LoveYes! II - (Time and Space = Movement) = Love

Since last time we spoke I have been found floating. I’m not sure for how long but I am here and I must be floating because I can’t feel anything, well anything apart from myself but one feels quite different when you can’t feel what you’re touching. Anyway I’m glad you’re here, even if you are made up. After all it is communication that matters, the essence of the cosmos…

…Now where were we up to? That’s right I was regaling you with the fine morals of a group of people known as the NymphoYo who had partly by will and partly by accident embarked upon an atomic mission called LoveYes! Here we tread softly off on a tangent (which is of course, the entire point) to ensure you realise that the name of the group or the endeavour (or what-have-you) is not really important: it's always merely a linguistic container into which the interstellar, genito-urinary signal is poured like ambrosian liquid into an elastic jelly mould. The signal doesn’t have a name, like all effective communication it is beyond language, the name is simply the imprint the signal makes upon collective human consciousness as it bounces off the mirrored plate with which we attempt to capture it. Alas with this rudimentary process we only admire and re-direct the signal, rather than truly grasp it.

As I remember the last time we spoke the subject in question was time and I suggested that perhaps the NymphoYo were actively attempting to produce more time and thereby achieve a more ecumenical distribution of LoveYes 'units'. So that this process may be fully understood we must first make an important distinction or rather, a syllogism; that Time and Space suffer no distinction.

The Twentieth century was perhaps the epoch when the history we had clung on to (often for grim death) ended. Grand narratives, driven forward by the dialectical engine, upon mythical parallels of linear progress, were derailed, carriages exploded by what Deleuze coined as ‘Un method du ‘entre’’ or ‘et’ (the method of the ‘and’, the connection between). It seems that the revolutionary gangmasters of art and science, despite tribal differences, seemed tacitly concerted to absolve the separation between articles, items and concepts by demonstrating the subtle and complex relationships shared by an overwhelming and incalculable number of ‘binary’ variables. Yet rather than any measurement made between say Einstein and Schrödinger's cat it was the distance between Eisenstein (or more probably Bergson and Thalberg) and Jean-Luc Godard that more eloquently articulated the passage of an age, from industrial reproduction to a super-reality. Yet although the moving image is one of the many tools employed by the LoveYes production and distribution it is not cinema (or television or video)that is so important. Rather it is the cinema’s fundamental method that will endure beyond the art form itself and is therefore of most use to the ‘mediation’ of love. Namely: montage. I hope this relatively shallow yet celeritous descent below the surface has whetted your frontispiece somewhat. Until next time dear friends when once more we can dive together.

Yours truly and forever

xx Simon Saint-Simon xx

LoveYes!

In our time we have it all, yet all seems lost. Sublime love has been surfaced and impaled upon superficial experience, sold in error to the highest bidder rather than the greatest lover. It is easy for love to become an oversight when its cheap substitute penetrates us in a constant dribble, leaving only shallow puddles and damp squibs. We zip up and head for work so often feeling soggy and unfulfilled.

Numbers dry us. Workings out cajole atoms towards friction, producing warmth and, as particles cool and solidify, shelter, made from blocks of too rigorous calculation, stricken it seems as the mausoleum. Yet within like without all is not dead. From the ground there is an enticing scrape and rattle, while above and all around the elements balance out the equation until the tough fabric of our conclusions is revealed to be only the party-mask of mass opinion, now flapping ragged and strewn around our see-through, climbing frame home. In empirical reality forces of nature are parsed by algebra of need until even fixed systems erode. In the face of this intoxicating, entropical effect we have increased the accuracy of our calculations exponentially; creating by such a process an almost perfect simulacrum of the forces that threaten the structures we have erected to defend us from these very forces!

So even as the capital’s Kapos apply their maquillage and pose-fight ‘guerrilla’ for magazine supplements, we are directed by a gesturing with the weapon, a swivelling of the hips, to look for precedents, to turn back the page and breathe in the aftermath of a profound dialectic: the reduction of the rebel to bloodhound.

The rock n roll years that preceded are now available as a haircut, a compilation, a t-shirt and as a story; an interchangeable surface paraded seamlessly through the gait and across the palimpsest of long dead teenage bodies. They are shopping mall coffee shop zombies feeding upon life force through an all over perfect-skin contagion, reproducing an ossification of difference. But then we are now all officially teenagers according to health care and demographics. A void cocoon painted luminous by the seraphic glow of a cellular screen.

That golden age has long since turned autumnal holocaustic glow and been re-packaged for the endless night as neon gloss. Although the germ of this seismic shift was contained in the milliseconds of an atomic reaction high above Hiroshima, the mutant blast that greeted the residents of Furue, Takasu, and Koi that morning was not just a false and poisonous dawn. For preserved somewhere within impenetrable plastic fossils are creatures in amber, evidence that the projections of capital can never completely resolve, become singular with that which they devour, our organic nature. For the multitudinous refractions of money to breed there must always be virgin territory, more atoms to be cracked. To run out of these is not just a shitty arse but the end of history.

We may be down to the last few sheets but there is still always time…

…a commodity dear friends, we have sadly run out of for now. So until the skin-crawl of survival recedes again and we can continue together our affirmation of LOVE! then please, Ladies and Gentlemen, won’t you be so kind to as join me on the dance floor to have our collected assholes interruptured by none other than our very own Electronic! Enema! Operator! Mr. Bob Swans!

Yours truly,

X Simon Saint-Simon X

Herr Bob Swan's presents...

OKTOBERFEST MIX

Traxxx

Sparks-Tryout for the human race(kafka+BoBedit)
Roctakon-More of what i need
Yeah yeah yeah's-Gold lion(Diplo mix)
Shadow dancer-End hit
Boys noize-Wu tang battery(battery pt2)
Hocus pocus-Heres johnny
LFO-Freak
Best Fwends-First $ money maker
Crookers-Atomic Baile Boy
Fatboy slim-Champion sound(Switch remix)
Crookers ft Mc Leka -Para de Grainha
Blaqstarr-Shake it to the ground(Claude von stroke mix)
Comfy in Nautica-Panda bear
David e sugar-Oi Berlin this is London(Jesse rose garage dub)
Timbaland-Misscomunication(The Bloody Beetroots mix)
Charlie Fanclub-Dirty dick hazzard
Jean nippon-Raw
Krazy Baldhead-Moth3f2ck8z(Midfield general mix)
Party crashers unite-Put your hands up for NY
Gucci soundsystem-aCarpenter