tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31952472024-03-14T10:42:24.057+01:00Neue Kathedrale des erotischen Elends-------international about version--------<br>
<strong>All posts here are somehow connected to the dormant Cathedral building process at <a href="http://www.nkdee.be">www.nkdee.be</a></strong>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.comBlogger281125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-65153087798194382182020-09-07T18:46:00.001+02:002020-09-07T18:46:52.784+02:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-loM9dMaEuvs/X1ZjqvJDWrI/AAAAAAAAPy0/NpWj3RUdWGUQtdM4J4U2KWh2KbU9qXYrQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/11-Outside_low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1430" data-original-width="2048" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-loM9dMaEuvs/X1ZjqvJDWrI/AAAAAAAAPy0/NpWj3RUdWGUQtdM4J4U2KWh2KbU9qXYrQCNcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/11-Outside_low.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Outside. The moment she said it we were outside, on a hilltop, looking down on The Place, its two huge domes now reduced to a Playmobil dominion, flanked by an enormous new building, very straight and very standard solar panel 100% self-sustainable durability proof slick piece of engeneering. <br /><br />"But you like the bird, don't you?" sensing, no reading my present day suspicion of everything that looks too neat to be true. "It's a sooty tern", Anke continued, "it doesn't belong her, I wrote it for you".<br />"Wrote it?? It's not real?<br /><br />In a number of ways I knew what was coming, what Anke would answer next. I had been living up to this moment for some time, I guess.</p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-7160504013979935552020-09-03T18:44:00.003+02:002020-09-03T18:44:37.250+02:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDOW-3byhjE/X1EbUs4neJI/AAAAAAAAPyc/LttUjwbXfIYECnVMQsItVPzll4ZlR2zVQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/10-theatre_full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1443" height="781" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDOW-3byhjE/X1EbUs4neJI/AAAAAAAAPyc/LttUjwbXfIYECnVMQsItVPzll4ZlR2zVQCNcBGAsYHQ/w549-h781/10-theatre_full.jpg" width="549" /></a></div><br /> "The Place is in fact this dome. This is the active part of the building". She spoke inside my head as I saw her as a statue inside the dome." The dome is a machine, something we call a 'trance-target'. If you have sufficiently developed your skills you can target it and start informing the others that are present."<br /><br />"What are those strange white spaces (French: 'étranges éspaces vides')?", I blurted out. It sounded from me without me opening my mouth. "Oh, those are projection screens for transmitting movement, you see there can't be any actual movement inside the dome." I er, saw.<br />"Best way to think of it is that's a kind of theatre, but inside out: nothing happens there but the machine is writing everything that happens outside..."<p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-21092623718598016502020-09-03T18:33:00.000+02:002020-09-03T18:33:36.750+02:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofW_pzDb3ro/X1EZCgX5PbI/AAAAAAAAPyM/GvzJhtPxHvoIdUKHNsrtb1mao-QCvL2TgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9-statue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1445" height="625" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofW_pzDb3ro/X1EZCgX5PbI/AAAAAAAAPyM/GvzJhtPxHvoIdUKHNsrtb1mao-QCvL2TgCNcBGAsYHQ/w443-h625/9-statue.jpg" width="443" /></a></div><br /> "No silly, not a sect at all, wait...I will try to explain", she said and with those words shr stroke a certain pose that instantly transformed herself into a statue inside the central dome (and me with it)...<p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-30710923955565160322020-08-29T19:02:00.001+02:002020-08-29T19:02:12.397+02:00EDUCATION<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yS5Jo_zfod4/X0qJaX_X13I/AAAAAAAAPvA/rX-Tf4EUUbofar876Bt79imB7GPN-FuzgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/8%2B-%2Beducation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1444" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yS5Jo_zfod4/X0qJaX_X13I/AAAAAAAAPvA/rX-Tf4EUUbofar876Bt79imB7GPN-FuzgCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/8%2B-%2Beducation.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Next morning Anke showed me around. The Place wasn't exactly hidden but it sat against a wooded hill, and the main entrance was directed towards a sandy road leading to nothing but a small village that had somehow retained its agricultural past. The villagers called it 'den Bol', and nearly all of them were doing chores there as gardener, craftsmen, administrators or some other function, but 'All of them are students and teachers' she explained, 'because The Place was all about education and there was no distinction between teaching and learning.' </p><p>Some sect, i thought but before i could finish the thought Anke corrected me..</p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-78327133065733855502020-08-27T19:18:00.002+02:002020-08-27T19:18:36.724+02:00The Place<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sdb4Cucpyeo/X0fqbMhcRsI/AAAAAAAAPuc/IOyjtnk6rTE0-5T66CvPOyaa4HpPjBy9ACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/7-the%2Bplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1443" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sdb4Cucpyeo/X0fqbMhcRsI/AAAAAAAAPuc/IOyjtnk6rTE0-5T66CvPOyaa4HpPjBy9ACNcBGAsYHQ/s640/7-the%2Bplace.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> The Place was a huge wooden construction behind a stone wall in the back of a large domain somewhere on the outskirts of Brussels. It had several large domes...<p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-56329454814052506722020-08-26T01:20:00.006+02:002020-08-26T01:20:42.020+02:00Anke<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nhHeQt9cPtA/X0WcoXS2UaI/AAAAAAAAPuI/9BT3i9QY3VkDcM_tLgBVIoVXZ39ZlmMKQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/6-anke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1457" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nhHeQt9cPtA/X0WcoXS2UaI/AAAAAAAAPuI/9BT3i9QY3VkDcM_tLgBVIoVXZ39ZlmMKQCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/6-anke.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anke...</div><p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-8023507275008063282020-08-24T13:51:00.001+02:002020-08-24T13:51:53.720+02:00ice-cream bar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30O2-B3mrBc/X0OpDaAwqHI/AAAAAAAAPsM/_mDAJ3JHZqIGz66khmMK6BWZFoWsgS2sQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5-ice-cream%2Bbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1438" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30O2-B3mrBc/X0OpDaAwqHI/AAAAAAAAPsM/_mDAJ3JHZqIGz66khmMK6BWZFoWsgS2sQCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/5-ice-cream%2Bbar.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p> If she wasn't anything, did I not just dream her? invent her? made her up to compensate for the meagre outcome of my existence, a shipwreck on the ruins of my childhood? Perhaps. But she was real enough for me.</p><p>The first time I saw her was in an ice-cream bar. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, an artist I modelled for who couldn't draw his own dick staring him in the face. His lasagna was real good though, so I felt entitled to a compensation. </p><p>She was wearing some Mayan outfit. You could see straight through it and she wasn't wearing anything underneath.</p><p>"For you I have nothing to hide" she said, as if she just read my thoughts. "I can", she added, "because you want me to." Next thing I knew we were making out in The Place.</p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-4422261464459596302020-08-23T11:32:00.002+02:002020-08-23T11:32:57.417+02:00Maenad<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvT72u6byTg/X0I3Vy_iCHI/AAAAAAAAPr8/eG3p8NmFcaUIoXsQNAylsVcKrMKEBEzmACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/4-maenad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1433" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvT72u6byTg/X0I3Vy_iCHI/AAAAAAAAPr8/eG3p8NmFcaUIoXsQNAylsVcKrMKEBEzmACNcBGAsYHQ/s640/4-maenad.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Without her i strutted my hour upon the stage like a dismembered doll,</p><p> I felt like a catalogue of canned organs and senses: the Sickening Heart, the Thieving Feel, the Desperate Stomach, the Greedy Kidneys, the Horny Taste and above all the Cancerous Brain spreading the lingo of lubric decay and luxurious rot. </p><p>With her happening inside me I danced like a Maenad casting my spells and spilling my charms, opening and closing the gates to salvation to human ants and antlered humans alike as i saw fit...</p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-4187886423374614902020-08-22T10:13:00.001+02:002020-08-22T10:13:09.668+02:00Nefertite<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1VPgeFGgaA/X0DS7jeFChI/AAAAAAAAPrw/RY3FdAXq9BUVJZAIOhjTjLJtHNVvD72qQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/3-nefertite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1435" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1VPgeFGgaA/X0DS7jeFChI/AAAAAAAAPrw/RY3FdAXq9BUVJZAIOhjTjLJtHNVvD72qQCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/3-nefertite.jpg" /></a></div> <p></p><p>ANKE VELD does not ex ist.<br />She isn't a person, she's not any thing.<br />Dhe happens. She occurs. When she happened inside me I looked like Queen goddamn NEFERTITE.</p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-63352935275160559162020-08-21T12:29:00.003+02:002020-08-21T12:32:00.169+02:00no thing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yyqrsSYNBlM/Xz-dG-7OK3I/AAAAAAAAPrk/sdejYY4_C3UeGJi45AQYpK49SCaDIsJ2ACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/2-nothing_corr.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1443" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yyqrsSYNBlM/Xz-dG-7OK3I/AAAAAAAAPrk/sdejYY4_C3UeGJi45AQYpK49SCaDIsJ2ACNcBGAsYHQ/s640/2-nothing_corr.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, that's not her. that's just me, an anybody. <b>ANNA</b> anybody. <b>Anna</b> anybody <b>Van Es</b>. I lived briefly , in Holland. Some crazy Dutch poet tried to rape me and I got killed holding him off. He has been writing weird poems and stuff about me, how he regrets everything and other crap. Drooling over my corpse he is, the horny bastard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She, her, that's <b>ANKE VELD</b>. She's no anybody. She is you she is me, she's Donald Trump and Aretha Franklin, she'a alive and dead and man and woman and white and deep blue purple. She is all that because she's NO THING.</div><p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-70739315991537488232020-08-20T12:00:00.002+02:002020-08-21T12:30:50.316+02:00numbered<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V9AGkNa4AK0/Xz5IUXvQABI/AAAAAAAAPrM/memcEvJZoaYu5iLtt7GhQi_RH56iKEVyQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/numbered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1441" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V9AGkNa4AK0/Xz5IUXvQABI/AAAAAAAAPrM/memcEvJZoaYu5iLtt7GhQi_RH56iKEVyQCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/numbered.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Everything is numbered. There's a count to every thing. Something preceeds, some thing follows. We only get some of the numbers right. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our days are numbered: we get those right. We can feel whar number we're at. We can never tell which number it is, but we feel it all right. Fear prevents us from naming it. But we know, we always knew.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But only she could tell.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-86197063729079889112020-06-26T15:24:00.001+02:002020-06-26T15:24:36.632+02:00on freedom and deconfinement[text written today in response to a call by Tamara Lai]<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQfPjDGklCY/XvX2zMdWeUI/AAAAAAAAPWo/XrRWDWi7hSMPoipnI_7In5kGaX4_khswgCK4BGAsYHg/s3472/cd54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="'comparimentering'" border="0" data-original-height="3472" data-original-width="2405" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQfPjDGklCY/XvX2zMdWeUI/AAAAAAAAPWo/XrRWDWi7hSMPoipnI_7In5kGaX4_khswgCK4BGAsYHg/w444-h640/cd54.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div>‘Freedom’ for me denotes nothing much else than the sensation of feeling free much like ‘happiness’ may cause a myriad of quite contingent associations, but when you consider it more severely, it actually only ‘really’ denotes the sensation of feeling happy: the feelings are very real but the concepts themselves will never correspond to any other word than another word denoting a similar feeling, something that occurs and our response to it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The idea of freedom, in my thinking, the concept, is always linked to the absence of the ability to feel free, so it’s a very negative notion, much like the idea of hope is always linked to the absence of the ability to feel happy. The words ‘freedom’ and ‘hope’ became/become ideals because the feelings they denote are absent and or blocked in the actual, and can only be longed for in the virtual, the distant future. Conceptually they function as ideals exactly because they call for future change or action in order to lift the blocks or fill the lacks on/of feeling free or happy that are perceived in the present.</div><div><br /></div><div> Eventually, in my thinking, the discourses of hope and freedom are commentaries on a failure of ‘reality’, a lack in the fiction of ‘Being’. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Deconfinement’ , as far as i can tell, denotes the release of very actual and contingent previously imposed behaviour restrictions. Any such occurrence of ‘deconfinement’ will most probably cause a temporary surge in the feelings of happiness and freedom in the individual that is being ‘deconfined’. </div><div><br /></div><div>From there one could argue that any specific occurrence of deconfinement may contribute to formulating better questions in the pursuit of the ideals of freedom and happiness, but precisely because any actual deconfinement is contingently linked to the very specific restrictions that were previously imposed, we should be very critical to identify any undoing of a restriction as a ‘road’ to freedom. </div><div><br /></div><div>For instance, there is no reason whatsoever to believe that the ability to fly by plane to any location on earth is a ‘condition’ for the realisation of the ideal of ‘freedom’, just because some of us only manage to feel ‘free’ when they are allowed to do just that. In many ways these people can be said to be addicted to a false surrogate of ‘being free’. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still, wherever deconfinement occurs we can/could actually measure which lifting of a specific confinement may cause what number of what kind of people to feel how much more free than before, and from such measurements we may attempt to provisionally describe what people in their actual conditions actually need to feel free. </div><div><br /></div><div>From a viewpoint concerned with mental health I would suggest that repeated exercises in auto-confinement and auto-deconfinement are extremely useful in trying to establish our</div><div>actual needs so that we can adapt our behaviour accordingly and feel happy and free most of the time.</div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-25283505463154674182020-05-19T01:52:00.000+02:002020-05-19T01:52:45.185+02:00Death of a Scan, or: the trouble with things, a dialogue breaking of before it made its point<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h-ZVxZJwWjE/WpwtwzqlhtI/AAAAAAAALHs/n8VIl2KGmGkDq_4f7B-lTKLMs2XuPiaswCLcBGAs/s1600/deDood%2Bvan%2Been%2BScan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1121" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h-ZVxZJwWjE/WpwtwzqlhtI/AAAAAAAALHs/n8VIl2KGmGkDq_4f7B-lTKLMs2XuPiaswCLcBGAs/s640/deDood%2Bvan%2Been%2BScan.jpg" width="448" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">regristration of a scan dying</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>- hi Coats</b><br />
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- hi Rez<br />
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<b>- what's up, Coats?</b><br />
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- nothing much, Rez. Yesterday, i was scanning a drawing i made, but while the scan was running i realized i had forgotten something and removed the drawing from under the functioning scanner. and, well come over here and see, you can see all of that really happening on the completed scan. You see the black line: the scanner naturally keeps scanning but just above where it gets all black from opening the lid, so the light fades into the room, there you can actually see the drawing leaving the scan as it were, till there's no drawing left. You see what you get there is actually an horizon of the scan's existence, pretty cool huh?<br />
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<b>- hm, yeah, so I guess you didn't call me in about the image or about the scanner that's broke or something? I ain't buying you a new scanner if that's what you 're after</b><br />
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- heck no Rez, the scanner's fine, i just wanted to talk to you about the scan itself cause i think it's rather cool, as if it was a life, starting with me clicking the 'Scan' button in my scan software that triggered the scan procedure. So you see i 'm thinking of the act of clicking as the time of conception of the scan, and the scan's birth would be when the drawing is reached by the scans lamplight, and its premature death would have occurred when i pulled the drawing away from the light.<br />
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<b>- why do you want to think of it that way? isn't that a bit morbid? or, er, silly? I mean, christ it's just a scan...</b><br />
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- i don't know, it's an experiment, ..i thought it was somehow important when it happened and when i saw the resulting image .. i thought well hey this image is really telling me something...<br />
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<b>- so now you're saying the scan was talking to you? have you been drinking Coats...</b><br />
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- hahaha no, Rez, no of course not, the scan wasn't really something with a consciousness or anything but now that you mention it, speaking metaphorically, what if it was?<br />
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<b>- talking to you?</b><br />
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- no silly: what if we think of the scan as a lifetime of a conscious being and of the act of me ripping away the image as of its violent and premature death. Let's do a thought experiment here. A 'normal' scan with a 'natural death' would have resulted in a clean image, a digital representation of the image.<br />
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<b>- yes, now i see what you're getting at: so it's not the image that died here, and neither is it the scan as in <i>'the file containing the scanned data'</i> but the process of scanning itself?</b><br />
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- exactly.You see we think of things all the time, preferably things we can touch and hold in our hands but if that's not the case we think of things anyway and just pretend they are things , like the 'scan' is a thing while it's actually just a bunch of data in a computer file, and we entirely disregard the process of scanning in favor of whatever it is we can get to grips with: the image on the screen, the drawing, the scanner, the computer. But we entirely disregard what is happening, the process at hand, what is going on...<br />
<br />
<b>- well that's obvious, isn't it: things you can see but what happens is more elusive, you can only talk about what happens, well by talking about the things that are happening or to which whatever happens is happening...</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
- yes i agree it is obvious. It's a pity though...<br />
<br />
<b>- what for? what's the trouble with things?</b><br />
<br />
- nothing, i guess. It's just that...well...what is it that dies when we die?<br />
<br />
<b>- oh dear! Now that's a surprise, i didn't see that one coming! what on earth do you mean?</b><br />
<br />
- well it's not the body that dies, is it? The body just stops functioning as a body, it is no longer the required support for 'having' life, all of it's subroutines quit and that's that.If nobody does anything it will just rot away, but it could keep functioning with some aid, at least parts of it could. So we don't say 'that body has just died'...<br />
<br />
<b>- hm pretty bleak, but yes , i suppose so. It's more the brain that dies isn't it. That's what they say that counts as time of death, isn't it, when the dead or dying person is 'brain dead'...?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
- no please, no no, for the moment i do not want to go into all those technicalities of death, and neither do i want to tackle those controversial discussions on near death experiences and the 'consciousness surviving brain death' thing. Let's go into that only and i mean only when we actually really need to, there's too many issues involved there and lots of sensationalist humbug.<br />One step at a time, please, we ain't nearly dead yet, i hope.<br /><br /><b>- owkay Coats i'll humor you, not that i see any valid reason to do so, but it's a bright morning and it's kinda cosy in here with sun falling into these layers of dusty books, dust and dirt and dirty books and lettuce, my god Coats do you ever clean up this place?</b><br />
<br />
- in due course, rez, i clean the house in due course and might i remind you that sure you live here too.<br /> <br />for the time being let's stick to the main issue here, and see how far we get., my first point being that it's a very difficult question to answer in any sensible way is what it is that actually dies when a person dies. Because if you reduce the problem and say well it's the brain that dies, so you disregard all of the rest of the person's body<br />
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<br />Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-38265390669344696192020-05-18T20:31:00.002+02:002020-05-19T01:45:39.684+02:00it is reminded (IT003)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0IhU4Nawtw/XsLUFlLke3I/AAAAAAAAPSk/uhXPzc5FV8U_LOYsA-7WNNI8p-nFwx4VwCK4BGAsYHg/3%2B-%2Bis%2Breminded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2437" data-original-width="3508" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0IhU4Nawtw/XsLUFlLke3I/AAAAAAAAPSk/uhXPzc5FV8U_LOYsA-7WNNI8p-nFwx4VwCK4BGAsYHg/w640-h444/3%2B-%2Bis%2Breminded.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-57279622167705303252020-05-17T19:53:00.003+02:002020-05-17T19:54:08.065+02:00it is convinced (IT002)<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LAy9s6FbcTg/XsF6EMnugUI/AAAAAAAAPRM/LG_4SYi6ggwM8bME4J09g9qrJzEoLDIaACK4BGAsYHg/it%2Bisconvinced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2445" data-original-width="3472" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LAy9s6FbcTg/XsF6EMnugUI/AAAAAAAAPRM/LG_4SYi6ggwM8bME4J09g9qrJzEoLDIaACK4BGAsYHg/w640-h450/it%2Bisconvinced.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bijschrift toevoegen<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-66543398985898361072020-05-17T19:38:00.002+02:002020-05-17T19:39:52.853+02:00it remembers (IT001)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5S4Y2bzwfok/XsF2dHRlDnI/AAAAAAAAPQ4/xJQ4ep0vH0QQ5JHVmwQ9MM5BQCejDb3-gCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/it%2Bremembers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1600" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5S4Y2bzwfok/XsF2dHRlDnI/AAAAAAAAPQ4/xJQ4ep0vH0QQ5JHVmwQ9MM5BQCejDb3-gCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/it%2Bremembers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-7438746943066519812019-11-11T01:14:00.003+01:002019-11-11T01:26:38.141+01:00AM DAY 0<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 4pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 15pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><strike>[Suzanne Livingstone, Luciana Parisi, Anna Greenspan]</strike></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 60pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Amphibious
Maidens</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a text reaped from </span><a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20041011122248/http://www.ccru.net/swarm3/3_amph.htm" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">CRRU.net on Archive.org</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> and orribly
induced into radiophonic submission </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #5b0f00; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">dv itself</span></div>
<h1 dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 6pt; margin-top: 20pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather" , serif; font-size: 20pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="display: inline-block; position: relative; width: 100px;"></span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sBKWIQcGhFY/XciokfOKQTI/AAAAAAAAO_A/S9tYWrWU6YUGaYLq-oBnuCjoEcjHxfoUQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/LAIS101_002_133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1111" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sBKWIQcGhFY/XciokfOKQTI/AAAAAAAAO_A/S9tYWrWU6YUGaYLq-oBnuCjoEcjHxfoUQCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/LAIS101_002_133.jpg" width="444" /></a></div>
<h1 dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 6pt; margin-top: 20pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather" , serif; font-size: 20pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">(DAY 0) </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather" , serif; font-size: 20pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #5b0f00; font-family: "merriweather" , serif; font-size: 20pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">THE DAY OF WAR</span></h1>
<br />
<br />
she starts again at zero <br />
a zero which appears as nothing but which she will carry as a cipher.<br />
<br />
Women diffuse themselves according to modalities scarcely compatible with the framework of ruling symbolics.<br />
<br />
Minx <br />
/min xs/ n. a. pert, sly, or playful girl.<br />
<br />
Woman's behaviour has therefore been coded according to laws of exclusion. <br />
This has had unanticipated consequences. For her stealthy gestures, body and mutterings have slipped out from his language and inadvertently into the workings of the war machine.<br />
<br />
She is the sphinx that has no secrets. <br />
<strike>(She is a clod of fine soap wrapped in rough white wool.)</strike><br />
<br />
Her survival now depends on the military deployment of bastardized versions of his appropriation.Wars will be waged, fruitful lands be laid bare to scorching fire.<br />
<br />
Serpentine tactics <br />
are the mappings of her imperceptible advance. She marks her lines through geological cuts, metallic intrusions, technical scars. As these wounds heal, it is the crusts that are felt by the fingers of a trained hand. Tesserae.<br />
Invisible to the strategy of the arborescent, specular war.<br />
<br />
Minx <br />
/min xs/ n. a. pert, sly, or playful girl.<br />
Her maps cannot be read, her troops cannot be seen. <br />
Scanners yield no image. Only touch will reveal, reactivate her meaning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Forget Jocasta, forget Antigone, forget even Inanna. Head on East, in the Indian subcontinent KALI marks a different path. This is no secretive, intestinal exploration of muscle or meat. She is no such reservoir.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
KALI is the sight of KALI.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
KALI is the skin of KALI.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
KALI is the eye in the middle of the eternal plane that is her surface that is KALI. Her eye is always on either side of the present, sucking up the past, enticing the future. KALI is always into it. Whatever it is, she intuits it all. If it is liquid, if it is turbulence, KALI is liquid turbulence.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Girls want to have fun. To amuse herself KALI gave birth by simple secretion to CHAOS and TURMOIL. We all know what happened to CHAOS. Her twin sister TURMOIL is the Hole of Wholes enticing the Outside. TURMOIL feeds on the fear of the inhabitants of the galaxies she feeds on.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From TURMOIL comes DURGA.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From DURGA comes CHIYOU.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From CHIYOU comes blood </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
raining from the skies</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
impregnating NUWA who secretly gives birth </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to AUM CHIZOU who became known as</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://dirkvekemans.com/category/lyriek/tante-sizzle/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">AUNT SIZZLE.</span></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="display: inline-block; position: relative; width: 100px;"></span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-cbd93276-7fff-f2e7-ab87-d0c4abfd11d3" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Awak</span>ening, she feels a slippage and she must strengthen her grasp. Focusing attention on the spot between her eyebrows she calls on her most prized and secret weapon. Moving like a disc in her head, metallic red, her third eye opens. She is born smoothly into the day and a war is won.<br />
<br />
But is not over. K.'s intrusion into the ruling order of the day is a micro specifically planned intermittence. A cut through screen instigated by the gathering pace of radial spin. Her long and matted hair flowing wildly, her maddened laughter, her third eye scarlet, her greedy tongue, her huge hard teeth, her lips drawn back, her breast dressed by strings of severed heads with wild and awful faces.<br />
<br />
Her garland was the intestine of the demon, her ornaments of bones in lust for blood and flesh. The earth trembled with her howling. She trampled heaven, earth and hell, crushed them beneath her feet.<br />
<br />
Aimed imperceptibly against the organism, against the specular gaze, the reptile stirs. The third cerebral ventricle, home of the animal spirits, dismantles the human. The residual events of a blind weapon that defies sight. What remains are the traces of her rhythm, the smeared imprints of her movement-- smooth skids--flatlines. A rhythm composed of speeds and slownesses.<br />
<br /></div>
Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-25661471449323170452019-06-27T12:40:00.000+02:002019-06-27T12:40:13.906+02:00Dark to Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1Qh1xZpyZQ/XRScdpFn94I/AAAAAAAAOjI/g4-BVGZQJywmd3SBTEXHzWAlLUf707HFQCLcBGAs/s1600/kaneli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1Qh1xZpyZQ/XRScdpFn94I/AAAAAAAAOjI/g4-BVGZQJywmd3SBTEXHzWAlLUf707HFQCLcBGAs/s640/kaneli.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;"><b>Dark to Light </b></span></div>
<span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; outline: none; width: auto;" tabindex="0"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">260 x 740 cm.</span></div>
<span class="hasCaption" style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">lime paint + wheat flour on paper</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">made during Watergang - Tuintonen performance - May 2013</span></div>
<div style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;">
<a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=1671631599718810&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK%2AF-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARA1dp3FVBPdZhX5f6OFJjTjmCB4t3ognLnctmujE34dxrsmv4Jut86XS-dUWbrXtZxCUaP34bEexPgL%22%2C%22directed_target_id%22%3Anull%2C%22groups_location%22%3Anull%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/Kaneli-Smit-1671631599718810/?__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARBcnWZRI4H-wL5vaArZJy7jPAv02-s48jv9Hz3lhxkYWLeh1rmQRrM_rFRatG7db9BM9grmzWsPJHkm0S1FWYB2gX6M3UVZGygdD-Jfs6mwqKeyNfXVNGAo8EjC7DG8pjeSkb7BTyYPir9whzk6SYfrZQZUJw8KsBwQGJxZ6H5LpFp9cuqlmm2gU1MSYmrigQop3hMbqdshxMUb6A&__tn__=%2CdK%2AF-R&eid=ARA1dp3FVBPdZhX5f6OFJjTjmCB4t3ognLnctmujE34dxrsmv4Jut86XS-dUWbrXtZxCUaP34bEexPgL" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;"><span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" style="color: #1c1e21; display: inline; line-height: 18px; outline: none; width: auto;" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></a><a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=1671631599718810&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK%2AF-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARA1dp3FVBPdZhX5f6OFJjTjmCB4t3ognLnctmujE34dxrsmv4Jut86XS-dUWbrXtZxCUaP34bEexPgL%22%2C%22directed_target_id%22%3Anull%2C%22groups_location%22%3Anull%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/Kaneli-Smit-1671631599718810/?__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARBcnWZRI4H-wL5vaArZJy7jPAv02-s48jv9Hz3lhxkYWLeh1rmQRrM_rFRatG7db9BM9grmzWsPJHkm0S1FWYB2gX6M3UVZGygdD-Jfs6mwqKeyNfXVNGAo8EjC7DG8pjeSkb7BTyYPir9whzk6SYfrZQZUJw8KsBwQGJxZ6H5LpFp9cuqlmm2gU1MSYmrigQop3hMbqdshxMUb6A&__tn__=%2CdK%2AF-R&eid=ARA1dp3FVBPdZhX5f6OFJjTjmCB4t3ognLnctmujE34dxrsmv4Jut86XS-dUWbrXtZxCUaP34bEexPgL" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Kaneli & Smit</a> with <a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=701896009824450&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK%2AF-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARAQ82313Sku43vbJorpQ-ap5t-zgB68fq1_TnsZlew9aHwZ1GyH79Azx95D752KOxuixmpcOutGvypL%22%2C%22directed_target_id%22%3Anull%2C%22groups_location%22%3Anull%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/skelectief/?__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARBcnWZRI4H-wL5vaArZJy7jPAv02-s48jv9Hz3lhxkYWLeh1rmQRrM_rFRatG7db9BM9grmzWsPJHkm0S1FWYB2gX6M3UVZGygdD-Jfs6mwqKeyNfXVNGAo8EjC7DG8pjeSkb7BTyYPir9whzk6SYfrZQZUJw8KsBwQGJxZ6H5LpFp9cuqlmm2gU1MSYmrigQop3hMbqdshxMUb6A&__tn__=%2CdK%2AF-R&eid=ARAQ82313Sku43vbJorpQ-ap5t-zgB68fq1_TnsZlew9aHwZ1GyH79Azx95D752KOxuixmpcOutGvypL" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Skelectief</a><span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList" style="color: #1c1e21; display: inline; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"> — met <span class="fbPhotoTagListTag tagItem" style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="taggee" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=701896009824450&type=mediatag&media_info=6.10217776123986271" data-tag="701896009824450" href="https://www.facebook.com/skelectief/" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Skelectief</a></span> en<span class="fbPhotoTagListTag tagItem" style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="taggee" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100002117523728&type=mediatag&media_info=6.10217776123986271" data-tag="100002117523728" href="https://www.facebook.com/kaneli.smit" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Kaneli Smit</a></span>.</span></span></div>
</span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;">DARK TO LIGHT</span></span><br />
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<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;">light is hunger, darkness feeds</span><br style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;" /><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;">see the sea and want thee more</span><br style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;" /><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;">the end is bliss no pain no joy</span><br style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;" /><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;">darkness darkness be my shore</span></span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">dv27/06/2019</span></span></span></span>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-19917742440336461892019-02-22T22:56:00.004+01:002019-02-22T22:57:24.627+01:00ALDI - every day surprisingly simple<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VcSJ1crRafc/XHBvWpFQwiI/AAAAAAAANlg/ZMNM0ltn6KkCReXrj0iThK5p-Qr0Q-pUgCLcBGAs/s1600/zaru.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1147" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VcSJ1crRafc/XHBvWpFQwiI/AAAAAAAANlg/ZMNM0ltn6KkCReXrj0iThK5p-Qr0Q-pUgCLcBGAs/s640/zaru.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dv 2019 - "M, the ALDI man" - A6</td></tr>
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<blockquote>
i will strike you with my pain<br />
and my pain will be a blessing<br />
i will hit you with my anger<br />
and my anger will be joy<br />
i will fill you with my horror<br />
and my horror will be lust<br />
i will join you in my hatred<br />
and my hatred will be love</blockquote>
Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-66875555822127090692018-03-25T21:22:00.002+02:002020-05-19T01:45:04.674+02:00a note on asemic reading<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">as some might have noticed i have recently engaged in what i would call an <b>asemic reading </b>of Les Fleur du Mal by Charles Baudelaire</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The theory of <b>asemic reading</b> as i see it is very simple. I use the term 'asemic' as in denoting that such a reading does not look for the 'meaning' of any given text but instead tries to capture and render its lyrical flow into equally asemic writing, a writing that is merely gestural and only very temporarily establishes its own 'generic' way of encoding.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Asemic reading </b>or <b><a href="https://ankeveld.miraheze.org/wiki/Categorie:Gignomenologie" target="_blank">Gignographics</a></b> is a writing program that takes a written text (or a musical score or any creative encoding of any sort that can be read) reads it and writes it out in gestural handwriting. Reading and writing converge in the activity as the program runs because the reading generates its own encoding practice, its own writing. Both reading and writing can be done in an algoritmic fashion by humans or machines, so the author of asemic reading can be anyone or anything. As such this practice or research method neatly fits in the concept of <b>interactive computing</b> as you may find expressed in <a href="https://technosphere-magazine.hkw.de/p/6aefb210-0ee6-11e7-a253-d9923802c14e" target="_blank">this article by Anil Bawa-Cavia </a></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">When the asemic reading program is running on humans it produces very refined pleasure in the human what by some has been described as lyrical joy. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The understanding and satisfaction gained from asemically reading intricate works of literature like <i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i> is nothing short of magical. Given sufficient practice, it's like having the lyrical flow running through your veins, as if you are becoming Baudelaire or any other poet whose works you read/write asemically. There is an intense joy in releasing the lyrical movement imprisoned within the words for so long and feeling it run through your gestures. At times the experience beats having sex (but then at other times it sure doesn't, hihi).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Since<b> anyone can do this</b>, combined with other experiments that try to generate lyrical movements through asemic writing i feel like we're about to realize the old dream of <b>Joseph Beuys </b>to enable everyone to be an author, which i feel is a pretty cool way to honor the dead buggar (er i mean the author, not Beuys he was a rather nice guy i think)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I got these ideas from reading <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?contributorId=1002320" target="_blank"><b>Jim Leftwich</b>' <b>'r</b><i>ascible & kempt'</i><b> </b></a>books BTW - i dearly recommend that excellent writing to anyone - and i will be trying to turn the practice into something useful as a therapy for folks having to cope with mental problems in this crazy world, but then i still need some practice before being able to be teaching it to others. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In the meantime i think there's million ways to develop this further into a very popular and civilizing activity, so try it out and get carried away!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UaEMszQRxqE/Wrf1vztlVcI/AAAAAAAALRI/UgAcK6xIEt41uOgA6mbYT6jRJ2MOcAxPACLcBGAs/s1600/FdMa003.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="992" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UaEMszQRxqE/Wrf1vztlVcI/AAAAAAAALRI/UgAcK6xIEt41uOgA6mbYT6jRJ2MOcAxPACLcBGAs/s640/FdMa003.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dv 2018 - asemic reading of Élévation of Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-19379462345751509492018-03-23T00:12:00.001+01:002018-03-23T00:12:37.012+01:00Les Fleurs du Mal - the Asemic Version #1-2<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eJco6GT3NSc/WrQ32li6UZI/AAAAAAAALPg/9OjibbD6XP4hWNypID7MgZvf2Hg5OS8kwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="984" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eJco6GT3NSc/WrQ32li6UZI/AAAAAAAALPg/9OjibbD6XP4hWNypID7MgZvf2Hg5OS8kwCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_2093.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FDMA #1 - Au Lecteur</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTPcn8X8LMA/WrQ4K2xv4SI/AAAAAAAALPk/gOpVcNXNs_0iUDoF5poZxBccDf6TNjqPQCLcBGAs/s1600/FdMa-B%25C3%25A9n%25C3%25A9diction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1028" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTPcn8X8LMA/WrQ4K2xv4SI/AAAAAAAALPk/gOpVcNXNs_0iUDoF5poZxBccDf6TNjqPQCLcBGAs/s640/FdMa-B%25C3%25A9n%25C3%25A9diction.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bijschrift toevoegen</td></tr>
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<br />Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-87294224511759994592018-03-15T23:53:00.001+01:002018-03-16T05:51:59.255+01:00apologiesMy work at this stage requires me to bother you with this notice concerning the language used in my work, the Neue Kathedrale des erotischen Elends. I will no longer try to write in english for three reasons.<br />
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These past few years i have come to vehemently dislike writing in english, not so much because it is tiresome (it is, but i somehow managed to cast off the better part of my laziness over the years), more because i dearly love my native tongue and because, as i grow older i tend to feel indepted to it as if to a lover that has allowed one to love and be loved for an extended period of time.<br />
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So it's not that i oppose writing in a second language or that i dislike the english language or anything, it's just that for the years that remain as an author i want to commit myself entirely to the dutch language and be as loyal to it as i possibly can.<br />
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Next i strongly feel my work requires me to write in dutch,meaning the creative research and development that i am doing, the growth that is accompanied by, and stimulated through my writing, can only happen 'properly' in dutch. The NKdeE can only happen in dutch, it can only be read or written in that language. Translating it into english would be useless and what's worse an act of misleading its authors (readers). Because of its use as a main language in coding practices, the english language cannot be deontologicized and therefore none of the NKdeE theory can be properly explicated in english. This fact i do not think is in any way inhibitating its growth: in fact it was, is and will continue to be an important stimulus and active requirement.<br /><br />Since it is always possible that i am mistaken in taking this kind of decisions i must add that i also act out of necessity: i simply don't have the time or the energy required to shift from thinking and writing in one language to another all of the time.<br />
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So, concluding, i can hardly imagine this to be of any importance to anyone, but i sincerely apologise for neglecting to use the one lingua franca of our time that i could use for my communications, it's just a decision that i have made, not a choice against anything but an entirely positive one.<br />
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dv, drieslinter, 15/03/2018 @ 23:53 rev? 16/03/2018 @ 5:50 CETDirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-9074099011342017812018-03-15T18:52:00.000+01:002018-03-15T18:52:10.777+01:00Other Words (take 2)<br />
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https://vilt.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/03-other-words.mp3</div>
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the fold</div>
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unfold rattles with</div>
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untold complexities</div>
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bag's kaput</div>
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lung's sickness</div>
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li's dead</div>
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traffic's jammed</div>
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make it no</div>
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one will make it no</div>
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one will no</div>
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one</div>
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you could have seen that one</div>
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coming</div>
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if you wannabe you got a bee</div>
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<i>any probability measure is prescriptive</i></div>
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so crown a crooner</div>
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pick your date</div>
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any majesty </div>
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decapits</div>
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ate</div>
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in</div>
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other words</div>
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Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-82197224022851496782018-03-06T12:00:00.000+01:002018-03-07T10:07:45.711+01:00Love in Outer SPace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/5wHj67QHeTQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5wHj67QHeTQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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tongue on tongue your tongue a tulip<br />
your pelvis from petal to petal<br />
its cavity bending towards me, I rub<br />
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upon thee my utter utter utmost<br />
outer space<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WCkRLhiyfbM/Wp2RZuGPTmI/AAAAAAAALIs/v7N61a7Ngo0300LRuzRYCwL2RN6TnQxIACLcBGAs/s1600/loveinOuterSpace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1131" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WCkRLhiyfbM/Wp2RZuGPTmI/AAAAAAAALIs/v7N61a7Ngo0300LRuzRYCwL2RN6TnQxIACLcBGAs/s640/loveinOuterSpace.jpg" width="452" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dv 2018 – “SUN(t)RA(nce) #5 - Love in Outer Space</td></tr>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span lang="EN-CA">the <b><a href="https://dirkvekemans.com/nkdee/about-the-nkdee/" style="background: transparent; color: #bf8b38; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NKdeE</a> SUN(T)RA(NCE) program</b> is an all-time tribute to <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun_Ra" style="background: transparent; color: #bf8b38; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">SUN RA</a></b>.<br /><br />the texts and drawings were made while listening to the composition their title refers to.<br />editing afterwards was very limited, so you get to read/view them like straight from the saturnal trance.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">the texts happened tomorrow in Dutch in 2008, translations into English and the drawings, using some methods/results from the<i><b> <a href="http://nkdee.blogspot.be/search/label/second%20writing" style="background: transparent; color: #bf8b38; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">second writing program</a></b></i>, would be from yesterday in 2018</span><br />
<h3 style="font-weight: 400;">
<span lang="EN-CA"><b>space 's the place</b></span></h3>
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Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3195247.post-63429278274120680512018-03-05T12:00:00.000+01:002018-03-05T12:00:04.373+01:00Journey Towards Stars<a href="https://vilt.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/01-journey-towards-stars.mp3" target="_blank">https://vilt.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/01-journey-towards-stars.mp3</a><br />
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<h2>
Journey Towards Stars</h2>
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your acreage is shrinking, dust<br />
needs to kill space, the day<br />
set out breathing but ran out of<br />
<br />
air, eyes covered<br />
with covered skins like<br />
sour sea soap dunes,<br />
<br />
batting in your ear, bleak wet land<br />
below the play zone boundary on the map<br />
drowning in verbs, your land<br />
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is playing your light<br />
in doubt of stars<br />
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(tw*nkl)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_iV9MZQMKfQ/WpsXW7Bi0SI/AAAAAAAALHQ/aXKzUeaV8209KrQX_O11b8J_lHvT6fnpwCLcBGAs/s1600/JourneyTowardsStars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1101" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_iV9MZQMKfQ/WpsXW7Bi0SI/AAAAAAAALHQ/aXKzUeaV8209KrQX_O11b8J_lHvT6fnpwCLcBGAs/s640/JourneyTowardsStars.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dv 2018 – “SUN(t)RA(nce) #4 : Journey Towards Stars"</td></tr>
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<b>Original Dutch text:</b><a href="https://dirkvekemans.com/2018/03/04/journey-towards-stars-2/" target="_blank"> https://dirkvekemans.com/2018/03/04/journey-towards-stars-2/</a></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">the <b><a href="https://dirkvekemans.com/nkdee/about-the-nkdee/" target="_blank">NKdeE</a> SUN(T)RA(NCE) program</b> is an all-time tribute to <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun_Ra" target="_blank">SUN RA</a></b>.<br /><br />the texts and drawings were made while listening to the composition their title refers to.<br />editing afterwards was very limited, so you get to read/view them like straight from the saturnal trance.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">the texts happened tomorrow in Dutch in 2008, translations into English and the drawings, using some methods/results from the<i><b> <a href="http://nkdee.blogspot.be/search/label/second%20writing" target="_blank">second writing program</a></b></i>, would be from yesterday in 2018</span><br /><h3 style="font-weight: 400;">
<span lang="EN-CA"><b>space 's the place</b></span></h3>
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Dirk Vekemanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16203588457152788452noreply@blogger.com0