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* Assign each member of the group the different components of the sentence structure of COLOURLESS GREEN IDEAS SLEEP FURIOUSLY [Adjective / Adjective / Noun / Verb / Adverb]. Each group member puts forward 5 words in order to generate 5 new sentences. * As a group, decide on one sentence to collectively generate a response to. Spend 5 minutes writing a response to each word (as below). Read the results aloud to one another.

* Each person returns to the word they contributed and aggregates the individual responses to that word. Spend 30mins crafting a narrative that brings the individual accounts together. * Read these aloud to one another. Write and edit for another 30mins.

SEAMLESS CORROSIVE EMOTION BLENDS UNPREDICTABLY

Seamless, imperceptible, blunt are their moves, their clothes, their small talk. Ageless woman with bleached hair, chubby children and a man with frameless glasses and sleeves rolled to elbows. They taste of apple juice, the arch of her neck slowly breezes out an adult candy smell. Her name is Humble, his Ernest. They live on the East Coast, where the seamless sea opens up from the fog on Sunday mornings. Are they dutifully surrendered or violently subsumbed was her worry?

From their minimalist seaview lounge there is little to see but much to take in at one time. He finds it laborious to look out from the double glazed windows, without wondering about the edges of things. There appears to be only two elements, sea and air, both with molecules colliding and merging constantly yet retaining their separation. The colors uncertain, lacking definitions or names, smells of them coming to the palate in waves as the sea gently rocks in front of them. Surely the conditions of such a partnership can’t never be so smooth.

Was there freedom in this littleness of the clear division of things or was this the horror they were both too nervous to admit? Could they manage to entertain each other here? How had it all become so seamless? Like they were a single flowing piece of fabric, unending, enveloped, the wearer caressed and smothered by its intoxicatory fibres. The garment holds and demands to be held. Who should give up their seams?

Seamless and solid, the cough drop rattles against the sides of her teeth with a gentle clack, clack clack’ sound in her temples. The drop is clearly red and opens her airwaves with an intense gust of eucalyptus which tasted kinda foul mixed with the tart fruity artificiality. He leaned in from behind and rested his forearms on her desk, the hot sickly sweet breath against the side of her cheek. Clearing her throat she apologised and retrieved a tatty kleenex from her breast pocket, blew her nose loudly, the head…. gaining fluidity with the help from the medical lozenge. “You’ll need to reformat that data in keeping with last weeks spreadsheet’ she says, and nodding his head curtly he turns on one heel and returns to the lounge.

Seamless has become coupled with that which is efficient - always slightly suggestive of equilibrium and kind of mutual meeting point. Is where one things meeting another no longer important nor desirable? Who was required to relinquish their edges?

[Earlier]

Corroded rusted gate groans open and she welcomes you in. Your room is on the top floor, something like a kamikaze-loggia, a balcony with a roof attached. “You have the whole view for yourself!” she screams out, “And a hammock for afternoon naps, gratis”. Everything’s good, if not for the smell of a nigh end coming from the folds of her dress.

Everything is good if your name is Grettel.

[Later]

“Corrosive shit!” she said and drank another mouthful deeply.

“That’ll put hairs on your chest!’

“Aye, right…” I say taking the bottle from her hand. The smell is pure ethanol, it burns my nose hairs to smithereens. The bottle is colder than the air outside. I lift it to my lips feel the booze slowly travel down my esophagus and heat my insides. My cheeks grow blush, the liquid goes the wrong way, my eyes water and lungs splutter. She holds my eye contact and laughs.

“Jesus”I wheeze. “Where the fuck did you get that shit?”

[More time passes]

She was often accused of having a corrosive personality. Her reliance on sarcasm won her little friends. She was talked about as though this chemical process emanated from her, that she somehow permeated it onto the emotional matter of others. Few understood that this caustic action functioned internally too - gnawing her to bits, wearing her away.

These corrosive ideas had begun by populating her mind, then they had spread, metastasizing in every cavity and hollow of her body. Her synapses ached as caustic notions crept from limb to extremity and back again. Corrosive ideas parting her lips, opening her mouth, pressing air from her lungs into imperceptible sounds. But as she opened her mouth they would flake, give up their poisonous particles, somehow coming out quite natural. She silently observed this pattern over time as it grew louder.

She wanted to be more like the sea. To contain salts and things that tingle upon the tongue. She wished that she could crystallize these sensations, attach them to any toxic argument that came her way, dissolving them into nothingness.

[Just after now]

“Corrosive little cunt”, every syllable drips with the spittle of incomparable rage. “Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused?” My mouth lolls ajar, air escapes but nothing follows.

Emotion is not his forte. Hesitantly rebooting, his computer’s rousing start up sound hits his face, travels through his open mouth and down his throat. It’s turning on which is a good sign. He thinks it is an illusion but the light stays on and contents load. A gentle rush rocks the ratio of his mojo: emotion, emotionless, less and less and then a little more and then nothing. Is relief apparently distinct from reason or knowledge? He wouldn’t know how to possess relief unless the emotion became noun in the true sense, shaped for purpose and recounted physically. His stomach flips. Emotion forms tangible edges which swell and contract deep inside. He goes to his mailbox, today it’s not empty. Clicking an inviting plump envelope – new message windows haven’t been open for a while – reveals a starkly brief message. The power cuts. Fuck. Restart, reboot, update. He is going to learn how to use this feeling and then control it.

The failure of the computer to turn back on was an emotionless exchange which stripped him of the power to end things first. Stomach lurching with dejection and mixing with a healthy dose of pride, congealed as bitter self entitlement. Preoccupied with distraction he indulges himself by imagining the contents of the message. Ideally their words would provoke an immediate and poorly formed rebuttal. The surge of temporary elation peetering into satiating regret, followed by lingering queasiness. Over the course of the evening emotions concoct a lumpen mass and the only way to cut through the stodge is the introduction of something more exciting.

She blends the shades gently with a makeup brush, ensuring the skin tones come out matt and even. Painting over any blemishes and ensuring signs of potential embarrassment remain concealed, ambition hung densely in the air. It isn’t for debate, this isn’t Plato’s bloody cave, it’s a public toilet, don’t challenge me on this, she says to the mirror.

Back inn the main room, SHE LOOKs AT THE NEATLY POLISHED LEATHER SHOES IN EACH PAIR OF FEET AND BEIGE TONES OF SOCKS GROWING OUT OF THEM. FOLLOWs her gaze up THE LEG OVER THE GREASES ON THE KEENS UP OVER THE MANSPREADING CROTCH. A BROWN HAND RESTs LIMPLY ON HIS THIGH. Blends well, she judged. Blue shirt works well with the skin tone and gently underlines his presence. Blends from blue to slightly darker blue at his neck, but it is blue. Not fucking indigo, not saphire, blue. Just blue.

He is bending back and forward, attentive to words, quick in monosylabical affirmations, smooth in hand gestures. Yes, It’s all about the right amount of swag. Too much is gaudy and too less is pointless. You don’t want it make cloudy, troubled, turbid, thick. Dissapointingly, with time, his apparent smoothness becomes troubled. A space in which all lose their distinctiveness. A so-called beginners luck. His hue glitteres slickly with tacky consistency.

My well trodden daily walk to work became lengthened in the most tedious of ways. I bristled with the agitation of not being able to maintain my usual gait and pace; I was late and ill prepared for the weather. The ground underfoot was treacherous, each step requiring a renegotiating of my position. The rain had frozen, encasing the pavements in slick black ice. I remember complaining about a similar situation once before which was met with a haughty reminder from a friend of a Swedish saying; no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes. It seems I hadn’t learned my lesson. This nagging memory immediately redirected my feelings of frustration from the weather to myself. I had not been subject to an act of God but was a victim of my own ill-preparedness. Again.

I thought of our deep-seated predilection for attempting to divine the unpredictability of the weather - despite the fact that on the west coast you can place a pretty certain wager on it being miserable. Maybe my ill-preparedness was a sign of the optimist in me, though that seems unlikely.

Today was going to be ‘one of those days’. I cringed at my use of such a hackneyed expression, and scold myself at my complete lack of imagination. It’s peculiar how an incident arising from unpredictability unfolds with such certainty. The most mundane form of divination. This self-fulfilling prophecy came true later that day as my seat reclined backwards as I was reaching for my coffee, spilling its dark brown content which pooled on the tiled floor. *CAUTION: WET FLOOR*- treacherous ground underfoot. Maybe that’s what the soothsayers and augurs understood more than most; unpredictability is the only thing that is ever predictable. It’s unknownness, uncertainty is its most dependable quality.

I should have seen it coming.

To be able to categorise a chain of events or circumstance as unpredictable seems to be a question of perspective, of positioning. It requires the powers of observation of The Narrator, whose grammatical placement means they need not be concerned with such things as past, present, future. How anything can be cast as unpredictable by someone who’s very existence is founded on objective reliability I’m not quite sure. Like the soothsayer, the Narrator seems to possess the prophetic ability to make certainty out of uncertainty.

Unpredictably is overrated. I’m not sure I understand those who find liberation in chance. I remember having such a romantic notion of risk, uncertainty, unpredictability. Investment in risky stakes was a bind in which I entered into a contract with myself in which sheer willpower, determination, and work ethic would surely guarantee a payoff. The certainty of maintaining attachments to problematic objects seems to offer some superficial comfort. Maybe it's a strategy of learning to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I am reminded of a man quoting another man on the definition of precarity as being the sensation of walking on shifting sands. More treacherous ground ahead I guess. Perhaps I should take up Amathomancy - a form of divination by reading sand.

Playing with an epistolary form. One A4 page and a pen. Writing a letter. But first, randomly choose a book, a page, a line - and there goes a sentence we must include in a letter.

#lucy lippard #f r david #i see/you mean

We are playing with an epistolary form. One A4 page and a pen. Writing a letter. But first, we randomly choose a book, a page, a line - and there goes a sentence we must include in a letter.

We are playing with an epistolary form.

One A4 page and a pen. Writing a letter.

But first, we randomly choose a book, a page, a line - and there goes a sentence we must include in a letter.

#tove jansson #letters

#chomskybot #baltic39 #figure4

write 5 minutes on each paragraph beginning with SEAMLESS CORROSIVE EMOTION BLENDS UNPREDICTABLY

Seamless. A single flowing piece of fabric, unending. Enveloped, the wearer is caressed and smothere by its intoxicatory fibres. The garment holds and demands to be held.

“Corrosive, petty little man”, every syllable was dripping with the spittle of incomparable rage. “Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused?” My mouth lolled ajar, air escaped but nothing followed.

Emotion, emotionless, emotion, emotionless, less and less and then a little more and then nothing. Eeeeee-moe-she-on, do you posses it?

Have you ever been without it?

I use the word emotionless to tell you that I think you are inhuman.

Blends from blue to slightly darker blue, but it is blue. I am Simon Legree and I am telling you it is blue. Not fucking indigo, not saphire, blue. Just blue. Don’t challenge me on this, I’m warning you. I don’t want to hear another peep out of you about the colour of the sky. It isn’t up for debate, this isn’t Plato’s bloody cave, it is whatever I say it is and that is all you need concern yourself with.

Unpredictably is the only way to proceed. Embrace not-knowing, become comfortable with being uncomfortable. Abduct your senses and let chance decide, it is the only control. Everything is broad. And everything can be meaningless without a means to make meaning mean something to you.

SEAMLESS CORROSIVE EMOTION BLENDS UNPREDICTABLY

SEAMLESS SEA OPENED UP FROM THE FOG. IN THE MINIMALISIM THERE WAS SO LITTLE TO SEE BUT SO MUCH OF IT TO TAKE IN ON ONE TIME WAS PROVING LABOUROUS. THERE WAS TWO ELEMNTS, SEA AND AIR, BOTH WITH MOLECULES COLLIDING AND MERGING CONSTATLY YET RETAINING THEIR SEPERATION. THE COLORS WERE UNCERTAIN, LAKING DEFINITIONS OR NAMES, SMELLS OF THEM COMING TO THE PALLET IN WAVES AS THE SEA GENTLY ROCKED THEM. WAS THERE FREEDOM IN THIS LITTLENESS OR HORROR? HOW COULD THEY ENTERTAIN EACH OTHER?

CORROSIVE IDEAS BEGUN TO POPULATE HER MIND BUT AS SHE OPEN HERE MOUTH THEY WOULD FLAKE, GIVE UP THEIR POISONOUS PARTICLES AND SOMEHOW COME OUT QUITE NEUTRAL. SHE OBSERVED THIS SILENTLY AND THE PATTERN GOT LOUDER. CORROSIVE IDEAS, PARTING HER LIPS, OPENING HER MOUTH, PRESSING AIR OUT FROM HER LUNG, FORMING A SOUND AND SOFT WORDS ROLLED OUT AGAIN. SHE WANTED TO BE MORE LIKE THE SEA, CONTAIN SALTS AND THINGS THAT TINGLED THE TONGUE. THAT CRYSTALLISED AND THEN ATTACHED CLEARLY CORRODING AWAY ANY TOXIC ARGUMENT THAT CAME HER WAY.

EMOTION WAS NOT HER FORTE. SHE LOVED THEM BUT COULD NEVER LIVE WITH THEM FOR LONG. LIKE THE KIND OF COOL FLAT MATE YOU ALWAYS WANTED THAT TURNED OUT NOT TO BE TRUE OR LIKE YOUR IDEA OF THE COOL BUT THEN THEY WOULD JUST BE A NORMAL PERSON THAT QUITE OFTEN MAKES CLUMSY SMALL TALK AND NEVER REALLY HAS LOUD SEX OR FUN FRIENDS OVER. EMOTION, SHE THOUGHT WAS AN ILLUSION, SOMETHING THAT COULD BE CONSTRUCTED AND HELD ONLY FOR SHORT FRAGMENTS OF TIME.

BLENDS OF AFTERSHAVE FLOATED AT THE GATE AND AMBITION HANG DENSELY IN THE AIR. SHE LOOKED AT THE NEATLY POLISHED LEATHER SHOES IN EACH PAIR OF FEET AND BEIGE TONES OF SOCKS GROWING OUT OF THEM. SHE STOPPED HER GAZE ON A DARK BROWN PAIR AND PAUSED, SHE FOLLOWED THE LEG OVER THE GREASES ON THE KEENS UP OVER THE MANSPREADING CROTCH, HER THOUGHTS CAME BACK AND AS SHE RESTED HER EYES ON THE BACK OF HIS BROWN HAND THAT RESTED LIMPLY ON HIS THIGH.

UNPREDICTABLY HER SEAT RECLINED BACKWARDS AS SHE WAS TRYING TO REACH FOR HER COFFEE, SPILLING ITS DARK BROWN CONTENT OVER THE TILED FLOOR. HE WAS HOLDING UP A PHONE WITH A SHIMMERING COVERS NEAR HIS EAR AND SPEAKING ABOUT MELONS.

Seamless corrosive emotion blend unpredictably

Seamless has become coupled with that which is efficient - always slightly suggestive of equilibrium and kind of mutual meeting point. But what about the edges of things? Who has given up their seams? Is where one things meeting another no longer important nor desirable? Who was required to relinquish their edges? Were they dutifully surrendered or violently subsumbed? Surely the conditions of such a partnership can’t be so smooth.

She was often accused of having a corrosive personality. Her reliance on sarcasm won her little friends. She was talked about as though this chemical process emanated from her, that she inflicted on others. Few understood that this caustic action functioned internally too - gnawed to bits, worn away.

Emotion is apparently distinct from reason or knowledge.

Blend comes via a notion of to make cloudy, troubled, turbid, thick. It’s apparent smoothness becomes troubled. A space in which all lose their distinctiveness.

Unpredictably is the only thing that is ever predictable. It’s unknownness, uncertainty is its most dependable quality.

Seamless, unperceiptable, blunt. Their moves, their clothes, their small talk. Ageless women with bleached hair, chubby children. Men with frameless glasses and sleeves rolled to elbows. They taste of apple juice mixed with morning breath. The arch of her neck slowly breezes out with an adult candy smell. Her name was Humble and she lived on the East Coast.

Corrosive, rusted gate opens and she and her baggy welcomes you. The room is on the top floor, something like kamikadze-loggia, a balcony with a roof attached. But there you have all this view for yourself, she screams out, and a hammock for afternoon naps gratis. Everything good if not this smell of a nigh end coming from the folds of her dress. Everything good if your name is Grettel.

Emotion sung in the tone of opening Windows sound. Stairs down your throat. That’s the word printed on her t-shirt, the size of her breasts doesn't let you read the first and last letter. The ratio of her mojo. You have to restart and reboot and update, these windows haven’t been opened for a while.

Blends well. A so-called beginners luck. He is bending back and forward, attentive to words, quick in monosylabical affirmations, smooth in hand gestures. Red t-shirt works good with his skin tone and gently underlines his presence. Seen by a drone, he’s this red blob moving among grey matter. This blob went to art school and still cannot draw.

Unpredictably is overrated. Let’s do this from a well known scratch to the finale that sounds familiar. Let’s follow the procedures, they haven’t been written without the cause, imagine all these people working for ages, optimising the process. Let’s use their steaming heads, let’s cut out the drawbacks. Let’s plug in.

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