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FleshFactor: Re: Machine love, hate ...

A E C  F O R U M - "F L E S H F A C T O R"

Tom --

When you're alone with your machine, you are alone with yourself. When
you're with your art, you're with yourself. The art, the artifice, the
machine, what you will make of the materials that your hand finds and
configures, reshapes, turns to use, to your need, to make of it something
new -- maybe it is lovely, maybe not, who's to say? -- and leaves on it your
stamp, your smell, your old dirty-sock spoor -- isn't it all just more
'you'? Sort of like love, innit? 

This mirror where we see ourselves, the only way we ever see ourselves
really, putting ourselves *out there*, elsewhere. Taking it in, putting it
out, only to take it in again, reingested, reiterated, transformed and
yourself transformed into the bargain, ritual and necessary exchange of
poisons, actual or symbolic, and no way to tell, really, ultimately, where
'it' ends and 'you' begin. It's a picture, if you like, of the basic
'machine loop' of causality, this dynamical system that you are and I am and
the world is, how it works and where to draw the line dividing 'inside' and
'outside'. Reciprocating action of artificer and artifact, circular,
endless, circular, endless approximation and equivocation, and never finally
to get it right. Never to close the gap, else you'd lose the spark. The
abrasion, how you feel that wheel's rough imperfections, only thing that'll
tell how to make it true (if never finally etc.) by the misfit, error,
friction, by the wear there. How we wear the world and the world wears us,
ha! Down to very dust. (And still we never get it right.)

 ... Same old story, same old song;
It goes all right till it goes all wrong.

Derek Robinson  <drdee@interlog.com>



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