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spacer spacer spacer spacer PLASTIQUE FANTASTIQUE 24 HOUR PUJA FOR THE-PEOPLE-YET-TO-COME

Performance and installation for S?ance: War on Ghosts at Space Station 65, London, 2006.

Different characters from the comics were actualised through performance and shrines and assemblages were built for the characters to activate.

At the centre of the performance space was a bastardised Starbucks logo, Staabucks Fukkee, on which a 24 hour Puja for the-people-yet-to-come and other performances by invited artists took place.

The performance featured Shadow Face, Crazy-in-love-Bowery-disco-beings, emos (emotional teens) and the traitor prophet, Glitter Head.

For a complete narrative of the puja see One Day In The Life Of A City.

During the performance the Green tara mantra by Residue was played repeatedly:

 

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The Puja has 6 protocols (repeated for 24 hours)

While a mantra plays, Shadow Face chants:

1. DO NOT DO ANYTHING. REMAIN EXACTLY AS YOU ARE.
2. THIS IS THE DEAD TIME, THE TIME OF CAPITAL, THE TIME OF ENTROPY.
3. INSECTS ARE YOUR FRIENDS. WASP, FLY, BEE, BEETLE, ANT, GNAT, GRASSHOPPER, THEY ARE ALL YOUR FRIENDS.
4. STAABUCKS FUKKEE IS YOUR ENEMY.
5. ROCKS ARE YOUR FRIENDS, CROWS ARE YOUR FRIENDS. KATE MOSS IS YOUR ENEMY.
6. YOUR SUBJECT/OBJECT SPLIT IS THE SYMPTOM AND CAUSE OF PETTY FEARS.
7. STAABUCKS FUKKEE ROTS YOUR BRAIN AND SHRIVELS YOUR SEXUAL ORGANS.
8. THERE IS NOT, AND NEVER HAS BEEN, ANYTHING TO UNDERSTAND.
9. REMOVE ALL PROSTHESES; REFUSE COMMUNICATION.
10. SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS IS YOUR FRIEND.

Disco-Bowery-beings sing into each others ears Nina Simone’s, ‘Wild is the Wind’

Emos (the emotional teens) call forth the virtual criminals of My.Space and read Communique: stuttering and stammering the-people-yet-to-come.

Glitter Head reads communique: You live in clowd-di-cook-coo-land.

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F-FUKKEE DEFACIALISATION

We declare all out war on meaning. Be prepared for a deployment of force the like of which will make your Bushes and Blairs weep like ill babies. And we are not talking about mere carpet-bombing, oh no siree. We affirm nonsense, bastard-affect, and with it the yet-to-be-thought, the future-forms, the people-yet-to-come, who we hereby call forth from this, your so-called society (we are a society too, the society of emo’s (e-motion-als)). We have no desire to be understood – thankfully, we do not understand ourselves. We are like deranged feral children (who have been discovered too late…). We celebrate the mistakes, the cuts, the holes, the mutant-vectors. They are the entry points onto other worlds - and into the possibility –hallelujah!– of something different. (We are constantly forced to ask questions such as: Why all this fucking shit? Why all this introspection and fucking morose melancholia, huh? Who are these f-fucking c-cops anyway?). We will ally ourselves with anyone, or anything, any fieldmouse, housefly or flyover, that likewise stutters and stammers the what-is, that breaks with the apparent omnipresence of the fucking order-word (in all its guises). And when we say ‘breaks with’ we are not talking about polite disputation and disagreement. We are talking about extreme defacialisation! Plastique Fantastique against f-faciality – we are the f-fucking fukkees of your future-time - and we take no prisoners!

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YOU LIF IN CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND

LAY-DEEZ AND GEN-TIL-MEN OF LON-DOWN, YOU ALL LIF IN CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND AND I WILL PROOF IT. IF I ASK YOU, ‘WHERE DOZ FOO-OUD CUM FRUM?’, YOU WILL SAY, ‘IT CUM FRUM THE SHOP, OR THE CHIP-PEE, OR THE BURG-GER-KING. BUT FOO-OUD CUM NOT FRUM THE SHOP, OR THE CHIP-PEE, OR THE BURG-GER-KING. IF I ASK YOU, ‘WHERE DOZ DRY-INK CUM FRUM?’, YOU WILL SAY, ‘FRUM THE PU-UB, OR THE ODD-BINZ OR THE STAA-BUCKS.’ BUT FOO-OUD DOZ NOT CUM FRUM THE SHOP, OR THE CHIP-PEE, OR THE BURG-GER-KING. DRY-INK DOZ NOT CUM FRUM THE PU-UB, OR THE ODD-BINZ, OR THE STAA-BUCKS. FOO-OUD AND DRY-INK DOZ NOT CUM FRUM LON-DOWN AT ALL. LON-DOWN IS A CUN-CRE-TET JUN-GULL. AND WHAT CAN GRUW IN CUN-CREE-TET? NOO-THUNG. DO NOT BE FOOL-DED. FOO-OUD AND DRY-INK CUM FRUM FAR A-WEY. FOO-OUD AND DRY-INK CUM FRUM AF-RIK-AH, RU-MAN-EY-AH, CHI-IN-AH, EAST-ANG-GLI-AH. BOT TOE-KNEE-BLA-HAIR DOZ NOT WAN YOU TO NOO THIS. TOE-KNEE-BLA-HAIR WAN YOU TO LIF IN CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND. TOE-KNEE-BLA-HAIR WAN YOU TO LIF IN THE CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND OF FOO-TE-BALL-ERS, EAS-TE-END-ERS, BIG-BRU-UTH-ERS. YOU ALL LIF IN CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND AND YOU DO NOT UV-VEN NO-TIS. THIS IS ALL TRU-OO. I WILL TELL YOU MOOR. LET ME TELL YOU A-BOT AR-NUTH-ER FA-AKT OF CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND. LET ME TELL YOU A-BOT A FAY-ACE THAT TUR-NED A-WEY FRUM CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND AND WOZ KILL-LED BY THE MAR-STAIRS OF CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND. I AM SPOO-KING OF LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER. WHUN LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER WUNT TO AF-RIK-AH SHE SAW LAND-DER MINDS THAT HAD THE QUE-EENS CRUWN ON THEM. LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER SAY TO HER SELV, ‘THE QUE-EEN A-PROOF OF THE LAND-DER-MINDS’. NEXT LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER SEE ALL THE SMA-OLL BA-BEES WITH NO ARM-IES AND LEG-GIES. LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER SAYS TO HER-SELV, ‘THE QUE-EEN A-PROOF OF THE LAND-DER-MINDS THAT BLO-OW UP ALL THE SMA-OLL BAB-BEES’. WHUN SHE CUM BACK TO LON-DOWN LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER TOLL-DER QUE-EEN OFF AND SHE SAY SHE IS GO-UNG TO TELL THE NEW-SUS-PAP-PERS WHUN SHE CUM BACK FRUM PAR-RIS WITH HER MUZ-LIM BOY-FREEND.THE QUE-EEN PUN-NIC. SHE SAY TO HER SOLD-DEERS, ‘HULP ME, PLEEZE STOP LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER, SHE IS IN PAR-RIS, STUP HER PLEEZE’. AND DO YOU NOO WHAT? LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER NEV-HER CUM BACK FRUM PAR-RIS. THUNK A-BOT IT. OH, LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER NEV-HER CUM BACK FRUM PAR-RIS. HOW VER-HER-REE CUN-VEEN-NI-ENT FOR THE QUE-EEN THAT LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER DIE. IT WOZ AN AX-I-DON’T? DO NOT BEE-LEAF IT. IT WAS THE MAR-STAIRS OF CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND WHAT KILL-DED LAY-DEE-DIE-ANN-ER. IT WAS THE QUE-EEN AND TOE-KNEE-BLA-HAIR. YOU MUST WAKE UP FRUM THIS DREE-AM LIF OF CLOWD-DI-COOK-COO-LAND. DO NOT HAV AN-NEE NIE-IGHT-TEE-MAR-RIES NOW.

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