Condensed Article : Pornography
"
In all our years of watching porn we have never properly resolved what we think about how, why and whether it is degrading to women. We suspect that it might be. We suspect that pornography might be degrading to everybody.
The untruths it taught me on top of this disappointment - that women are always available, that sex is about what a man can do to a woman - I am only now, more than two decades on, finally succeeding in unlearning.
The problem with pornography beings when, instead of being a temporary stop on the way to full sexual relations, it becomes a full time place of residence.
The more time you spend in this fantasy world, the more difficult it becomes to make the transition to reality. Just like drugs, pornography provides a quick fix, a masturbatory universe people can get stuck in, This can result in their not being able to involve anyone else'.
In pornography, unlike in real life, there is no criticism, real or imagined, of male performance.
The pornographic world is a place in which men find their authority unchallenged and in which women are their willing, even grateful servants. The illusion is created that women are really in their rightful place and that there is, after all, no real and serious challenge to male authority. In this light, the patently ridiculous scenario of the pretty female flat-hunter (or hitch-hiker, driver with broken down car, or any number of similar such vulnerable roles) who is happy to let herself be gang-banged by a group of overweight, hair-shouldered couch potatoes makes perfect psychological sense.
My whole reason for being in this industry is to satisfy the desire of the men in the world who basically don't care much for women and want to see the men in the industry getting even with the women they couldn't have when they were growing up. So we come on a woman's face or brutalise her sexually: we're getting even for lost dreams.
Pornography answers men's fetishistic need for visual proof of phallic potency.
Men's specific fears of impotence, feeding of infantile castration anxiety, generate hostility towards women. Through pornography, real women can be avoided, male anxiety soothed and delusions of phallic prowess indulged, by intimations of the rock-hard, larger than life male organ.
I've even seen pictures of men being buggered by a pig. But once you start going down that slope, you get very quickly jaded.
You can easily get to much of it . It's deadening, nullifying, gratuitous, unsatisfying. At one point I was single for three years and I used a lot of porn then. After a while, it made me feel worse.
There have been too many times when I have guiltily resorted to impersonal fantasy because the genuine love I felt for a woman wasn't enough to convert feelings into performance. And in those sorry secret moments, I have resented deeply my lifelong indoctrination into the aesthetic of the centrefold.
People who use pornography feel dead inside, and they are trying to avoid being aware of that pain. There is a sense of liberation, which is temporary: that's why pornography is so repetitive - you have to go back again and again.
The thing about it is that, unlike real life, it is incredibly safe. I'm frightened of real sex, which is unscripted and unpredictable. And so I engage in pornography, which is totally under my control. But, of course, it also brings intense disappointment, precisely because it is not what I'm really searching for. It's rather like a hungry person standing outside the window of a restaurant, thinking that they're going to get fed.
Even my fantasies about 'real' people, I am really transforming them into pieces of walking pornography. It is not the reality of who they are that I focus on, but the fantasy I project on to them.
The very least pornography does is make sexism sexy.
What do you want to say when you get to the end of your life? That you wish you'd spent more time wanking on the internet?
"
In all our years of watching porn we have never properly resolved what we think about how, why and whether it is degrading to women. We suspect that it might be. We suspect that pornography might be degrading to everybody.
The untruths it taught me on top of this disappointment - that women are always available, that sex is about what a man can do to a woman - I am only now, more than two decades on, finally succeeding in unlearning.
The problem with pornography beings when, instead of being a temporary stop on the way to full sexual relations, it becomes a full time place of residence.
The more time you spend in this fantasy world, the more difficult it becomes to make the transition to reality. Just like drugs, pornography provides a quick fix, a masturbatory universe people can get stuck in, This can result in their not being able to involve anyone else'.
In pornography, unlike in real life, there is no criticism, real or imagined, of male performance.
The pornographic world is a place in which men find their authority unchallenged and in which women are their willing, even grateful servants. The illusion is created that women are really in their rightful place and that there is, after all, no real and serious challenge to male authority. In this light, the patently ridiculous scenario of the pretty female flat-hunter (or hitch-hiker, driver with broken down car, or any number of similar such vulnerable roles) who is happy to let herself be gang-banged by a group of overweight, hair-shouldered couch potatoes makes perfect psychological sense.
My whole reason for being in this industry is to satisfy the desire of the men in the world who basically don't care much for women and want to see the men in the industry getting even with the women they couldn't have when they were growing up. So we come on a woman's face or brutalise her sexually: we're getting even for lost dreams.
Pornography answers men's fetishistic need for visual proof of phallic potency.
Men's specific fears of impotence, feeding of infantile castration anxiety, generate hostility towards women. Through pornography, real women can be avoided, male anxiety soothed and delusions of phallic prowess indulged, by intimations of the rock-hard, larger than life male organ.
I've even seen pictures of men being buggered by a pig. But once you start going down that slope, you get very quickly jaded.
You can easily get to much of it . It's deadening, nullifying, gratuitous, unsatisfying. At one point I was single for three years and I used a lot of porn then. After a while, it made me feel worse.
There have been too many times when I have guiltily resorted to impersonal fantasy because the genuine love I felt for a woman wasn't enough to convert feelings into performance. And in those sorry secret moments, I have resented deeply my lifelong indoctrination into the aesthetic of the centrefold.
People who use pornography feel dead inside, and they are trying to avoid being aware of that pain. There is a sense of liberation, which is temporary: that's why pornography is so repetitive - you have to go back again and again.
The thing about it is that, unlike real life, it is incredibly safe. I'm frightened of real sex, which is unscripted and unpredictable. And so I engage in pornography, which is totally under my control. But, of course, it also brings intense disappointment, precisely because it is not what I'm really searching for. It's rather like a hungry person standing outside the window of a restaurant, thinking that they're going to get fed.
Even my fantasies about 'real' people, I am really transforming them into pieces of walking pornography. It is not the reality of who they are that I focus on, but the fantasy I project on to them.
The very least pornography does is make sexism sexy.
What do you want to say when you get to the end of your life? That you wish you'd spent more time wanking on the internet?
"
Here To Go : Planet R-101 (Part 2)
"
Somebody said that the lesson of the 60s was the fact that all the paranoids turned out to be right!
Cut-Ups are taking the actual matter of writing as if it wee the same as the matter involved in sculpting or in painting... and handling it with a plastic manner. The Dreamachine is something else again, as it gives an extended vision of one's own interior capacities, which could also be overwhelming.
Painting itself looks to me like it's on its way out - as though it were dying on the vine. And this recognition of one's own interior possibilities might very well supplant it.
Well, it's also difficult to live with, because people - as recently as this week, where I've been frequenting all the art dealers that I know who are sitting there ensconsed in their art fairs dealing in million dollar, half million dollar pictures that they have hung around the walls of their stalls - are just sitting there on their balls saying, 'You know that's what we're doing, and you, dear Brion, as much as we appreciate you, you're still very avant-garde... We're tired old gentlemen, you know - if you'd only come to us twenty years ago when we were full of enthusiasm...' Of course, twenty years ago I did.... I've known them that long, and they gave the same answer then. They were all after ten minute masterpieces by Andy Warhol or Frank Stella or any of those stars that they've invented, who sell for huge sums of money.
And half of their Durers are fakes! At least half. Obvious fakes. And they say, 'Yes, yes, we know they're fakes, but you know, they've been here so long - they were given by somebody in the eighteenth century, so they have some kind of historical value, and we're not saving them simply because they are real or are very good, but....'
Do you know how much the idea of having a room to yourself has changed the whole sexual scene? In fact, I think that really the basis of the sexual scene is the fact that it's been possible to be able to be alone to do these fancy things that you've thought up.
I was once sitting with a man who had four wives and I suggested that any one of his wives might have seen him with his clothes off and he was shocked at the idea. And sex is very quick, and religious law demands immediate washing after it so it's all bangbangbang amd shoo.... zoot to wash yourself! None of this langurous lying around and this luxury situation that everybody's thought about; for our ancestors that never really existed at all.
Everybody loses a little something here and there on the way through this rat race.
Somebody said that the lesson of the 60s was the fact that all the paranoids turned out to be right!
Cut-Ups are taking the actual matter of writing as if it wee the same as the matter involved in sculpting or in painting... and handling it with a plastic manner. The Dreamachine is something else again, as it gives an extended vision of one's own interior capacities, which could also be overwhelming.
Painting itself looks to me like it's on its way out - as though it were dying on the vine. And this recognition of one's own interior possibilities might very well supplant it.
Well, it's also difficult to live with, because people - as recently as this week, where I've been frequenting all the art dealers that I know who are sitting there ensconsed in their art fairs dealing in million dollar, half million dollar pictures that they have hung around the walls of their stalls - are just sitting there on their balls saying, 'You know that's what we're doing, and you, dear Brion, as much as we appreciate you, you're still very avant-garde... We're tired old gentlemen, you know - if you'd only come to us twenty years ago when we were full of enthusiasm...' Of course, twenty years ago I did.... I've known them that long, and they gave the same answer then. They were all after ten minute masterpieces by Andy Warhol or Frank Stella or any of those stars that they've invented, who sell for huge sums of money.
And half of their Durers are fakes! At least half. Obvious fakes. And they say, 'Yes, yes, we know they're fakes, but you know, they've been here so long - they were given by somebody in the eighteenth century, so they have some kind of historical value, and we're not saving them simply because they are real or are very good, but....'
Do you know how much the idea of having a room to yourself has changed the whole sexual scene? In fact, I think that really the basis of the sexual scene is the fact that it's been possible to be able to be alone to do these fancy things that you've thought up.
I was once sitting with a man who had four wives and I suggested that any one of his wives might have seen him with his clothes off and he was shocked at the idea. And sex is very quick, and religious law demands immediate washing after it so it's all bangbangbang amd shoo.... zoot to wash yourself! None of this langurous lying around and this luxury situation that everybody's thought about; for our ancestors that never really existed at all.
Everybody loses a little something here and there on the way through this rat race.
Here To Go : Planet R-101 (Part 1)
"
I recorded the music in my own place, The 1001 Nights, only when it was fading and even in later years I never was able to lay my hands on truly worthwhile machines to record sounds that will never be heard again, anywhere.
I started cutting up a spoken text... put it several times through their electronic equipment, and arrived at brand new words that had never been said, by me or by anybody necessarily, onto the tape. But the experiment was withdrawn very quickly there, I mean, it was... time was up and they were made rather nervous by it, they were quite shocked by the results coming out of the speakers and were only too glad to bring the experiment to an end. ("Well, what did they expect? A chorus of angels with tips on the stock market?" - William Burroughs).
William loved the idea of getting his hands on his own words, branding them and rustling anyone else's he wanted.
So I suggested to William that we should use only the best, only the high-charged material: King James' translation of the Song of Songs of Solomon, Eliot's translation of Anabase by St. John perse, Shakespeare's sugar'd Sonnets and a few lines from the Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley about his mescaline experiences.
Magic, practiced more assiduously than hygiene in Morocco, through ecstatic dancing to the music of the secret brotherhoods, is, there, a form of psychic hygiene. You know your music when you hear it, one day. You fall into line and dance until you pay the piper.
And I heard some music at that festival about which I said: 'I just want to hear that music for the rest of my life. I wanna here it everyday all day.' And, uh, there were a great many other kinds of extraordinary music offered to one, mostly of the Ecstatic Brotherhood who enter into trance, so that in itself - it was the first time I'd seen large groups of people going into trance - was enough to have kept my attention, but beyond and above all of that somewhere I hear this funny little music, and I said 'Ah! That's my music! And I must find out where it comes from.' So I stayed and within a year I found that it came from Jajouka.
I recognised very quickly that what they were performing was the Roman Lupercal, and the Roman Lupercalia was a race run from one part of Rome, a cave under the Capitoline Hill, which Mussolini claimed to have discovered, but is now generally conceded to be some 10 or 15 meters down... the point was to go out to the gates of Rome and contact Pan, the God of Forests, the little Goat God, who was Sexuality itself, and to run back through the streets with the news that Pan, was still out there fucking as he flailed the women in the crowds.
And up there on the mountain another element is added, in as much as the women, who live apart from the men, whose private lives are apart from the men's lives to a point where even women's language isn't immediately understood by men - women can say things to each other in front of men that men don't understand, or care to be bothered with, it's just women's nonsense y'see... and they sing sort of secret little songs enticing Bou Jeloud the Father of Skins, who is Pan, to come to the hills, saying that... we will give you the prettiest girls in the village, we will give you Crosseyed Aisha... Pan is supposed to be so dumb that he falls for this because he will fuck anything.
In actual fact women do not dance in front of any but their own husbands, the women in Arab life, all belly-dancing movies to the contrary, do not dance in public, or never did, and most certainly don't in villages, ever dance where they're seen by men any more than men dance in front of women...
I kept some notes and drawings, meaning to write a recipe book of magic. My Pan people were furious when they found this out. They poisoned my food twice and then, apparently, resorted to more efficacious means to get rid of me...
A group of them came down from the mountain and stayed a period of time, living in the house with me, and so I heard them practising, I hear them teaching the younger children how to play, and learned more and more about the intricacies of the music... I found out various interesting things about them, first of all that they had a secret language, that they can talk through the music... but that they also have a language of which I really learned nothing, I didn't have the time to, but I think that at that point they would have been willing to teach me a great deal about it, even to start writing a vocabulary to find out what it was, which language it was they speak in private... but, uh, the restaurant folded with Moroccan Independence.
Brian had wanted to take the Stone's music rather toward the openings that Moroccan music made possible, and, uh, which have appealed to other musicians since and I think will have even more and more effect in the future... but Mick was very determined to keep it right down to that R&B which they had ripped off the American Black music, which he found a perfectly good product to last for the next 20 years, and has lasted 10, at any rate...
As to how a piece of spoiled canvas or scribbled-on paper suddenly becomes worth an enormous amount of money... has nothing to do with the case of literature and life and a career.
More people can read a book than can 'read' a picture.
It deals with the area of interior visions which has never been tapped before. Except in history, one knows of cases - in French history, Catherine de Medici for example, had Nostradamus sitting up on top of a tower... one didn't have any screen between the man on top of the tower and the Sun. And he used to sit up there and with the fingers of his hands spread like this would flicked his fingers over his closed eyes, and would interpret his visions in a way which were of influence to her in regard to her political powers... they were like instructions from a higher power.
I have seen in it practically everything that I have ever seen - that is all imagery.
The Alpha rhythm contains the whole human program of vision.
"
I recorded the music in my own place, The 1001 Nights, only when it was fading and even in later years I never was able to lay my hands on truly worthwhile machines to record sounds that will never be heard again, anywhere.
I started cutting up a spoken text... put it several times through their electronic equipment, and arrived at brand new words that had never been said, by me or by anybody necessarily, onto the tape. But the experiment was withdrawn very quickly there, I mean, it was... time was up and they were made rather nervous by it, they were quite shocked by the results coming out of the speakers and were only too glad to bring the experiment to an end. ("Well, what did they expect? A chorus of angels with tips on the stock market?" - William Burroughs).
William loved the idea of getting his hands on his own words, branding them and rustling anyone else's he wanted.
So I suggested to William that we should use only the best, only the high-charged material: King James' translation of the Song of Songs of Solomon, Eliot's translation of Anabase by St. John perse, Shakespeare's sugar'd Sonnets and a few lines from the Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley about his mescaline experiences.
Magic, practiced more assiduously than hygiene in Morocco, through ecstatic dancing to the music of the secret brotherhoods, is, there, a form of psychic hygiene. You know your music when you hear it, one day. You fall into line and dance until you pay the piper.
And I heard some music at that festival about which I said: 'I just want to hear that music for the rest of my life. I wanna here it everyday all day.' And, uh, there were a great many other kinds of extraordinary music offered to one, mostly of the Ecstatic Brotherhood who enter into trance, so that in itself - it was the first time I'd seen large groups of people going into trance - was enough to have kept my attention, but beyond and above all of that somewhere I hear this funny little music, and I said 'Ah! That's my music! And I must find out where it comes from.' So I stayed and within a year I found that it came from Jajouka.
I recognised very quickly that what they were performing was the Roman Lupercal, and the Roman Lupercalia was a race run from one part of Rome, a cave under the Capitoline Hill, which Mussolini claimed to have discovered, but is now generally conceded to be some 10 or 15 meters down... the point was to go out to the gates of Rome and contact Pan, the God of Forests, the little Goat God, who was Sexuality itself, and to run back through the streets with the news that Pan, was still out there fucking as he flailed the women in the crowds.
And up there on the mountain another element is added, in as much as the women, who live apart from the men, whose private lives are apart from the men's lives to a point where even women's language isn't immediately understood by men - women can say things to each other in front of men that men don't understand, or care to be bothered with, it's just women's nonsense y'see... and they sing sort of secret little songs enticing Bou Jeloud the Father of Skins, who is Pan, to come to the hills, saying that... we will give you the prettiest girls in the village, we will give you Crosseyed Aisha... Pan is supposed to be so dumb that he falls for this because he will fuck anything.
In actual fact women do not dance in front of any but their own husbands, the women in Arab life, all belly-dancing movies to the contrary, do not dance in public, or never did, and most certainly don't in villages, ever dance where they're seen by men any more than men dance in front of women...
I kept some notes and drawings, meaning to write a recipe book of magic. My Pan people were furious when they found this out. They poisoned my food twice and then, apparently, resorted to more efficacious means to get rid of me...
A group of them came down from the mountain and stayed a period of time, living in the house with me, and so I heard them practising, I hear them teaching the younger children how to play, and learned more and more about the intricacies of the music... I found out various interesting things about them, first of all that they had a secret language, that they can talk through the music... but that they also have a language of which I really learned nothing, I didn't have the time to, but I think that at that point they would have been willing to teach me a great deal about it, even to start writing a vocabulary to find out what it was, which language it was they speak in private... but, uh, the restaurant folded with Moroccan Independence.
Brian had wanted to take the Stone's music rather toward the openings that Moroccan music made possible, and, uh, which have appealed to other musicians since and I think will have even more and more effect in the future... but Mick was very determined to keep it right down to that R&B which they had ripped off the American Black music, which he found a perfectly good product to last for the next 20 years, and has lasted 10, at any rate...
As to how a piece of spoiled canvas or scribbled-on paper suddenly becomes worth an enormous amount of money... has nothing to do with the case of literature and life and a career.
More people can read a book than can 'read' a picture.
It deals with the area of interior visions which has never been tapped before. Except in history, one knows of cases - in French history, Catherine de Medici for example, had Nostradamus sitting up on top of a tower... one didn't have any screen between the man on top of the tower and the Sun. And he used to sit up there and with the fingers of his hands spread like this would flicked his fingers over his closed eyes, and would interpret his visions in a way which were of influence to her in regard to her political powers... they were like instructions from a higher power.
I have seen in it practically everything that I have ever seen - that is all imagery.
The Alpha rhythm contains the whole human program of vision.
"
Performance Transcript : Coum Transmissions
Cease to Exist No. 4
Our story begins with an attempt to erease security. If you decide to clutch at a straw you must expect COUM to try and tear it away. COUM are not trying to produce 'good art' as collectievely agreed by critics and dealers.
1). Genesis stands holding a bottle half milk half piss. He drinks it as fast as he can without breathing, if it runs through his clothes[it] does not matter. He tries hard to keep all his muscles so tense that they hurt.
2). Cosey begins naked. She has open wounds on her breasts. She also has a raw slash from her fanny to her navel. It is coagulating, about an hour old. She takes a needle & thread and sews up her breast cuts very neatly, just as if she is sewing a pair of trousers.
3). Small pools of blood collect on thee floor amongst thee yellow polenta. shadows of arrows. Cosey takes a syringe and pushes thee needle into her sewn breast, filling it with blood. She injects thee blood slowly into thee top of thee cut from her fanny to her navel. It runs through thee cut into her cunt and onto thee floor. She sticks a second jypodermic right into her cunt filling it with a muxture of blood and milk.
4). Genesis removes his blood and milk soaked cloathes. Under them he wears a saran-wrap jock strap over his testicle area. He takes a hypodermic syringe and stabs it into a testicle, fills it with blood, pics a black egg off thee floor, stabs thee syringe into it, empties thee syringe.
5). Cosey takes a rusty razor blade and cuts a rectangle into thee skin oh her forearm. Carefully slicing under one edge she lifts up thee flap of skin and places a passport photograph of Genesis under thee flap licking off excess blood.
6). Genesis takes another syringe of blood from his testicles and injects it back into his forearm. He does this repeatedly, also injecting a total of seven blackk eggs with his own blood. He is stood on a square of sharp black nails and ice.
7). Cosey opens thee lips of her cunt wide and pushes in her fingers, masturbating.
8). Genesis fills a spinal syringe with milk, another with blood. He takes each in turn and injects all their contents in turn up his anus. He pisses inta a large glas. And he squeezes out thee last drop he farts and blood mingled with milk shoots out of his arse.
9). Cosey slithers through all thee liguid towards him, lapping it up, rubbing it into her cunt.
10). Genesis vomits trying to swallow a 10 inch steel nail.
11). They meet in a pool of vomit and join together cunt to cock, legs entwined, on thee wet floor.
"
I used to do things like stick severed chicken's heads over my penis, and then try to masturbate them, whilst pouring maggots all over it... In Los Angeles, in 1976, at the Isntitute of Contemporary Arts (LAICA), Cosey and I did a performance where I was naked, I drank a bottle of whiskey and stood on a lot of tacks. And then i gave myself enemas with blood, milk and urine, and then broke wind so a jet of blood milk and urine combined shot across the floor in front of Chris Burden and assorted visual artists. I then licked it off the floor, which was a not-clean concrete floor. Then I got a 10-inch nail and tried to swallow it, which made me vomit. Then I licked the vomit off the floor and Cosey helped me lick the vomit off the floor. And she was naked and trying to sever her vagina to her navel with a razor blade-- well, she cut it from her vagina to her navel with a razor blade, and she injected blood into her vagina which then trickled out, and we sucked the blood from her vagina into a syringe and injected it into eggs painted black, which we then tried to eat. And we vomited again. | which we then used for enemas. Then I needed to urinate, so I urinated into a large glass bottle and drank it all while it was still warm. (This was all improvised.) And then we gradually crawled to each other, licking the floor clean.('cause we don't like to leave a mess, y'know; after all, it's not fair to insult an art gallery). Chris Burden, who's known for being outrageous, walked out with his girlfriend, saying, "This is not art, this is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, and these people are sick." In Amsterdam we did a performance in the red-light district. The people in the theater asked, "What kind of lighting do you want?" and we said, "Oh, just put on all the red lights." Then we played tapes of Charles Manson's LP, Lie, cut-up with soundtracks of trains going through thunderstorms, and we went through all all different kinds of fetishes. Sleazy cut his throat and had to kind of do a tourniquet on his throat, and Cosey and i did this thing of spitting at each other and then licking all the spit off, and then licking each other's genitals, and then having sexual intercourse while her hair was set on fire with candles. There was an audience of around 2,000 people. |
| And each day it got heavier, so that on Easter Sunday I was crucufied on a wooden cross, whipped with 2 bullwhips, covered in human vomit and chicken wings and chicken legs, while I had to hold burning torches - people in the audience could hear the skin burning on my hands. And then i urinated down Cosey's legs while she stuck a lighted candle up her vagina, so there were flames coming out of her vagina. Just ordinary everyday ways of avoiding the commercials on the television.... " | |
Condensed Interview : James Turrell
"
It's not hard to believe in reincarnation. I feel like I've had several lifetimes in this life. Those are somewhere in memory.
My grandmother used to tell me that as you sat in Quaker silence you were to go inside to greet the light. That expression stuck with me.
The vision we have in a lucid dream often has greater lucidity and clarity than vision with the eyes open. The fact that we have this vision with the eyes closed is very interesting. And the idea that it's possible to actually work in a way, on the outside, to remind one of how we see on the inside, is something that became more interesting to me as an artist.
We sit in the cave with our backs to reality, looking at the reflection of reality on the cave wall. As an analogy to how we perceive, and the imperfections of perception, I think this is very interesting.
There are some very interesting experiments that were done several years ago. They show that light is aware that we are looking.
We're not apart from nature. In fact, that's one of our greatest conceits, to even think that we're somehow apart from nature.
We generate light at night in the cities to offset our fear of each other, but lighting the night sky cuts off access to the universe. And the territory we inhabit is a visual territory. There are certainly aural aspects to it, I'll grant that, but if you cut off access to the universe, you don't live in it. It's a psychological change to do that, to light the sky and cut off access to the stars.
As you fly, you do see space that is determined not so much by physical confines, but by atmospheric and light phenomena within the space.
I think for instance of the Hopis and some of the Southwest Indians, who live on the mesas. They are essentially "sky people," as the Zuni call themselves. Sky city at Acama. And also the Hopis live in that situation. They actually live in the sky. Certainly the Tibetans felt they were living in the sky. They really felt that.
One of the most interesting times I had occurred when I was training. I came down over Pyramid lake near Tahoe, and it was an absolutely still morning. I could see the reflection of the sky in the lake. I rolled upside down, and it looked perfect upside down. I rolled right side up, and it looked just the same. Of course, you can feel gravity, but when you do a barrel roll, you take that gravity into the roll. So you have to remember whether you're right side up, or right side down in relation to the real world. There is this beauty of the reflection.
I would like to have the physicality of my light at least remind you of this other way of seeing. That's as best I can do. It's terrible hubris to say this is a religious art. But it is something that does reminds us of that way we are when we are thinking of things beyond us.
"
Hollywood Babylon : Kenneth Anger
Kenneth Anger on:
TV: 'The Vampire of our Time'.
MTV: 'I've seen my shot sequences copied time and time again on MTV. I wish they would hire me for something instead of just stealing my ideas. I mean, I could do with the work'.
BBC World Service: 'I can't dream, but at least I can listen to the nightmares of the real world'.
The Rolling Stones: 'Thousands of white butterflies died for no reason. They were going to release them but they all died from the heat. I said to Mick Jagger, "They're not just a cheap prop, you know." He said, "I know, they cost $1000."'
Anita Pallenberg: 'She thought she was a witch, but she was just a bitch, if you ask me'.
Paramount: 'They built the studio right over the tombs of the first pioneers. They didn't remove the bodies'.
Scientology: 'Getting sued by Scientologists is like getting pecked to death by ducks.'
His Name: 'It says Anger on my passport, that's all you need to know'.
Dream Machines : Present London Addresses
there are two dream machines being displayed in london, these are the addresses.
1.183 EUSTON ROAD LONDON NW1 2BE
2. 79 BEAK STREET LONDON W1F 9SU
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