Sunday, November 11, 2012

Out Here (by Mark Amerika)

Out Here (by Mark Amerika)
-- In Memoriam to Patrick Simons

Out here there are a lot of fun things to do.

It's like there's so much to do that I forget that I am supposed to be a writer.

I used to worry a lot about my "not writing."

But now I am walking a lot of the time and have forgotten what it means to worry about anything.

A lot of my time is being walked away.

My walking is leading me to a space beyond time per se and this has enabled me to develop a deep, topographical / thoughtographical practice that constantly remixes the ongoing interrelationship between my body's heightened state of spatiality as movement-feeling-remixing and the simple idea of tracing lines of thought that get ported through the networked field of distribution.

My walks document this moving-feeling-remixing practice by leaving feint imprints on the neuromuscular memory streams coursing through my days (and night drifting).

These moving-feeling-remixing neuromuscular memories that stream through my body are like flickering imprints of realtime publications that are impossible to read and conveniently disappear before I have a chance to consciously process them.

But then again, who needs to read a memory when you can literally create one as an experiential movement distributing itself through the dreamtime network?

So, instead of reading memories, I (continually) (over)write the.

The what?

Corpuscular code treading my bloodline.

Every now and then, these perambulations that I unconsciously archive in my neuromuscular movements as part of an ongoing spatial practice are transcoded into other, more orderly, and even ordinary languages that are then manipulated in various digital editing environments.

These digitally edited remixes are basically meta-versions of what it feels like to write-while-walking.

Writing-while-walking is how I compose myself for the Mobile Media Apparatus that distributes my various networked personae in asynchronous realtime.

It's just that nobody really knows that, unless we go on a long walk together.

In this regard, I have become a networked and mobile medium seeking his way out to a clearing.

Some have even suggested that this is what makes me a truly "contemporary" artist.

But I resist these labels as much as possible even as I can't help but continually label and re-label myself as a kind of auto-branding mechanism who becomes what he is simply by doing what he does whenever he does it.

Right now, I'm fully loaded with easygoing love apps that are sensitive to the touch and the more I launch them the more I become less "me" per se and more "them" (thems The Ones, the ones that touch me back).

Every now and then I'll launch a particularly robust love app and it will feel just like.

Just like what?

Corpuscular code treading my bloodline.

But most of the time it doesn't.

Though even when it doesn't, it still feels w-r-i-t-e.

That is to say, it still feels like a live, postproduction set (a processual enterprise of mystorical intent).

Nowadays, I welcome the challenge of not being myself even as I mobilize my body into the next spatial consequence forming itself right in front of me (and this is how she gets me every time, and every time I'm stunned that it can still go down that way).

How to put it in as succinct a manner as possible?

"This is how I roll/play."

Or: this is moving-feeling-remixing as embodied praxis.

Keywords: mobile medium, contemporary artist, Mark Amerika, walking, writing, asynchronous, realtime


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