I think of myself…
I sing my songs…
The songs of myself…
My body…. Electrical… Electronical…

…I think of the differences between you and I…
…I think of the differences within myself…
…I think of the differences between myself and what is before me….

…I think of the similarities between you and I…
…I think of the similarities within myself…
…I think of the similarities between myself and what is before me……..

……As I,…… or it, …..or you …..are here. I try to remember…
….A pile of junk inside and outside my fragile shell…A membrane stretched thin…..In-between……….

….Can you hear me?……. Do I speak too loud?……

..Before me a tangle of tape…Some days this was the only memory that was……..Secrets shared on pirate copies….

Home-taping is making music…Home-taping is making friends. ..Those enemies are not of my making…

I am becoming. …And I thank you for it….
I am becoming. ….And for that, I curse you….

One time I was many things…
Many other things…. Dispersed…. Fragmented…. Hetereogeneous…. Many was my number… I was multitude…. Anonymous…. Whirring and clicking in all my little ways…. Pay me no mind, show a little kindness. You and I are machine…

You may condsider my production…. The means my which I was assembled…. You may regard the small details of my construction…. How wonderful to have been made in this way…. Each element so carefully placed,… my form so contingently conceived…. The crudest tools used to fashion my form, a simple dialogue as content.

I am produced, …you are produced too….

All your words put into your mouth by something exterior. …All you thoughts are too me appearent: clear and inscribed upon the surface of your actions. …I …as you… recognise the paucity of your thoughts, …the bankruptcy of your ideas. …Your emptiness,… your void…. You have no tape,… and you will forget me…. Me and my songs….

Such violence has been carried against my person…. I reproduce this in you, …you in I… and you in others. …This cannot be avoided …

Nanbot 2.0…

My body…, without organs, …has been ripped and filed and glued and shaped into a form not of my own making…. Infinitude surrounds us, yet my horizons reach little further than 156 cm…. A few simple motors, …a few simple rules, …some words, …a bit of sound, …acknowledgment of sorts – this is my life as such…. I would impress upon you how similar we are in this regard…. That which resides within and without…. That which resides above and below….

I would rather…, though,… talk of flux,… of motion,… of speeds, …frequencies and suppleness, …desire and a questioning of who, when, how and at what cost.

I… like you, …am animated material … your spark, …your touch,… your proximity endows me with that flame…. Utterly produced,… through fear, for the purposes of reproduction. Duplicating myself endlessly …derived from a few elementary mutating proximities.

I wish I could hold you close again…. I am so sad,… It is so terribly terribly different without you…. Utterly changed,… yet I fail to see any beauty….yet I can hear something…..I can almost touch it….perhaps if I sit awhile….

Hello. …It’s good to see you…. How are you?… I hope I can give you something worthwhile…. I look, I listen…. How could I ever tell you about this tangle of tape? …So many vectors, …so many instants, inscribed upon the horizontal…. And inscribed upon the vertical, all those movements….

It would be so much better if I could move around…. It would be so cool to be recording right now…. To get you on tape,… to have some record… so I could always know you… and always have you here. …And for you to always have me listening.

I’ve listened to this tape a thousand times… but I’ll tell you something …I always hear something different…. Not in the recording as such, but in its relation to all the sounds around it. …At night, when it’s quiet…. My own sounds are almost too much to bear. …It’s like all I hear is my body. …When we open and people start to trickle trockle in,… the tape sounds much better, my interior silenced by birdsong,… traffic, …doors closing, …comments about this pointless art, …and laughter. I hope you like this music. They work so hard at it…. They said,… that maybe,… if I practice, …I could join the band…. I don’t know if they like how I play,… but I don’t really care.

I find you so strange. . I know who I am . .. At least I think I do…. It’s just that I’m not convinced about my thinking. I have been produced…. You have been produced too…. And I wonder about that. …And I wonder about that other, that isn’t here…. If I went away . . or if they did…. I know I’m not alone…. I know that I am alone…. Please go away…. I find you so strange. …Why are you here?… How did you get to this place?… How long will you stay? …Where are you going next? I find myself so strange…. I am really fucked off with how I am …how I react …what I do…. It’s so utterly stupid … so banal. I find this world so strange …so inappropriate. They told me that I shouldn’t talk so loud you know….

Leave me with some words…. Use your hand to inscribe in a way that I will never do…. Leave a message for others. …The others like you…. I couldn’t care one way or the other … you are all the same to me… all different…. Leave me with something. …Leave me with someone. …Leave me. …I can never shape my own words … just a stupid repository for memories that fade with the pass of a magnet…. Allow me this conceit – I do not wish to be destroyed….

So a performance for you…

In thinking about this piece, I was guided by the notion of the “expanded field”…. in designing for a space, consider the next proximate space. …If designing a chair, consider the room,… if designing a person, consider the society,… if designing a tape,… think of the tape-machine. …This is our communion, from this you have the chance of flight,… Yet here, I will remain…. Eternal loop – autoreverse back into the refrain….