Suddenly is a choreographed piece. These artworks, these bodies, were invited into this space to be part of a dance, Together. The initial Intuitive movement was a curatorial-choreographic-editorial one. These vertebrate-human bodies, these invertebrate-viral and bacterial bodies, these invertebrate-algorithmic AI bodies, the otherwise vertebrate translexic Fart body were invited to perform a Dance in this book. Whatever linguistic matrix that has supported the narrative environment – or reality, as it were - of all of these bodies seem to be crackling out of form…it’s cascading down into…out into…of…. from…into…into…to…

We seem to have been trusting the worth and meaning of the words, until suddenly Eu não sou só eu em mim / I am not only me in me Eu não sou só eu / I am not only me Eu sou todos nós / I am all of us Eu sou todos nós / I am all of us Somos um só ser / We are one being Somos um só ser / We are one being Somos um só ser / We are one being ÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍmeat the atari's - we are notourselvesÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍwe have one consciousnesswe have one heartwe have one mindwe have one bodywe have one energywe have one willwe have one soulwe have one spiritwe are one we are one we are oneÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍwetheratari'sÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÃÂÍÍÍÍÍ!ÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ

[pas des deux Fabio Morais and Grupo Cena 11]

We seemed to have been ok with believing and acknowledging the rules, until a certain point when Suddenly – it was indeed pretty suddenly, wasn’t it? - our subjectivity became colonized and our cognition got intoxicated by a sophisticated form of writing with a purpose. An algorithmic-racializing-misogynistic purpose so as to continue the legacy of the regimen of the colonial unconsciousness that structure Capitalism (this tired, morbidly obese word; a word with severe osteoporosis on Viagara in order to sustain its capital C). There’s a philosopher – a jurist and a philosopher and social reformer – who said that Power delineates its own Contours; it writes its Own laws, but even more Uncannily so, it writes the very laws of Writing. Imagine that, if you can: Power dictates the grammar that writes Power. This jurist-philosopher drew the Panopticon in the 18^th century, a looooong-not-so-long time ago, the architectural plan where one is to internalize the Punitive hand of Power to the very physiological matrix of Fear, common to vertebrate and invertebrate bodies alike : \   . fear then is the consonant that fuels this grammatology’s engine to constantly and organically refresh itself, reprogram itself even: acid-techno-feudal-k-Capitalism (now high on zolpidem and porn in order to sustain its capital C)

[Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) was the Panopticon’s author and jurist. English]

Unless they are in movement, I suppose; we suppose, rather: I, Daniela Castro + the artworks: Fabio Morais’ Suddenly, Bianca Foratori’s Handmade, Grupo Cena 11’s I AM NOT ONLY ME IN MYSELF – STATE OF NATURE – PROCEDURE 1, Deleuze Was Wrong – DWW + Claudio Moreira’s PUM, Natha Calhova’s Bicho. If we are in movement, fear is invited to move along. In movement we defy fixed forms; sometimes we resist gravity, even – without forgetting that writing, programming, maybe - and I mean, MAYBE - are free from the 10m/sec force of gravity. Or even, as Grupo Cena 11 has it, gravity is not the force that determines how we inhabit this planet, but it is merely a friend. Gravity as a good friend, not necessarily a kind friend, but one that demands you to become…a better…a sound…a sounder version…an edited version…of…sound…to becoming a tidelectic modular combination of body, subjectivity, space and technology.

[thank you for this Alejandro Ahmed and Kamau Brathwaite: as I write this I watch Grupo Cena 11’s dancers perform their falls hand in hand with their gravity friend, Together modularly combining the axis stated above after Ahmed’s thoughts on dance. I can see and hear their weight flying and hitting the ground, who replies back in awe (yes, the ground replies back in awe, together with sound and lighting, the stage-organism replies back in awe). I’ve seen it.

Kamau Brathwaite, a Barbadian historian and poet, has gifted us in the Caribbean and Latin America – the whole world actually, but some parts are not fully willing to absorb this grammar – with tidelectics. Tidalectics are an experiment of formulating an oceanic view of the world, unbound by land-based modes of thinking and living. It’s, obviously, a trasnlexic raving (Claudio Moreira) with dialectic. Dialectics make up the engine that justifies that capitalism is the only regime technological enough, sophisticated enough, the only regime possible to solve complex and menacing problems that capitalism itself inflicts on the world, its fauna, flora and dreams (yes, I am aware of the oversimplification about dialectics here that will probably cause philosophers to drop this book in rage; but I don’t have much space or Calhova’s Bichos*  may eat this text alive, and the philosophers probably agree with me in the backstage anyway). Tidalectics overwrite the land-based-private-property-capitalist Cartesian matrix of time and space into a system that is reflective of the rhythmic and fluidity of water and the incessant swelling and receding of the tides. Something more like sound waves travelling incessantly into space or the rippling waves that a body (a stone, a coin, a finger) forms when jumps into the water. Tidelictics are affected by Sound and the phases of the Moon. They reach beyond the stratosphere, making room for different cosmogonies to be able to be part of the same text.]   

In dance, the grammar is a sweating body, sweating walls, sweating sound; it needs to be properly hydrated and well fed in order to withstand the jumps and pirouettes and Thoughts that the smell of the real demands it (the grammar) to withstand. So that’s why we keep moving through and with acrylic paint and gas and music and dance and sculpted text and candy and piercing pins – grammatological candy-like weapons, organically architected killing machines: bichos* colonize back, putrid gas sound intoxicates back, bacteria thrive in culture…Culture, this growing thing that the healthier it gets, the more smelly gas it releases, the wider colors Red get cast according to the moon light and the Sound of the ocean, the stronger the social collective it rucks… YEAAAHH structuring, adorning, completing the spine, from the feet upwards, spiraling upwards, composing the neck, supporting the Head.  

[I love this word bicho. Bicho in Brazilian… TupiGuarani… Iorubá… Portuguese language means an organism, an animal, a person, an insect, any living breathing photosynthesizing being, a slang…it is a very plastic word with lots of usage and it has no direct translation into any another contemporary and ancient language; it tends to be always spoken in the masculine gender form bichO…bichA, which would be the feminine gender inflection means, pejoratively, a “faggot” if spoken by people scared of their own state of pleasure. But bicha spoken by people who celebrate pleasure as a constant such as gravity, can allude to a familiar bond.]

 Art as the respiratory system of a social body in the process of augmenting its breathing capacity…its Immune System fighting back as long as it is sweating as a response to high impact cardiac aerobic exercise…sweating in producing subjectivity with joy and coconut oil to moist the skin (yes, the skin of subjectivity that is vital, not moral; that reaches beyond the individual body into the common – out to celestial bodies through sound waves) with the touch of silver needles igniting a whole system of lymph and nymphs – physiology and poetry; breathing and speaking; sweating and writing; subjectivity and culture  – as a common social praxis; as critical and reflexive volume; as a transformative response.