To you

TO YOU For M.

To you to you
This shape of words
Where body leaves the naked soul
As if as if
My tongue has drawn
To you these silent chords

So long so long
Are endless thoughts
Where no precision passes by
As if as if
I learned to cry
Along a blurry road

Not yet not yet
A shadow burns
Of what has been already true
As if as if
There was no ‘you’
‘Not yet’ the silence warns.

To me to me
This everything
That grows into a greener tree
As if as if
There was no ‘be’
To me just was and will

So if so if
You hear me still
Like water trough the veins of leaves
To you to you
My silent screams
And tears no one has killed

***

***

nie stracisz ani minuty
wyjedz za stolem brudno
wytrzyj rekawem
plame zmyslonych dni nastepnych
az po horyzont kuchni i jeszcze dalej
(az po kraweznik )
Tutaj cisza
nikt nie pyta dlaczego cie nie ma
i nigdy nie bylo
wyjedz i nie dotrzyj
nie ruszaj uciekaj
zostan
jak zostaniesz nie bede tesknic
i o tobie myslec
zapomnij sie
zabij
ukradnij mi niemy powiew
i swoj brak
Dzis cie odprowadze
by ci pomoc sobie ciebie zapomniec
ozywic

Wczoraj podam deser
odbicie jak zawsze
lyzka brudna
pustoksztalt

***

***
Nigdy nie bylam na tyle glupia by bawic sie w przyszlosc
Nie ma bedzie
Co za trudne do kartonu po mleku gnije z data waznosci
Powiescie moje jutro
Ukatrupcie kota odpowiedzialnego
Za wszystko czarne co sie nie wydarzy
(nawet jesli przepelznie poddrabina I skoczy do gardla dnia nastepnego)
Wybijcie mrowki moich skokow wprzod
Nie wyrzygam
Niech sie cofnie I zostanie
Wszystko niech sie skonczy zanim sie rozmysle
Dom I dwustokilowa szynka
Moja dupa we wlasnej osobie spiewa o gownie bez planow na wieczor
Zabierzcie mnie do kurew
Wyobrazcie mi kobiete na moim miejscu

Fatima

FATIMA
Oni nie wierza w nic
Co za starch
Do fatimy do fatimy po wiare na metry
Po litry morskiej wody czyis gal
Dookola sztuki plastikowych kosci
Bez litosci
Tylko tu my wiemy ze zycie sie dzieje
nieprzytomnie spoceni kaznodzieje chwili
Nie spadne z krzesla nim nie naucze sie chodzic sladami sprzedawcow
Sercoksztaltnych swiec
Oni my w wosku odbici
Pobici obdarci nazarci
Pielgrzymi pielgrzymi upici
____________
Oni wierza we wszystko
Obrazeni zgrupowani utrapieni oddani
Jasna droga spowrotem do obiecanej ziemi

A Maryi jak nie bylo tak nie ma
Nie pojawila sie
zasnela
Bylo po jedenastej

Jesli wojna..

Tak sobie pomyslalam…jesli wojna, to co jesc?
Jesli kasa zacznie zwyciezac, to czy mam szanse na czyjas protekcje. Czyja?
Dlaczego brakuje mi odwagi, ktora nadchodzi kiedy musi? Nadejdzie? Powinna?
To stanie sie tak samoistnie mowie, czuje, ale nie wierze
Gdzies tam gleboko nie wierze, ze bede w stanie podniesc slonia
Jesli mur runie to kto sie odkopie?
Lecisz, jezor dynda, na wierzchu, nago, bezpancerniku ty maszyno
Brnij przez cement I rury po grude skostnialego gowna!!!!!!
Nie ma map
Nie ma
A jak na slepote to nawet piekniej rozstaniesz sie z ruina
A raczej do niej przylgniesz jak mokre majtki
Powiedz gdzie leciec…zabij, a nie powiem, ze wiem
Nie wiem czy sie dowiem, kiedy trzeba bedzie weszyc jak szczur
Miec wyglad boksera, metalowy pas I zbroje, helm, dwa gnaty
Albo trzy.
Polamane kosci powiazac I wysrac grype
Robaki zawsze mozna przezwyciezyc
Biedronki sa takie sliczne
Sliczniuchne te nasze bezpanskie
Wali sie wali
A ja tancze bo postradalam zmysly
Juz mi nie zalezy nie wiem
I dobrze

LOOKING FOR THE LOST PUNK ATTITUDE

Word ‘punk’ seams not to be punk anymore, it shared the destiny of the other cultural movements becoming eventually mainstream. Originally ‘punk’ represented something that’s odd, low, different gradually being upgraded to mean the rebel, revolution, fight with the old school. It meant ‘to have guts’ and to be able to say ‘fuck you’ to the system.

As far as punk developed in the circumstances of ‘no future’ for new generation, entering fashion, music, graffiti scene and film making, with the time, it continued existing as a strong esthetic influence, loosing completely its ideological background it grew up on.
What does it mean to really be punk today when being punk became a part of fashion as Japanese Hallo Kitty? Where to look for punk attitude understood as not obeying to the system, going forward, fighting for independence and freedom in the name of ideas? Punk movement partly seen as very romantic, doesn’t seem to have much space in the materialistic world of 21st century where funny enough, most of the population wills to fit the system rather than fight it.
Research ‘Looking for the lost punk attitude’ expresses rather a point of view onto life as a human being and as an artist. In current phase of my artistic activity, distance between my life and art diminishes more and more thus I decided to make no more divisions. Art I have always seen as a battlefield, today, I am asking how can we afford to be sleepy artists reproductionists? I am conscious that performance art field is punk already our days, it is in itself a rebel on a social scale, a protest that unfortunately doesn’t meet with much interest. Still, is it possible to make it again into a revolutionary movement today? To change, to start anew, to go against, to oppose and how to do it; where to look for a punk in yourself are my questions.
To be continued....

Freezing to death.....

In about two minutes, the lights will go off. Please stand up, take your cardboards and find a place in the room. Now lie down comfortably on the floor and close your eyes.

Cold slaps your naked face, squeezes tears from your eyes.

The freezing metal bites your flesh. Your skin temperature drops.
You replace your gloves, noticing only that your fingers have numbed slightly
Sweat trickles down your sternum and spine.

Walking in deep snow you twist on your flashlight, you sift the snow through gloved fingers
You hardly notice the frigid air pressing against your tired body and sweat-soaked clothes.
The lack of insulating fat over your muscles allows the cold to creep that much closer to your warm blood.
Hunched over in your slow search, the muscles along your neck and shoulders tighten in a pre-shivering muscle tone.

Your hands and feet begin to ache with cold. Ignoring the pain, you dig carefully through the snow, clammy chill that started around your skin has now wrapped deep into your body's core.
You're now trembling violently as your body attains its maximum shivering response.

Your muscles have cooled and tightened so dramatically that they no longer contract easily, and once contracted, they won't relax. You're locked into an ungainly, spread-armed, weak-kneed snowplow.

You're too cold to think of the beautiful night or of the friends you had meant to see.
In your panic, your balance and judgment are poor. Moments later you sail headfirst through the air and bellyflop into the snow.

You lie still. There's a dead silence in the forest, broken by the pumping of blood in your ears. Your ankle is throbbing with pain and you've hit your head. You've also lost your hat and a glove. Scratchy snow is packed down your shirt. Meltwater trickles down your neck and spine, joined soon by a thin line of blood from a small cut on your head.
Scrambling to rise, you collapse in pain, your ankle crumpling beneath you.
As you sink back into the snow, shaken, your heat begins to drain away

The pain of the cold soon pierces your ears sharply.
You check your watch: 12:58. Maybe someone will come looking for you soon. Moments later, you check again. You can't keep the numbers in your head. You'll remember little of what happens next.
Your head drops back. The snow crunches softly in your ear

Your body has abandoned the urge to warm itself by shivering.
You feel a powerful urge to urinate, the only thing you feel at all.

You've lost the ability to recognize a familiar face,
Attempting to stand, you collapse That's OK. You can crawl. It's so close.
You've crawled only a few feet. The light on your wristwatch pulses in the darkness: 5:20. Exhausted, you decide to rest your head for a moment.
When you lift it again, you're inside, lying on the floor before the woodstove. The fire throws off a red glove. First it's warm; then it's hot; then it's searing your flesh. Your clothing has caught fire.
All you know is that you're burning. You claw off your shell and pile sweater and fling them away.

But then, suddenly, you realize there's no stove, no cabin, no friends. You're lying alone in the bitter cold, naked from the waist up. You grasp your terrible misunderstanding, a whole series of misunderstandings,
At about 6:00 the next morning, your friends find you, your hand shoved into your armpit, your pulse nonexistent, your pupils unresponsive to light.

Empathy Project Vol. I closer an' closer

Magdalena Chowaniec/mariamagdalena (A/PL)
Empathy Project
Vol. I


"Empathy is what happens to us when we leave our own bodies...and find ourselves (..) in the mind of the other. We observe reality through her eyes, feel her emotions, share in her pain.."
Khen Lampert (2005)

Empathy Project puts the phenomena of physical empathy in the center of its interest and questions the role of Empathy our days. It looks for new possibilities of bridging the ‘human’ and the ‘artistic’ in a manner that emphasizes empathy.
Vol. I examines the methods and possibilities of empathizing with socially rejected ones – in this case, drug addicts, alcoholics and the homeless, through the process starting with the search for a common empathy within the group of the performers. Thus, three human beings turn into a ‘tabula rasa’ and blurring the borders between life and theatre, they rush through the world melting with different surroundings. Now after their ‘trip’, they share with you another point of view onto life and take you into another time dimension. Are you ready to extend yourselves into situations you have never experienced, feel for people a bit different from yourselves and begin to understand these people in ways you may have never thought possible? The lights will go off in around two minutes..



CAST / MITWIRKENDE

Concept: Magdalena Chowaniec (PL/A)
Research/Creation/Performance: Gabri Einsiedl (A),
Magdalena Chowaniec (PL/A), Radek Hewelt (PL/A)
Sound/Technical help: Vladi Tchapanov (BLG/A)
The voice: Mark Lewis Tompkins

HOMEPAGE

www.mariamagdalena.cc
www.myspace.com/rockthemob
www.madamlena.blogspot.com
www.lisaschmidt.at/magdalenachowaniec

PRODUZENT

Empathy project Vol. I is a production of brut Wien
Production management: Lisa Schmidt
Realised with support of Liz King-d.id Dance Identity.
Thanks to Mathilde Monnier and CCN Montpellier

Financial support by MA7, Kulturabteilung der Stadt Wien