A Modular Existence

Entity, in its youth, was given building blocks to play with and constructed an algorithm for life as prefabricated perfection.

Entity, I envy your assurance in formulas.

Entity, apparently, controls chaos without recognising that chaos is the most dazzling unfact. Life has been dedicated to linear unfolding of this begat this begets that. Slotting this target into that outcome is hefty, rewarding work. Entity stops, stares back along the narrow path with satisfaction, then turns and stares with equal satisfaction at the eternity to be cobbled ahead. Gauge slots comfortably into gauge. Template determined, no error can occur unless failing is other than self. End is impossible. Immortality must be. No reward for life is inconceivable.

My life began as old rugs pulled from under me. I progressed to stretching knotted strips of carpet, faded and tattered silk kerchiefs worn by young women with high aspirations so many decades ago, hoarded string and old elastic, tying ragged ends together and hoisting my lines on impossible hooks as a tightrope suspended by improbabilities. Poised on the precarious slide of a microscope, I belly-flopped into space so as to observe my construct from various vantage points. Being is an internal speck of no consequence blown around the external infinite until cessation. Yes, this is how long a piece of string is… more or less. God is inconceivable.

Entity reproduces an impoverished image of hand-me-downs. Humans have become proficient in the emperor’s new clothes.

Entity, I envy your accomplishments within your neat existence.

My choice has been unlimited impossibilities and innumerable possibilities missed without regret simply because the fact of being bears no resemblance to modular constructs. I wear dead people's clothes and base my life on the remnants of their tattered holes. I wear dead people's clothes because they are pungent with the dreams of finite conceived of itself as infinite. I wear dead people's clothes because they reek of stale and forgotten ever-afters. I wear dead people's clothes because we are convinced that our personal end will have seismic ramifications. I wear dead people's clothes because personal end does not even register a shudder.

Entity, I pity your accomplishments within your safe existence.

[As an aside, I extend my gratitude to every artist involved with Discharge. I feel privileged to have access to the works of so many magnificent contemporary artists whenever I wish to indulge myself. I feel humbled at being allowed to contribute despite being unworthy. I can identify each and everyone's works at a glance and 'ooh' and 'ah' each time something new is posted. I adore and admire each and every one of you! Thank you for enriching my existence.)


CHM said...

Yes your Entity suits me well and haven't worn your clothes yet Irvina

Iryna Harpy said...

Cheers, CHM! You wouldn't want to wear them... they'd just leave you naked and cold.

A.Decker said...

Isn't the "fact of being" itself a construct? Maybe that's why there won't be a shudder...

I find your spewings upon this page very engaging, and quite worthy.

Iryna Harpy said...

Cheers, Mr Decker! My spastic inner child and I spend much time vomiting squiggly notions. Sometimes they form as words (if we don't pull the strings into straight lines while toying with them).

I'm pleased that you derived what I had intended to intimate about the futility of even trying to observe 'the fact of being' as if it were potentially something that can be observed through analysis... and, yes, the irony is not lost on me. Nevertheless, after so many decades, it remains an obsession to extract the fact of DNA necessitating a central point from which to function as being the most unimportant NOTHING that constitutes being a functioning organism. It is less of a necessity than our complex nervous system. 'I' is merely part of our pathology.


Those who suffer amnesia are still entire, functioning beings, but why is it that studies show that those with long term amnesia feel as if the most important aspect of self has been lost to them? They want to 'remember' what they conceived of themselves to be; the people, places and objects (the signifiers, if you will) of what once constituted their concept of 'I'.

I still find humans - particularly myself - to be ridiculous.

I don't know whether any of this made any sense to you... I am simultaneously addicted to seeking out empirical truths and recognising that I am a perverse contradiction in my own terms.

Ruela said...


Is discharge Dada? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Dada..

Is discharge Fluxus? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Fluxus.

Is discharge art for intellectuals? No, discharge is for anyone and everyone who appreciates creativity in all its myriad forms. Be it static visual, audio or moving image; the written word or the deconstructed, non-linear form. The spoken word and noise.

All creativity is the springboard for discharge. It highjack’s a multitude of genres and disciplines and transposes them onto the internet. discharge is electronically transmitted art, be it via blog, myspace or whatever format possible, it can also be produced and seen in classic formats.

The discharge Chapbook. The discharge Building by Parts book. discharge has no rules. All contributors to discharge are responsible adults. discharge has no leaders although it has an elected body of rotating editors who oversee rather than dictate the flow of the group.

The aim of discharge is to profile creative people and to do away with the pretension of the art world. Everyday people creating art everyday to an exceptional quality.

Art by barrow boys and girls. discharge is international.