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T H E   L A B   R E P O R T   8

April 1998

the lab report took a two-year siesta but it's now it's been awakened by popular demons. the point of the lab report is to lend an aura of movement to the group Labyrinth, as well as to inform. but, since the editor (I) is currently the sole contributor, lab report is also a kind of mental project(ion) of mine. I however am very happy when other people want to 1) write a review of a recent Labyrinth event (which is strange if you happened to be participating, but while critics are lacking...) 2) inform the slowly increasing recipients of the lab report of events, plays, readings, etc. (see the section calender), 3) offer up a poem of yours, interpret somebody else's poem or write any old thing which you feel somehow has to do with Labyrinth, lab report or bricklaying.

reviews: zum 1.Todestag von Allen Ginsberg

once again Labyrinth teamed up with the 1. Wiener Lesetheater in a reading of poems and playing of songs from Allen Ginsberg - one year after his death. overall the reflective element prevailed, that time in between Allen's ascent to Nirvana, the Rolling Stone article where pop stars wrote bad poetry to him, the appearance of his head on the MTV turning to the tune ≥Ballad of the Skeletons≤ and the careful planning and rereading and selecting the exact skeleton to occupy and make dance with Allen's or Allen's and the translator's words chattering to the beat.

twice the eternal phone call came, often we were reminded of our bad habits or escape mechanisms or further steps away from emptiness (still feeding the head). often imperfect and deeply spiritual sounds made us realize the difference between Allen's and our state, the very squeeks and honks and deep heart tributes forming the glue -- the guru element. since almost 30 people took part in this event (have readers and audience finally reached equilibrium?) it would require a feuilleton (?)to review this event, which i don't want to write. if you want my personal view it's this: Allen Ginsberg was one of the greatest socialites who ever lived. loving the interaction with people as much as his selective pinponting and lamenting of social evil, he was embraced in the hearts and heads of many. poetically, i've always appreciated the raw courage and the attention to the obvious in Allen's poetry (surprise mind poetics), the music and the freshness it continues to have.

a(nother) poem for Allen:

going to the world of the dead           others fight for their piece of the pie 
ginsberg's surfing my head               human resources something to buy
all intertwined in a ballad              creating a world of insipient death 
where everything gets said               racing in cars taking our breath 

livin in the city of the dead            then you hope it's all a joke
all asleep in affluent beds              a bad dream from which you awoke
dreaming as a clock ticks ahead          still vaporized demons of the night
work makes sick, the artist said         dance on horizons, in death delight

                                         eyelids in the sun like lead weight
                                         don't look now --you're at the gate

venues:

the cafe inspektion (theobaldgasse 10, 1060) is a subterrainean nightclub with a cultural program. this is a place where the planned series of Labyrinth (2-3 persons per night) readings could take place.

calender of upcoming events:

may 7th at the abovementioned place - inspektion, there will be a Labyrinth group reading (as a rehearsal of group poems for the 9th) and an open microphone event following this. this is also the PROMOTIONSFEST for Lisa a.k.a Dr. A. Void. SO DON'T MISS IT!

may 9th at cafe pruckl - corner of the ring and wollzeile in the first district - Labyrinth will perform a reading called mindscapes. bring your friends and neighbors.

millenium notes:

Yeats: The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out 
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi 
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving his slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know 
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born. 

this Yeats poem prophecied the coming of rock and roll. in a world where commerce has numbed the rich ear while the poor both willing- and unwillingly fight death (with passion) we hear a rumbling. and what sphinx may arise from the ash of a rock burn out? his name is harry perry: if it ain't hard rock don't do it, don't let them put you through it, ain't no way to confuse it. That's aahhhhaaaahhhaaalllllll there is to it!

Labyrinth poetry
© Labyrinth 2000



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