Forgive my slight romantic flair, but I’ve been thinking about the revolution - that is, a revolution that means something - as a bouncy ball hitting a mirror. That we live - lives which we have not already always seen on television - in fits and starts. But who am I to say this - I’m white?
That’s this thing too though, our language is cut off by our racial, economic, sexual, etc. etc. roles. We are bracketed by these things, they are in our minds, placed into our heads by TV screens: our desires are created by commercials and our sight mediated by the institutionalized camera. What TV station would broadcast this “revolution?” How could they profit off of it? There are none, it would destroy them.
It is a cold fact that what appears on a screen is dead, we have seen it a hundred times before. There is a huge disconnect between what our reality is supposed to be, this glowing image which dances before our eyes, and what we/he/she/they are. What exactly does it mean that “whitey’s on the moon” when compared to the teeth of the rat? It means nothing but taunt, the dissonance between what cold-war era America wants the future to be, and the reality of its present.
It is a cold fact that what appears on a screen is dead. What does this mean for Heron’s music, as it appears on your computer screen? This, too, is dead. What’s more, it insists that you are dead. You have already heard the complaints registered against these screens. A complaint has been filed, we are committed to your happiness, please be patient as we process this request. These songs are safe on the screen, sound coming from behind that veil is even comforting.
What is the future? What is this revolution? “Whitey” is out there colonizing the future- stabbing the American flag into the moon. There he is on the screen, dead before we see him. He is sanctioned by the television, producing one more part of that white capitol dome which floats across the street.
The revolution is a bouncy ball hitting a mirror. The revolution is a bouncy ball hitting a mirror. What will our future be if we stab the moon in the same way we stab the Earth/stab ourselves?
I repeat, the revolution is a bouncy ball hitting a mirror. It hits over and over again: the mirror vibrates. We are already dead, in listening to Heron. These words, too, are dead, even as they are said. The future? It is a bouncy ball hitting a mirror, knowing that it is this percussive factor which gives me life.
The future is not a colony, it is the drums; it is the realization that despite all the sodas and resort hotels we’ve all heard so much about, we are alive: self-realization. For a moment we have contact, for a moment we can make something which hasn’t already been appropriated, not because it’s new and fresh, but because it’s getting at something Whitey on the moon doesn’t control, a past/a self which is just out of whitey-on-the-moon’s line-of-sight. Then we get swallowed again, by those images. We are mortal, but the revolution is kept alive by fits and starts. The drums are nots, those revolutionary knotted nots recreate the future.
Or maybe not, I don’t know.
listen here and here