June 2007: It was a little blonde girl, perhaps twelve years of age, kicking a soccer ball by herself. Her actions were deliberate, as if trying to develop some skill that she couldn't quite muster. Since a few of us had taken to kicking a ball around in the hotel courtyard after lunches, I motioned her to send a pass in my direction. We started kicking the ball back and forth a few times, after which she asked me a question … in German. I didn't understand a word she said. I was also trying to ask her a question, and tried to communicate back to her in English, equally to no avail. Our gesticulations couldn't overcome the language barrier either, and I could sense her becoming increasingly frustrated with this inability to make ourselves understood.
"Only apparently do the players relate to each other empirically as discrete terms, mediated by reflection and language. They relate to each other in their collective becoming, as a distinct ontological level doubling their substantial being. It is this collective becoming that is the condition of a formation like a sport, common to the proto-game, the official game, unofficial versions coexisting with it, and subsequent variations of them all" (Massumi, Parables for the Virtual, p.76, emphasis added).
July 2006: Beaded with sweat, under the glare of the stadium lights and the softer Berlin twilight, his head gleamed like a golden ball …
"I'd like to risk a basketball example…" (Brian Massumi, Saas-Fee, August 2010)
June 2007: Isn't sport great sometimes? I left our random encounter and continued up the cobblestone path, spirits buoyed. Danke schoen, little German girl, for making me smile as well.
stay close, think with
to open the sky,
a double expresso
to double the
free falling flesh.
these are poor words
for expressing the falling
and bodies that fall.
with each spoken expression
ideas and thoughts and my
falling with you.
ping . . . : . . . pong
ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . : . . . pong . . . : . . . ping . . . :
ping . . . channeled phantoms of edison sublime . . . pong . . . aural corona the scramble of time . . . ping . . . rally duration to numbering game . . . pong . . . rhythm gives birth to the name of the name . . . ping . . . grip yields to grasp on our service and spin . . . pong . . . noise gives the slip to overexposed skin . . . ping . . . unchoreograph the frenzied ballet . . . pong . . . severed connect tournament tourniquet.
ping . . . :
ping . . . :
ping . . . :
. . . . . . .
here we go y'all, time to play ball
athletic gestural poet.
food for the brain, beats for the feet
that's what Chuck D told me
when he D'd it up so sweet
Balso and Beck speak bball, too, with the
jab step pitter patter pen to paper platter
BB bootyshakes the late-night bebop backbeat
at the Happy sweaty hepcat hardwood affair
Bebe peeps the love for a future nostalgia
no-look bounce pass hard drive to nowhere
Baby Jesus leaps from the free throw line
presidential prophecy in his Air Force Ones.
re: sean app
press on him
hymn on this
come on with
knot on miss
cat's cradle multiple
and language that always says the wrong things.
gesture is the mo(ve)ment through which flesh-wave becomes language-particle.