Samstag, 19.08.2017
Cabinet of Kaput

Phantom Kino Ballett

1. December 2016,

In Order Of Appearance

Phantom Kino Ballett
at Lot Radio, New York
2016

01:03 David Bowie & Amanda Lear – Who are you?
03:01 Jack Smith – The Horrors of Agony
07:22 Edith Bouvier Beale – This is the best Costume for the Day
08:36 Isabelle Adjani – Possession
12:14 Anne Sexton – Her Kind
17:34 Ingeborg Bachman – Exile
21:09 Sylvia Plath – The Ghost´s Leavetaking
24:28 Lukas Duwenhögger – Beautiful Ego
25:36 Roxanne Shanté – Big Mama
30:19 Edith Sitwell – Still falls the Rain
33:15 Holly Woodlawn – How does it feel ?
42:33 Larry David & Susi Green – Where is the fucking Head?
45:01 Elisabeth Taylor – I have no Time for Sex
45:33 Alejandro Jodorowsky – Money
48:54 Nina Simone – I tell you what Freedom is to me
54:52 Sylvia Plath – Lady Lazarus

The Ghost`s Leavetaking

Enter the chilly no-man’s land of about Five o’clock in the morning, the no-color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar conundrums Which seemed, when dreamed, to mean so profoundly much, Gets ready to face the ready-made creation Of chairs and bureaus and sleep-twisted sheets. This is the kingdom of the fading apparition, The oracular ghost who dwindles on pin-legs To a knot of laundry, with a classic bunch of sheets Upraised, as a hand, emblematic of farewell. At this joint between two worlds and two entirely Incompatible modes of time, the raw material Of our meat-and-potato thoughts assumes the nimbus Of ambrosial revelation. And so departs. Chair and bureau are the hieroglyphs Of some godly utterance wakened heads ignore: So these posed sheets, before they thin to nothing, Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up. Trailing its telltale tatters only at the outermost Fringe of mundane vision, this ghost goes Hand aloft, goodbye, goodbye, not down Into the rocky gizzard of the earth, But toward a region where our thick atmosphere Diminishes, and God knows what is there. A point of exclamation marks that sky In ringing orange like a stellar carrot. Its round period, displaced and green, Suspends beside it the first point, the starting Point of Eden, next the new moon’s curve. Go, ghost of our mother and father, ghost of us, And ghost of our dreams’ children, in those sheets Which signify our origin and end, To the cloud-cuckoo land of color wheels And pristine alphabets and cows that moo And moo as they jump over moons as new As that crisp cusp toward which you voyage now. Hail and farewell. Hello, goodbye. O keeper Of the profane grail, the dreaming skull.Enter the chilly no-man’s land of about Five o’clock in the morning, the no-color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar conundrums Which seemed, when dreamed, to mean so profoundly much, Gets ready to face the ready-made creation Of chairs and bureaus and sleep-twisted sheets. This is the kingdom of the fading apparition, The oracular ghost who dwindles on pin-legs To a knot of laundry, with a classic bunch of sheets Upraised, as a hand, emblematic of farewell. At this joint between two worlds and two entirely Incompatible modes of time, the raw material Of our meat-and-potato thoughts
assumes the nimbus Of ambrosial revelation. And so departs. Chair and bureau are the hieroglyphs Of some godly utterance wakened heads ignore: So these posed sheets, before they thin to nothing, Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up. Trailing its telltale tatters only at the outermost Fringe of mundane vision, this ghost goes Hand aloft, goodbye, goodbye, not down Into the rocky gizzard of the earth, But toward a region where our thick atmosphere Diminishes, and God knows what is there. A point of exclamation marks that sky In ringing orange like a stellar carrot. Its round period, displaced and green, Suspends beside it the first point, the starting Point of Eden, next the new moon’s curve. Go, ghost of our mother and father, ghost of us, And ghost of our dreams’ children, in those sheets Which signify our origin and end, To the cloud-cuckoo land of color wheels And pristine alphabets and cows that moo And moo as they jump over moons as new As that crisp cusp toward which you voyage now. Hail and farewell. Hello, goodbye. O keeper Of the profane grail, the dreaming skull.

Sylvia Plath

Verlagssitz
Kaput - Magazin für Insolvenz & Pop Aquinostrasse 1 | Zweites Hinterhaus, 50670 Köln | Germany
Team
Herausgeber & Chefredaktion:
Thomas Venker & Linus Volkmann
Autoren, Fotografen, Kontakt
Advertising
Kaput - Magazin für Insolvenz & Pop
marketing@kaput-mag.com
Impressum – Legal Disclosure
Urheberrecht /
Inhaltliche Verantwortung / Rechtswirksamkeit
Kaput
Kaput - Magazin für Insolvenz & Pop ist eine Publikation des Verlagshauses Kaput.