My talk on Ratos e Urubus about cross-dressing and fantasy is being gloriously mistranslated ny Aharon Link. Tbe original text is below in this blog (http://bucalumbrello.blogspot.com.br/2012/05/ratos-e-urubus-larguem-minha-fantasia.html). The mistranslation goes like this:
The actualisation of my desire is the real. The real is crying for my desire. My desire is the object of reality. Reality is my life as your mom. As I dress, putting the clothes I feel at home with, and never alone, I look at Destiny in the face, she looks back. I look at her sternly, and she becomes a he. He is an inquisitor of an oppressive real which refuses to acknowledge its confabulatory nature. And I, I become the woman of his nightmares. His nightmares are my eggs. Destiny is nothing more than a conservative sports journalist that thinks of the history between 2 rival teams as one of repetitions rather than evolution. Evolution has no destiny. Evolution is free, even from 19th century european made misconceptions. Everytime I am your mom, your desired woman or the woman of my own crossings – the dna of reality is evolving out of destiny and into life!
My fantasy is my meal. The meal is crying for my desire – to bite. My bite is the object of reality crossing. Reality is the life as a mom/girlfriend/wife/aunt/grandmom/goddess/ant-queen. As I dress across, putting the fabrics shapes, colours & cuts within which I feel at home-comfort with, and alone only at that intimacy, I look at the face of our shared spacetime current geo-temporality of history – the one I call destiny – like the found devil, she looks away. Destiny seriously becomes a prisoner running for life. The prisoner that imprisoned himself to convince others of a charade that appears as real outside its performativity. However, unlike Agambens' monks, my cross fantasy finds destiny out. And I, I become the woman of nightmares. My eggs are the nightmare of reality. Reality that puffs in the face of its pre-destined performativity, everytime it is required to cross a fantasy. While football crossed its reality of sun catching, keeping and performing an insurance of a living day in destiny, a day to be reported for the relief of anxious minds in the village community, crossing fantasy creates a nightmare. It brings the sun, the energy source, into focus because we no longer are bound by a destinic play of prejudicial chains. Our fantasy crossed beyond destiny, performativity & turned fantasy into part of the life's dna.
My transitory is a deal. The deal is a fair exchange of a living desire – not a rite. My desire is the objection of destiny as transitory nature of both life and fantasy is the object that brings desitiny's demise. As I dress my desire and transit across, I look at the face of our shared spacetime current geo-temporality of history – the one I call destiny – like the found devil, she looks away. Her terrorising nature has been found out. Destiny thinks I am the terrorist, I think its him that terrorises you, and terrorists do not negotiate between one another. Unlike my fantasies of the plausible negotiative nature of transitions in this text, unlike a sun, an energy-source, fantasy cross, desire igniter, an imagination carrying ball whose transitions are being negotiated across fields of green and of fresh receptive minds that may bend destiny into reality at will – destiny performs while the transitory nature of fantasy lives and as a woman – I introduce beings into life.
What happens when languages cross? What happens when languages cross-over?
A double flute in arameic is a sinphonin (sinfonin) and I always imagine its where symphonies come from, all the way from the syrian desert and the marvelously embroided dresses you can find there. A “cheese” in Japan is Cheezu because words must end in vauls – or the reality of japanese will no longer be. An african rhino is a european unicorn because there has to be a unicorn, it was already been fantasised in all these paintings, emblems and indeed – language.
When you say a hoover, and she calls it a dust sucker, while they call it a domestic noise maker – does the object disappear or simply sucks in more fantasies to brag about when chatting to the broom & bucket in the cleaning cupboard?
Art history books will let you know that Duchamp's “Large Glass”/”The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even” got cracked on the way to Philadelphia's Museum of Art. A few decades later, Richard Hamilton re-did the large glass, and now it is at Tate Modern for all to see, at times, even. However maybe the narrative is missing something? Can it be that actually, the bride is in fact "Eros, c'est la vie" - Rrose Selavy? Afterall, she is Marcel as well. Perhaps she is the one who was wearing the clothing while making the room and cracks for the bachelors to come? Indeed, in the reality of historical happening, in fact, Marcel was the 1st groom & Richard the 2nd inline. Both fantasising and speculating in the mechanical closed cycle of modernistic potentialities.
The rounded cycle of repeating and repeatable events such as that of Agamben's take on monastic life. Rrose Selavy is the god, the reality maker. The post-destiny entity. The grooms are the monks of the bride. They do their Agambian rituals that, through habit and the nature of confabulation, become the reality of life. They simply follow their fantasies, and in return, through the constant mechanical continuity of their co-activities, the fantasy becomes the reality, and the “rite” or “ritual” is an activity one does in life. Like the grooms activities to keep Rrose Selavy and a constantly eternal bride, the monks keep their fantasies through continuous acts of meanings which unlike mere rituals – keep the desired meanings hearts, beating.
