Bare Bones

I realize that, when I meditate, there is only me: as if I were in a room surrounded on all sides by mirrors and all I could see was myself. It is at times freeing, at times frightening - always sobering. It makes me think of the past - of things and people gone, what I haven't done. And I think of the present and realize that the past is a mere illusion, predicated on the absolution of memory. In Sans Soleil, Marker's woman says - and I paraphrase - "Memory is the silver lining to the clouds of forgetfulness," which is why the past is romanticized, never allowed to disintegrate. But it seems a disreality - we can never prove it.

I return - in my meditation - and think of the present: of where I am, what this is. What is this? Where is this? And I realize the present is predicated on a history of reality - the past once more. Rules of the present are the mistakes of the past - the painful memories. Thus, what is the present but a reflection of the past? But the past itself is an illusion - thus, what is the present but a reflexive, painful memory of the past - itself a romanticized, unprovable illusion?

All I can see clearly is myself but this - like reality, like the past, like the present - is but a reflection of other reflections. I cannot prove myself - whether I exist or not. Descartes' statement is utter bullshit - perhaps his thoughts are an illusion themselves.

But this notion of "illusions" must also be cast aside, for the very notion of illusion is a ground on which to stand. One could become paranoid, believing that one is surrounded by illusion - evil illusion, even. But, really, this paranoia simply arises from the fear of being fundamentally different. Those who are different are paranoid - paranoia arises from a view of reality that differs from the norm. But really this is just a dumbing down of the fundamental actuality of the human existence: all experience differently (if we claim that "all" exist). Therefore, even illusion must be cast aside.

Nothing is proven in any case. All is groundless.

Script: "In the Shadow of Sans Soleil"

This is the script from my recently completed video, "In the Shadow of Sans Soleil."


***

0.

For Man Ray

For Fluxus

For Michael Snow

For Chris Marker

Normally, I saw him everyday.

1.

In the past couple of months, I had seen him very little. He contacted me early in December via a cryptic text message.

He wrote: I have become lost in the media and media of all kinds but specifically electronic media. I have become hypnotized by LCD screens and online blogs, CNN anchors and reality television.

10.

Over coffee and cigarettes in South Spain he told me that he wanted to escape into nature - into a forest via horse or perhaps onto the ocean via sailboat - but that the media was by this time everywhere: even when he left it behind, it was copied in his mind.

He told me all this media was reprogramming him, replacing his body with a matrix of mere ones and zeros. He wrote: it seems that all our bodies are being reconstituted.

11.

One evening in a dance club in Monte Carlo, he asked me: do you remember Baudrillard's In the Shadow of the Silent Majorities?

He read from Baudrillard: "... at this point of generalization, of saturation, where it is no more than the zero degree of the political, at this point of absolute reference, of omnipresence and diffraction in all the interstices of physical and mental space, what becomes of the social itself? It is the sign of its end: the energy of the social is reversed, its specificity is lost, its historical quality and its ideality vanish in favor of a configuration where not only the political becomes volatilized, but where the social itself no longer has any name.

"Anonymous. THE MASS. THE MASSES."

He explained: we constitute bodies through the seemingly voluntary consumption of products. We are all placed into categories, more and more specific - age categories, races, sexualities – simultaneously lumped together and sectioned, marketed to and against, exploded and imploded. We are no longer individuals, although we are given that illusion. Instead, we are a single, consuming mass.

100.

He wrote in an e-mail: I'm just back from New York. On the E train, I saw a homeless man, a teenaged boy listening to his iPod, a business man with an open laptop gazing at an abbreviated version of the New York Times.

He said: It seemed wrong that those people should sit there - alone together. These people - these bodies - seemed politically reconstituted and highly individual. In fact, looking, I saw no politic there, no discussion, no collaboration, no consensus. Everything was controlled, diagrammed, sectioned, safe. The homeless man, the teenaged boy, the businessman, took any number of products to create any body of their choosing.

101.

All of these products - personal computers, iPods, personal DVD players - miniature, portable, affordable machines, in general:

He likened them all to knives.

All of these tiny machines seemed violent to him, seemed forceful, seemed penetrating. As though all of us, with headphones on, were being sectioned, divided apart from one another - but not just that, not just divided apart, but also exposed, cut apart, examined, and put back together. It was not so much a sectioning as a quartering, a dismembering, a decapitating.

He asked: how can I cope with this sectional compartmentalization of media, body, machine?

And he said: There seems no way to resist, no point for resistance. I might begin to buy things to fit in and find ways to assimilate. It seems that the best way to fit in is to divide myself off completely.

110.

He told me he was going to attempt to secure a new and completely different body for himself.

He told me that he had just viewed Chris Marker's cine-essay Sans Soleil for the first time.

Therein, he had constituted himself a whole and radically unique biology.

He said: the prospect of emulating Marker's film is attractive to me for a combination of two reasons. The first is the disembodied woman's voice, constantly in observant monologue. The second facet, equally important to me, is the floating camera shots edited into steady montage. If God had had me choose any body for myself, I would have requested this combination for my bodily apparatus, the camera for its pervasive, observant stare, the woman's drone for its seductiveness. I would have been for myself a machine, an unfeeling, constantly seeing machine - with the voice of a woman. I would have been Sans Soleil.

111.

He was in the shadow of Sans Soleil, following, deciphering, reconstituting.

He said finally: I resisted and searched and researched because I believed there was an escape from this closed system, our closed system, consumerism. Instead, I find that one must choose any products he wants to create a body for himself. He must commit himself to product, to capital, to object. For me, my body will be this film - and I will see it to its constitution.

Somehow, I will become Sans Soleil.

***

Many thanks to those who helped me create this video. I now consider the project completed.

I will place screenshots of "In the Shadow of Sans Soleil" in a later post.