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space for machines #2

space for machines #2

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Published by Dave Mockaitis
Space for machines #2, "Adolescent Geography" is a narrative about growing up in the Midwest told through images, collage and interpretive pieces on David Lynch and Radiohead.
Space for machines #2, "Adolescent Geography" is a narrative about growing up in the Midwest told through images, collage and interpretive pieces on David Lynch and Radiohead.

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Published by: Dave Mockaitis on Jan 26, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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07/10/2013

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Audite o vos in terra habitandesHanc, fabulam, audite de oceanoEt quo modo petiverint id quod desiderantQuoque modo eos tandem consumpseritLoquimini, o machinae, de libertateLoquimini, o machinae, per aerem temporis nostri.
space for machines #2
 
Listen, O people of the landTo this story of the oceanAnd how they looked for what they wantedAnd how it ate them in the endSpeak, machines of libertySpeak through the air of our time.--Laurie Anderson
 
adolescent geography
space for machines #2
Welcome to Twin Peaks. My name is Margaret Lanterman. live in Twin Peaks. I am knownas the Log Lady. There is a story behind that. There are many stories in Twin Peaks--some of them are sad, some funny. Someof them are stories of madness,of violence. Some are ordinary.Yet they all have about them asense of mystery--the mystery of life. Sometimes, the mystery of death. The mystery of the woods.The woods surrounding TwinPeaks. To introduce this story,let me just say it encompassesthe all-- it is beyond the “fire,” though few would know that meaning. It is a story of many,but begins with one. (Pilot episode/1:0)
The last week of July, I found myself driving aparticular stretch of I-74 that I have subsequentlyresolved to avoid. Now, I fidget with a GPS apparatusand complicated topographic maps of the midwesternlocations I need to navigate via the backroads. I wasunprepared for I-74 that day, rising early to pack mygear for the Underground Publishing Conference in Ohio.Fearing academia and my own tendency to quit in themiddle of large projects, I hit the road, specificallyI-74. I estimate that I’ve probably travelled thatparticular stretch of highway 500 times. When I wasyoung, the road was the way to college and the futureand a really cool town to hang out in. Later it becamethe distance of a commute, the frightening drive toreceive devastating news, the way to and from themarriages which are slowly absorbing my childhoodfriends. That July morning, it was 40 miles of hysteria.Following the car crash deaths of some teenagers inconstruction zones, the state had clamped down. Fromthe bodies of fallen comrades came a disturbingexpression of surveillance. Traffic patrolled byaircraft, tallies of tickets given to drivers, machineswhich flash your speed at you, and lurking cops surroundthe peaceful drive. I just wanted to go, to passthrough this display of power, to drive past my hometownand continue to a place that seemed to still hold thepromise of the future.

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