Institute of Modern Languages Research
‘Imagining Lives That Might Have Happened In ‘End Of Days”
‘Jenny Erpenbeck: What happens when you’re only seen as a refugee?’
JE interviewed @ The Fabulist
‘memory as a punch to the heart’
‘‘Go, Went, Gone,’ a Tale of Refugees in Berlin’
‘Five Questions for Jenny Erpenbeck’
‘Inescapable Smallness: On Jenny Erpenbeck’
‘Learning German from Jenny Erpenbeck’
‘Live through this: Jenny Erpenbeck’s new novel makes us question death – and life’
Buy ‘The End of Days’

 

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Extras


A Reading and Conversation with German Author Jenny Erpenbeck


International Literature: Jenny Erpenbeck


Jenny Erpenbeck – Gehen, ging, gegangen


Jenny Erpenbeck liest aus »Aller Tage Abend«

 

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Interview

 

What was the inspiration for the story?

Jenny Erpenbeck: My mother died and that was the only thing I could think about, so I decided to write a book about all the things I was dealing with. The finished piece turned out to be a book about the opportunities that someone can have in life and the different ways that he or she can go.

What was your favourite book as a child?

I have to say it was Grimms’ Fairy Tales. I love to read fairy tales of all kinds and from all countries and of course translated fairy tales as well. But the Grimms’ (Fairy Tales) is the first book a German child is given to read. When I was older I read another version of Grimms’ Fairy Tales that is not meant for children.

I think there is so much fantasy of the real people in the book. I think it was one of my main influences.

In a review of your novel Visitation, Alfred Hickling said that your novel had attempted to compress the trauma of the 20th century into a single address. To start then, a big question: how has history affected your writing?

I think I always start with a very personal issue. Then, once I start to look at it closely, it becomes historical. Things become historical, just by looking at how they came about. It’s not that I start with the idea of telling a “historic” story. I think history infects the lives, the very private lives, of people, so you cannot remove something from history, even if you just want to tell a story. It gets in here and there. I think that this was what happened when I started to write Visitation. I started with my own story about the house, and then I saw that there were so many stories involved. Stories that occurred long before I came to the place that I write about. All of a sudden I was in the middle of the German history without having thought about it.

You have a character in Visitation who carries her typewriter with her everywhere.

This was my grandmother.

It seems like a very fitting symbolic burden for needing to write wherever you go.

Probably it gives the feeling of being at home no matter where you are as long you have your own device to tell stories or to make sense of what happens around you.

Both The Old Child and The Book of Words are in a way written from the perspective of a young girl. Why do you write about girls?

Actually, both characters are not children and are not young girls. They are adults looking back or trying to invent a childhood. I think that the woman in The Book of Words is looking back and searching for traces of lies in what her parents told her. She tries to make sense of her childhood, to see if she can find where her parents’ lying began, and to find out the things that were never told to her. I always think it’s a little bit misunderstood because, of course, they do seem to be girls but they are not girls. I think the interest for me was in recognizing that it’s always a hard task to figure out retrospectively what was “you,” and what was “you made by others.” There are so many people putting education into you, and giving you meanings and ideas and stories. You never know if the stories are true. This is the first thing. And there are so many emotions that come from other people. Later on you may tell people: “This is my emotion, my feeling, or my memory of something,” and it’s probably not really yours, it’s your mother’s or father’s or someone else’s altogether. This interested me and I think it’s a very complex thing to be brought up; so many people are needed to form a person and to give them an identity. Then all of a sudden you say “I” or “me,” and this, this makes me wonder.

How do you research your novels?

It started I think with the Jewish family from Visitation. I wanted to find out who they were. I went to an archive in Berlin, I found some family members who had survived, and who are still living close to Berlin. There were a lot of archives. I found out something about the architect. Then I found an old lady who had the same type of memories that I have because she spent her childhood there as well. She learned to swim there, and she picked berries from the same bushes as I did. This was a kind of research that was very moving for me. It’s very strange to meet someone who is eighty years old and tells the same personal childhood stories as you. I went to Warsaw to have a look at the place where the Jewish girl died. I went to Treblinka, the death camp where she was probably taken. I found the girl’s letters in a Jewish institute, and lists written by the girl’s parents, which they had written in order to travel to Brazil. I found the same items on another list when the things were sold. I would find a children’s bed on the list, which her parents made in order to immigrate, then I would find the same children’s bed on a list from when it was later sold by the Nazis. It was strange.

So you could trace almost everything?

This was like an adventure. If I didn’t have to write the novel maybe I would still be sitting in the archives. Archives are places full of treasures, you can always find it if you look carefully enough.

Do you think you’ll keep working this way? Starting with an idea and then moving to research?

The book I am working on now is also a novel and it has a lot to do with history. I read a lot, a lot of books.

What kind of books?

Autobiographies and memoirs, some historic books about this or that time. I read parts of the Talmud, just to know what it is. I had to get an idea, because one chapter takes place at the beginning of the twentieth century in Galicia, which is nowadays Ukraine and Poland. I wanted to get an idea of what was important in this time, and, of course, the Talmud was very important for the daily life of every person back then. I read books about Stalin. For one of the last chapters I went to an archive and read some letters written by my grandparents that are stored there, to get an idea of their daily life. It’s not an autobiographical thing that I am writing now. I am trying to follow the way of my grandparents but I have invented stories. I use the way my grandparents travelled from Galicia to Vienna to Moscow to Berlin to write them.

Do you read the translations of your books?

From time to time. For instance, here in Adelaide I had to do a reading. I don’t read my translated books from the beginning to the end. I am kind of afraid of that. I can’t explain why but it’s strange to read your book in someone else’s words. But every time I have read it, or have had to read it for an audience, I did feel that it was really my book. It was perfectly done. Sometimes her translation is so perfect that I don’t even know the vocabulary she has used. Once I asked someone about a word and he said, “This word exists, but it is a very delicate word.” This I liked a lot because she really thought about what words to use, as it is the same for me in German. I love to use old, almost forgotten words because they can express so much more than the daily used words—and I think she does the same for English.

I think you might have similar reading taste as well. I have read that you admire the work of Robert Walser?

He is one of the greatest. He is very good.

What is it about Walser?

He writes very slowly. One of my favourite pieces is The Walk. He is just walking, maybe for one hour or so. He has the whole world in this walk. He describes all the places where he stops for this or that reason. He has to go to the bank to see to his money affairs, then he sees a young girl and wonders about her, whether she will be a great singer or not. Step-by-step he opens up a whole world. The storyteller himself is not always a perfect person: sometimes he’s mean or afraid of something, he has doubts, preferences or aversions. Sometimes it gets almost surreal, but it’s just a walk. Walser is very exact, and he goes into great detail. He’s not fast: he’s just a slow walker.

 

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Book

Jenny Erpenbeck The End of Days
New Directions

The End of Days, by acclaimed German writer Jenny Erpenbeck, consists essentially of five “books,” each leading to a different death of an unnamed woman protagonist. How could it all have gone differently? the narrator asks in the intermezzos between. The first chapter begins with the death of a baby in the early twentieth-century Hapsburg Empire. In the next chapter, the same girl grows up in Vienna, but her strange relationship with a boy leads to another death. In the next scenario, she survives adolescence and moves to Russia with her husband. Both are dedicated Communists, but our heroine is sent to a labor camp. She is spared in the next chapter with the help of someone’s intervention and returns to Berlin to become a respected writer. . . .

The End of Days is a brilliant novel of contingency and fate. A novel of incredible breadth, yet amazing concision, The End of Days offers a unique overview of German and German-Jewish history by “one of the finest, most exciting authors alive”.’ — Michael Faber

 

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Excerpt

Until recently, she’d shared her husband’s view that it was crucial to examine their own ranks meticulously to keep the core stable. She’d reclined on the sofa as he sat in an armchair, reading to her from the thick volume containing the latest report on the court proceedings. After Radek, Zinoviev, Kamenev—the original revolutionaries, once lauded as Lenin’s stalwart brothers-in-arms—Bukharin too had now made a public confession, declaring himself guilty of conspiracy and treason, and had been condemned to death and shot. In his last plea, he’d said: When you ask yourself: “If you die, what are you dying for?” – suddenly a pitch black void appears before you with shocking clarity. There is nothing one should have to die for if one wants to die without repenting. He’d taken this final opportunity to declare his loyalty to the Soviet Union once more.
She and her husband had met Bukharin right at the beginning of their time in Moscow. The very first day they got there, he had telephoned the hotel of the Austrian and German comrades who’d just escaped from their own countries, where they’d been in hiding, and personally delivered a piece of bread and bacon to each of their rooms.
Would she still have a chance to describe the sound the pages of the thick book made as they turned? Page after page, she heard in the voice of her own husband how living beings were slowly transformed into their own ghosts.
Truly we are coming to know one another in the course of these exchanges, we see each other quite clearly.
This is my profound insight, what I understand here as a Bolshevik, what I experience: Bolshevism’s power, its intellectual power, is so strong that it forces us to speak the truth.
As Communists we should show our faces, in other words show the entire person.
You can’t just say that you didn’t have time to be watchful because you had to bring money to your wife at your dacha.
When we have been successful in creating a clean atmosphere, we will certainly be able to work cleanly and productively.
Only now that she is alone has she begun to ask herself if it really is necessary to radically cut away everything that is weak or gravitates to the fringes. The core of a sphere, her little sister would probably say, the one who was always so good at math, is basically just a point, one whose size approaches infinity on the negative axis. But what was the core? An idea or an individual? Could it be Stalin? Or the utterly disembodied, utterly pure belief in a better world? But whose head was this belief supposed to inhabit if the day came when not a single head remained? An individual could lose his head, she’d still thought two years ago, but not an entire party. Now it was looking as if an entire party really could lose all its heads, as if the sphere itself were spinning all its points away from it, becoming smaller and smaller, just to reassure itself that its center held firm.
Approaches infinity on the negative axis.

In Vienna her husband used to laugh whenever a theater critic wrote: He wasn’t playing Othello—he was Othello. Old-fashioned was his word for this mania for perfect illusions. He interpreted the flawless melding of actor and mask as the pinnacle of bourgeois deceit, and now, in the Land of the Future, where the labor of all for all had supposedly been stripped of deception, where individual gain resulted in profit for all, such that egotism and tactical maneuvering could be eliminated before they arose, he himself stood accused of duplicity? Had they changed their names so often on the run that their own comrades had lost all memory of what lay behind these names? Why else was there so much talk now of costumes and masks? Or had they, locked in battle with an external enemy, actually begun to turn into this enemy without realizing it? Would this new thing hatching out of them bear them ill-will? Had their own growing gone over to the other side unbeknownst to them?

    The head of every human being who functions dialectically contains all thoughts. The question is only which of them I let out. Obviously man is guilty. Yet the thought also arises that man is innocent. I cannot escape this dilemma by constantly trotting out the young poet D., who is innocent. It keeps coming down to the same thing: on one hand innocent D., and on the other a random arrest. The man is innocent, and I see that he is innocent, and I help prove his innocence, and then he is arrested, and this means that the arrest was random. But since an arrest is not random, it is therefore proven, on the other hand, that the man is not innocent. Therefore I am willing to concede the point to you. In a case where you are in the wrong.

On this bit of steppe, 45.61404 degrees North latitude, 70.751954 degrees East longitude, there are only three months a year without frost. In only a few weeks, the grass will lose this green tint it still displays, it will turn brown, and when the wind blows one of its stalks against the other, it will rustle faintly. Before the first snow falls, tiny ice crystals will cover the blades, and even the little stones on the surface of the steppe will without exception be covered with hoarfrost and freeze together. Once the frost sets in, it will no longer be possible for the wind to blow them about.

The weekend before his arrest, her husband had gone to a meeting and, upon his return, in distinct contrast to his usual manner, had said nothing at all about what had been discussed there. It was nearly dawn when he got home, and he did not laugh off her fears, baring his teeth and flicking a few strands of his hair back; she had seen him this tight- lipped only once before, that time two years previous when he learned that his application to be accepted into the CPSU had been approved but hers had not.
Now that her husband has been taken away, she knows that when she sits here putting her life to paper, she is playing not just with her own life, but with his as well, and not just with her own death, but also with his, or is she playing against death, or does all this pro and contra make no difference at all? She knows that with every word she writes or does not write she is playing with the lives of her friends, just as her friends in turn, when they are asked about her, are forced to play with hers.

    I understand that Comrade H. has been living for approximately 3 years with his wife, Comrade H., in Moscow. He met her before this, but 3 years ago is when they entered into matrimony. Has Comrade H. questioned other comrades with regard to her earlier biography, or is she his only source of information?
My wife, Comrade H., as many of you know, has been a member of the Communist Party of Austria since 1920.
Immediately before her departure to Moscow, she had contact in Prague with the Trotskyist A.
I can’t respond to that, I was still in Berlin at the time.
We have not only the right but also the duty to speak about everything we know.
Only in his later work did A. develop Trotskyist tendencies. I can assure you that Comrade H. did not identify with him and, above all where his assessment of the Soviet Union was concerned, vehemently disagreed.
It seems to me her relationship with A. went beyond mere friendship. In any case, the two of them embraced when they parted on the evening in question, according to the report of Comrade Sch.
I can’t respond to that.
Answer this question: Could semi-Trotskyist, Trotskyist or oppositional leanings be observed in her?
No, not at that time.
What does not at that time mean? I have to say that I do not have the impression that this testimony is completely truthful. What’s hiding behind it? Why does Comrade H. not speak freely about the case of his wife Comrade H. in this context? Why does he have to be prompted by additional questions to speak of it?
There was no question of any opposition on her part in the sense in which we use this term in the Party.
I hope that it is clear to all our comrades how crucial it is for us to spare no effort in critical situations. These bandits who have been torturing our comrades in Germany and sending us their spies must be met with wave after wave of destruction. What if these malfeasants or counterrevolutionaries like A. had managed to point a gun at Comrade Stalin? Comrades, we are faced with the question: peace or war?

Would her motherly friend O., with whom they shared their dacha summer after summer, even staying on into September, conceal or admit under interrogation that they had conversed about their doubts regarding the guilt of the young poet D. after his arrest? Might the wife of the author V. (recently condemned to death on charges of engaging in Trotskyist activities and shot) who was now supporting herself as a seamstress and had come to her room for a fitting, really have dug around in her papers when she stepped out to the toilet? Why had R., with whom she and her husband had enjoyed so many excellent conversations about literature early in their Moscow days, been sent off to a post in the German Volga Republic exactly one week before her husband’s arrest? Who was responsible for cutting the final sentence of the review she had written in July for the Deutsche Zentralzeitung so that her critique of the book by mustachioed K. was transformed into its opposite? And was that good fortune or misfortune? She’s long since stopped getting together with the friends she used to play cards with sometimes in those early years, the literary working groups were dissolved two years ago already, and even the assemblies of the German Party members have been discontinued. Her friend C., who used to cry her eyes out in front of her all the time over her inability to have children, recently refused to as much as nod in greeting when she walked passed Café Krasni Mak and saw her, the wife of H., who has been arrested, sitting at the window.
And she herself?
During the rehearsals for the last play her husband wrote before his arrest, five of the eight actors were arrested over a period of several days, after which the rehearsals were canceled until further notice. Comrade Fr., the wife of one of these actors, had come up to her yesterday at the café, holding Sasha, her nine-year-old boy, by the hand and had entreated her to take the two of them in for at least a single night. I can’t, she had responded. Without another word, the woman turned and went out again, holding her child by the hand. I can’t. Only a few weeks before, her husband had folded paper airplanes for Sasha during breaks in the rehearsal.

So have things really now come so far that all she can do is hope that the secret service agents who seized her husband and took him away are merely traitors, enemies of the people operating under the alibi of political watchfulness, that they are—possibly even in their highest ranks—Hitler’s people? For not only her husband but indeed each of the others whose arrest she has heard of to date was a comrade she had long been close to. She is almost fully convinced now that only if Hitler himself proves to be her adversary, only if this is the case can the antifascists’ hope for a better world to come survive their own mistreatment and death. Or is it perhaps that Stalin himself—disguised as Hitler, who in turn is disguised as Stalin, doubly masked, doubly veiled and thus genuinely duplicitous—is acting as his own agent and, out of fear that in a good world hopes for a better one might be lost forever, out of a fear of stagnation, trying to murder the Communist movement back into hopefulness? Perhaps all of them together are dreaming a nightmare from which there will never be an awakening, and in this nightmare Stalin is the good father who creeps into the bedrooms where his children are sleeping with a knife in his hands.

Land of ours that blooms and blossoms, 
Listen, darling, listen,
Was given to us for time eternal.
Hear me, darling, listen.

Child, thy land is well preserved, 
Sleep, my angel, slumber.
Red Army men watch over us. 
Sleep, my darling, slumber.

5

When she gets up again to fetch more hot water from the samovar in the common kitchen for her tea, she runs into Indian comrade Al in the hallway. He greets her but today he doesn’t initiate a conversation. No doubt he too has now heard about her husband’s arrest. Last month, when he was still new in Moscow, she and her husband had gotten into conversation with him while they were cooking, first he had leaned up against the kitchen table, still on his feet, then at some point he sat down on the edge of the table, his legs dangling, and finally he’d drawn his legs beneath him, still talking, like a very much alive Buddha sitting there cross-legged on this worn-out tabletop, upon which the Russians no doubt cut their pelmeni in the age of the Czars, and later Chinese comrades rolled hard-boiled duck eggs in ashes, and Frenchmen dipped meat in a marinade of garlic and oil. She herself, on the occasion of the seventh World Congress two years before, had used this table to make apple strudel for her Danish, Polish and American friends. This congress had been like a powerful amorous coupling, all of them melting into one another, conjoined in their common battle for a humanity finally coming to its senses. After these meetings, she and her husband would often go on deliberating deep into the night, lying in bed, discussing what this new world order should look like, whether it was still an order at all, and what new bonds should replace the old bonds of coercion.

    Then L. shoved his way in and started shouting at me. I told him to shut up. Then he pushed me over to one side and started touching the front of my shirt.
M. says I grabbed hold of him by the shirt. Everyone knows this is untrue. I’ve never grabbed anyone’s shirt, what an idea!
There were 8 comrades standing around. I said to L., don’t touch me. L. shouted: Don’t touch me. So then I repeated: Take your paws off me.
All of a sudden Comrade M. said: Get your stinking paws off me.
Then L started in: You’ll be sorry you did that, I’m going to report it to a Party cell.
Then M. shouted: Maybe they’ll wash your stinking paws in innocence for you!
Comrade L. has a booming voice, and he really let rip: Just you wait and see what I do with people like you!
Ridiculous!

In the room she inhabited together with her husband for the past three years, in whose emptiness she is now setting foot once more, the yellow tapestry with the embroidered sun from their first Soviet vacation is still hanging on the wall. Every morning she leaves the house before dawn and gets in line in front of Ljubjanka 14, the headquarters of the secret police, to ask about her husband, and after this she goes to Butyrki Prison. In both places the counter clerks slam down their windows in her face. She already wrote to Pieck, to Dimitroff, Ulbricht and Bredel, but no one is able or willing to give her any information as to whether her husband will return, whether his arrest was a mistake or whether he’s being put on trial, whether he’ll be sent into exile or shot. Or whether he’s already been shot. With the arrest of the person who was closer to her than any other, her own life has become fundamentally inaccessible to her .
I petition you for acceptance into the Soviet Federation and request that you give me the opportunity to prove myself as a Soviet.

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. As semi-anticipated, the p.s. aka I will need until tomorrow to return and catch up with you. NPR’s Bookworm is devoting an upcoming episode to PERMANENT GREEN LIGHT, and Zac and I are off recording that this morning. For now, turn your consideration to the featured and terrific Jenny Erpenbeck novel, thanks, and I will see you in the morning (my time).

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