Rock Albany laughed. He stood naked at the edge of a cliff. His windswept hair was neither blond nor red, but black, as black as a melon. His face was like a law of nature, like the call of the herd. He had the mouth of an executed saint.
Rock laughed and shook his head, then dove into the lake far below. He swam easily to the far shore, where he dressed, then strolled down a path. He walked swiftly, with a loose, lazy expertness of motion. He walked down the long road on the sun, the sun’s only road. The sun was his home. He had lived there for seventeen years. Most men would die if they tried to live on the sun. They would burn up at once. Rock laughed at this thought. He found the sun charming. The sun, he thought, has been waiting here just for me. Waiting to be ripped apart by my dynamite and drill. Waiting for the new shape my hands will give it. He would paint it pigeon blue. He would install a Pekinese buttress. He would hand-raise pudgy canaries. Rock liked canaries. Their eyes never missed a thing. They made a man feel as though he did not exist. They stared with a sudden resentment. They knew that they were naked in their cage. They suffered in this world. Rock knew that the canaries would suffer to live inside cages on the sun. He didn’t know how long they would hold out, staring at him with their damned eyes, before they burned up. He would go through a lot of canaries. He’d have to skimp and slave to afford so many. He would need them at once. He resolved to call his best friend and supplier, the Duke. But then he forgot. He didn’t give a damn.
(Below are the first few chapters of a very long and bizarre technological manifesto. If you want to read the rest, you can find it here. It continues to be amazingly weird and sci fi, so don’t be shy. Dive in to hedonism with the enthusiasm of a lugubrious infant!)
A B S T R A C T
This manifesto outlines a strategy to eradicate suffering in all sentient life. The abolitionist project is ambitious, implausible, but technically feasible. It is defended here on ethical utilitarian grounds. Genetic engineering and nanotechnology allow Homo sapiens to discard the legacy-wetware of our evolutionary past. Our post-human successors will rewrite the vertebrate genome, redesign the global ecosystem, and abolish suffering throughout the living world.
The French Song was originally written by Gabriel Boyer in an effort to test the boundaries of his knowledge of french and recorded on Walking Stick (’01). Lyrics go something like this: “French it’s the language of fingers, french it’s the language of fingers, hey hey hee hee ha ha the language of fingers / Do re mi it isn’t fa, do re mi it isn’t fa, hey hey hee hee ha ha, it isn’t fa / But french it’s in the head / But the fingers are in regret / But your tongue is on my eyes / But your fingers are in my heart.” I leave the rest of the song up to your own fertile imagination.
This song was recorded with the Dynavox 2000 at Exile Studios in the Fall of 2002 with back-up vocals by Corey Tatarczuk and Annie Heringer, with Corey also playing bass and Annie playing accoustic guitar. Malcolm Felder was on drums, Elijah McMurtrie on electric guitar, Gregory Kenney on keyboards, and Gabriel Boyer performing lead vocals and piano. It was recorded just a few short months after The Textbook Tapes and with largely the same aesthetic in mind, and involving many of the same performers. Since that time it’s been sitting in our storehouses waiting for the moment when we would unleash it on your unsuspecting ears. This is the month, and today is the day.
Mutable author Gabriel Boyer (in full-body spandex superhero garb) reads from his new book, The Puppet and the Puppeteer, part of his second volume of failures to be released by mutable over the course of the next two years. More videos from the show can be found at Dear Navigator, as part of their on-going online reading series.
(This month, we here at Mutable, thought we would spice things up with a manifesto of interior design by Jonathan Adler as opposed to the usual run-of-the-mill political and/or artistic manifesto. Learn to prettify your life!)
We believe that your home should make you happy.
We believe that when it comes to decorating, the wife is always right. Unless the husband is gay.
We believe in carbohydrates and to hell with the puffy consequences.
Ramses’ Jason Allen, also of ComoRevi Butterfly and the Blank Bankers has graciously shared his library of casio compositions, and we here at Mutable chose this as one of the saner options. You can download it here or listen below. Enjoy!
October 10th, 2010
Loving Henry Green Luther Phillips
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In our manifesto this month, Henry Green is mentioned as a notable amateurist, but who is Henry Green you might ask? Green was the pseudonym for Henry Vincent Yorke, and the author of ten books, most of which are truly remarkable, all short and each one written in its own distinctive dialect, capturing the voice of the people he meant to showcase in the lilt and hum of his prose, the titles of all but three of which end in I N G, as in “Loving,” “Living,” and so on.
I first discovered Green when I was very young, eighteen or twenty, and once I started reading his books, I proceeded to read as many of them as I could get my hands on. But why? Because with his books I never have the feeling that I’m reading something contrived, but rather getting glimpses into another living universe, or as Elizabeth Bowen once said, Green’s novels “reproduce as few English novels do, the actual sensations of living”. It was Green’s own presumption that he was creating life of a kind when he wrote.
Which would not have been a shocking statement at the time, but feels odd when we think of contemporary writers. Who today speaks of creating life when they speak of writing books, which is one of the reasons I believe that we don’t have writers like Henry Green, or Graham Greene for that matter. There is a severe lack of faith that has pervaded even the creators of our world, who now create safe facsimiles as opposed to honest forgeries. That the works of Henry Green are almost entirely unknown today is a travesty, but that his view of literature is an outmoded dinosaur is a true disaster.
…as everyone has by now, surely, become aware, the word “amateur” arises from the holy name of amaterasu – the japanese goddess of the sun who was born from the left eye of izanagi…it is to her alone that all true amateurists turn for benedictions of light and love…
aligning the field: amateurism & professionalism
…every action (drama / karma) is a creative gesture, because every action continuously creates consequences…
Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental. We also record a weekly podcast and organize events of a more intimate nature. Contact us at email@example.com.
We’re always looking for submissions. However, these days our manuscript bin is a little overfull. Feel free to send us content to throw up on the web site, but we won’t be considering full-length manuscripts until January, 2013, assuming we haven’t all gone up in flames as our Mayan friends predict. We are also very much still looking for music. You can send your cd-rs to:
1690 Mississippi Ave
Eugene, OR 97403