a b e d r o o m a b o v e

the skyline of LONDON

or

O T H E R W I S E t h a n A R T

The other night I encountered for the first time high above the City, close to the South Bank of the river Thames, a small bedroom.

A white cubic room, about twice the length of my body. Or was it much larger-, I am not sure at all. A single square window facing west, a single mattress dressed with white linen, so was the eiderdown. Further, as much I can remember, their were small piles of books, clothes, shoes and some other things which I can't recall. - But about the matter of scale, I am quite certain now, everything seemed rather small.

As this City is as much my place of residence, as it is also quite familiar to me in the flight of dreams; in which I at times accelerate between the banks of the City, face down brushing my eyelashes over the smooth space of the river, temporarily witnessing my transformation into a 'transsexual voice of becoming'

I was somewhat surprised to find myself quite awake in this room. In the course of a few weeks I was returning to this room at numerable occasions, in order to find each time a different female voice temporarily residing in this space.

In order to speak of it, I shall address you as "Emma", I will speak at times as if you were many, a poly-voiced chimerical singularity, like a 'coming community' high above the Cities river of discourse. In order to come to you, I displaced you into foreign Cities, foreign dreams and desires, of which I may tell you in time .........

Still I always came from empty streets, deserted air port corridors, trains, ships, accompanied by my love, passing the 'guard' by identifying ourselves by your name "Emma"; accelerating in the cool breeze of the lift, mirrored in silver steel.

Foreigners so beautiful a times.

Accelerating beyond cultural concerns and for a short time perhaps we were staring at the door of an all to ordinary flat.

If the voice indicates the taking place of language as space/time (over-time) what is the " reality" to which I refer as You ? Only a "reality" of discourse -- that is something quite singular. -

At your side;

I conversed with young men, four maybe five at once, who attempted to walk in small shoes half the size than their feet, which they had found in you. Their half broken voices, their laughter filled small dresses, shirts and socks with a sense of confused dark longing - longing for lighter nights, - longings for the once lost transitional object, and unexpected light hearted, like the soldiers of Alexandria, they danced for an instance.

(By definition an instance is unique and valid only in its uniqueness.)

And here, I have seen you turn the lost objects of displaced desire into the 'coming object` of singularity. At other times I have found in you distant voices, foreigners talking about the virtues of being foreign, migrants dispersing their laughter and chatter- and all these 'City dreams'.

Once more, I, for the last time perhaps, the lift accelerates my love and me above the 'discourse of the City' into you.

[(EMMA), since my last visit I have been wondering - how is it possible to think the female voice in itself ?]

Here in you, it became possible to measure the proximity of the coming singularity, (that is, the singularity that completes itself in its imaginative being) to that of the female voice, that seeks to grasp the instant of the 'having been'.

I press my eyes against the cool glass of your window, westwards, face to face. Now, by looking into the 'Open' with all my eyes, for an instant the voice of silence spoke of generations passing through biological mutations, cultural incisions, submerged in incomprehensible, uniformed memories to come.

The VALENTINIANS write: Silence (as the mother of all things that have been emitted from The Abyss, says nothing about the unspeakable. That which it has understood it has called incomprehensible.

The confrontation that always been underway between the (public) female voice art) and privacy is, thus, much more than a simple rivalry. Both seek to grasp that original inaccessible place of the voice (coming voice), which, for imaginative beings, is the highest stake. (But both public and private, faithful to their imaginative inspiration, finally demonstrate this place as unattainable).

Art, which is born precisely as an attempt to liberate the private from its inspiration, may finally manage to grasp the female voice and transforms it as 'Geist', into its own subject. But this 'Geist' is precisely the transsexual, the chimerical gender and the most beautiful voice.

Perhaps only a language in which the 'coming voice of art' would intervene at a certain place to disperse the female voice of privacy, and in which the imagination of privacy would intervene to bend the coming voice of art' into a transposing helix, would their be a future for language.

This (poly)- reciprocal belonging is not, however, simply to be conceived as a relation between pre-existing entities, but as that which conveys them in their pure exposure. Then, how is it possible to experience the female voice in itself to think absolute gender ?

The chimerical flight that we seem to hear flutter away in our imagination is - we are told - our own voice, our own being in language.

(I returned there

where I have never been.

Nothing has changed from how it was not.

In the bedroom next to the small shoes]

I found a small photograph which was never taken.

All has remained just as I never left it.)

L.E.C.LIEBENSCHUTZ