#time-jump

[blindingwind-deactivated2014062]

Life Without Barriers || Yuri & Schwann

It took a good five minutes of struggling for Schwann to finally fall back to his knees, allowing the mage to work on his shoulder, though he refused to allow her to open his tunic to do so. It took a bit for her to be satisfied that he could move without ripping it open.

The moment the knights backed away to start cleanup, Schwann made a beeline for the castle, ignoring any and all calls for him to slow down or to stop. He didn’t stop until he had pushed his way into the dungeon.

“Sir Schwann. The criminal Yuri Lowell is being kept until a further hearing. Orders from the counsel.” Schwann shot a glare at the latest knight who stood in his way.

“Has he been treated?”

“Sir? Uh… I don’t believe so…” Schwann growled, shoving past the guard to grab the first aid kit. Stalking through the cells, he reached the final one where Yuri lay passed out on the floor, a small pool of blood around him.

“Open this damn door now!” he snapped, swinging towards the confused guard who hastened to comply. The cell now open, he shot the darkest look he could manage at the guard. “Go and get me the Princess. You have five minutes before I’m taking names.”

Tripping flat on his face, the guard hurried out of the jail leaving Schwann alone with the bleeding man. Working as carefully as he could, Schwann pulled the wolf’s top off to look his back over. The claw marks a nasty reminder of the battle just fought. Opening the first aide kit, he set to work on the wound, staving the blood as much as he could, angry tears silently dripping to the cement.

So focused on the youth laying on the floor and his thoughts about not being able to protect the pup, he didn’t hear the soft footsteps. He didn’t know Estelle was there until her shadow fell across the cell and her horrified gasp.

[brave-vesperias-yuri]

It took a few hours - a few long pain staking hours- before dark eyes fluttered open.  A low, pained, groan escaped the wolf as he looked about the blurry picture of dark hues, setting up with a hand on his head. 

As his vision cleared, a small shiver ran over him; the cool air lightly brushing against the exposed skin of his upper half. He looked to the left to see his shirt discarded to the side of the prison cell, and then down, to see the white bandaged that wrapped his chest and shoulders. With a hand to press against his forehead, he felt the bandage that was wrapped there too. 

What happened? More like who happened? 

He could have sworn that the guards just tossed him in the cell without regard to injuries he had. 

Had. 

He shifted his shoulders, twisted his waist, and moved about to find that he was sore, but no where near as injured as he was. His head still hurt…but the marks on his back felt gone…the cuts…the small gashes…they all felt closed…healed…

It almost felt like Estelle’s work….

Looking around quickly, his eyes fixed on the mass of orange that was standing in front of him, so see two knights of the Schwann Brigade standing in front of his cell wide eyed. 

“Y-You’re awake? H-How are you feeling, Yuri Lowell?” one of them asked him, his voice shaking as if he was afraid to even speak to the vigilante. 

Yuri didn’t say anything, only groaned, causing the two knights to run off, muttering something about getting their captain. 

The wolf sighed, and flopped back down on the prison bed. 

[mashatupitsyn]

Retrouvailles (Time-Jump #30)

A year ago, at the start of it all, Elaine emailed me "Make Love" by Daft Punk. It was August and I was at school, a few days in. I listened to it in bed, after a night out. It was very late and I was drunk and barely awake. After a night out. She sent it to soothe my heart. My heart, which X. had unexpectedly shook up. This person appeared and crept up on me, the way this song creeps up, revealing its destinal sound. "Make Love" has a mezzo beginning, which means it comes from the middle, from something that is already-there. It sounds like something between two people, something that's between them from the start. What is there is always there. Always arrives. Always is fate. The volume of "Make Love" increases and gradually becomes audible, but was also always on. The volume simply reveals itself. Shows up. The song arrives unexpectedly, like a person, into your world, like the Event that Badiou talks about. The way subjectivity, as Badiou explains, happens when we respond to an event. You decide to answer a call. But maybe it was only ever my subjectivity that was being called. That was at stake all along. The way I responded to the call, not whether he did or would or could. Maybe what was playing in the song and between us all along was me and my story. Me and my quest. Me and my search. Me and my question. Seeing through him. Seeing what is possible in the impossible. What was possible in an impossible person, him. What is still possible in me. What is possible even in the most ruined people. And what turned out to be totally impossible by his own doing. He made this decision and suddenly I was free because I made mine. Even with a broken heart, which is both more and less broken now, which gives up and and never gives up, I saw this.

[mashatupitsyn]

The Clock (Time-Jump #24)

In A Thousand Plateaus Deleuze and Guattari write: "The hands of a clock foreshadow something." Because of cinema, the home of the face, the clock and the face go together. The hands on the face of a clock, the clock on the hours of a face. The clock is a destiny in the same way that a face is. Both Bergman's and Fellini's films are one long clock. Fellini loves the sound of wind howling, which is time passing. Loves it the way Bergman loves a ticking clock. It's the time we're up against, and in, and out of. A camera is a hole that captures a face. "This is the face as seen from the front, by a subject who does not so much see as get snapped up by black holes. This is the figure of destiny...its only function is to have an anticipatory temporal value."

This could be one definition of the time-jump. In this museum screening of Marclay’s The Clock, faces are in front of faces and faces are behind faces (an outline of human heads creates a border of spectatorship at the bottom of the screen), so a binary unit is always formed. A pair on the inside, a pair on the outside. A pair on the inside of the pair, a pair on the outside of the pair. Like an inversion of Abbas Kiarostami’s Shirin, which is an inversion not only of the classical Western formulation of cinematic spectatorship (we watch the spectator watch the screen rather than the screen itself), but the classical Western formulation of the privileged white face taking precedence on the white wall. In Shirin we watch non-Western faces watch non-Western faces that we cannot see, only hear. Cinema becomes our faces--reaction shots--in relation to cinema, which of course, is also cinema. We cannot react without thinking about how we watch ourselves watching.

[mashatupitsyn]

Time, A Love Story

"...Time is never linear. You always feel that everything happened just yesterday but also 100 years ago. I don’t want to experience time in a line." -Jeanette Winterson

[mashatupitsyn]

Wave goodbye (Green series, Time-jump #20)

"Catharsis is the way to deal with evil. She polished up her green paper...Lost in books and in nature." -Kathy Acker, Don Quixote "I travel all day on trains and bring a lot of books—" -Anne Carson, "The Glass Essay." "The ideologues of Marxism (not counting adepts of 'concrete action') did not scorn utopia for the simple reason that, like a tree bursting out of its bark, it broadened the framework of the existing world order in its quest for new regimes of social experience." -Victor Tupitsyn, "The Genealogy of Failure"

[mashatupitsyn]

Destiny Blanc (Green series,Time-jump #19)

On time-jumps and desire, desire as time-jumps, and love disguised as a forest: "...What's mainly not allowed? Time's the main non-allower...(Time is substance). Three thousand miles now between the events of you and me, or three hours. Absence to a child is death. This is death. Time's killing me. Time's proving you don't love me. I have to mold my passion for you out of time...Time is our love." On mad relations: "Between you and me was a madness which's rare. Not just sexuality. Who're you kidding?... Maybe you're so young, you believe there're an infinite number of mad relations." -Kathy Acker, Don Quixote

[mashatupitsyn]

Destiny Noir (Time-jump #18)

Driving at night always feels like the invisible road to destiny becoming visible. The female nighthood/knighthood Kathy Acker writes about in Don Quixote. Underneath the green, there is black. Underneath the black, there is green. Your valor: light in the dark. As fresh and eternal as a forest.

In Don Quixote, Acker writes:

"The knight took such a night to be an omen. But of what? Nevertheless discounting the peril, she kept on...Slowly, life was returning, in the same way that light makes its way into a sky that has lasted through the night."

In "A Philosophy of Surrender," Robbie Dewhurst writes about David Rattaray's collection of essays and stories in How I Became One of the Invisible, a book about traveling--un(t)raveling. "On its surface, of course, the text is a simple collection of carefully-written, intricately-detailed, first-person narratives, prose accounts of a single poet’s multiple journeys into, within, and back out of different foreign territories: uncharted geographic, literary, and emotional spaces. But somehow travel narrative doesn’t really feel right as a label here; David’s stories always seem to go somewhere beyond that. Far beyond the aorist, beyond the what happened. Marc Thivolet’s comments on Roger Gilbert-Lecomte, cited in here by Rattray, apply just as well at the late end of the century to Rattray’s own stories, to these prose productions of this other strangest-of-poets. Like Gilbert-Lecomte’s soberly unfinished verses, Rattray’s stories are nothing less than 'road signs which are meaningful only to someone on the road.' Certainly, 'they are not for stationary reading."

[mashatupitsyn]

And leave alone (Green series, Time-jump #17)

"Love is the green in green. Does this explain its pain?" -Fanny Howe Driving backwards and away sometimes leads us forward.