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Deadline
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First steps
We are starting.
Were researching.
We search for ourselves.
We tame ourselves.
Were walking. Were roaming. We wander.
We loose ourselves.
We miss. We find.We find ourselves.
We are merging.
We protest. We laugh. We speak.
We listen to each other, or we dont.
Were talking. We are hearing.
We chat in every language.
Were singing.
We play. We cheat.
We win and loose.
We are trespassing the lines.
We will go off the rails sometimes.
We are alive.
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Chemin de fer
I was thinking of how we would put
in order the texts and pictures for
this Deadline #0. In French, and in
journalistic slang, when you decide on
which page you put each contribution
in a newspaper, you build a chemin de
ferof the publication.And chemin de fer means railway.
No wonder we are sometimes off the
tracks.
The main issue of Mechanisms
For An Entente is the production
of a multiform collective artwork,
to promote a deep aesthetic,
philosophical and political reasoning
about the becoming of CentralEuropean countries in relation to the
idea of the European Union.
We want to work the nature of the
European condition.
by V.S.
(text on cover by Valrie de Saint-Do)
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Everytime I take a train in France
especially the TGV, High Speed Train .
I am struck by what the railway stations have become : kind
of small, frozen and cheap airports. Its particularly obvious in the
stations that have been built in no mans land, only for the TGV connections,
estranged form the city centers (in Avignon, for instance).
I remember sleeping in Gare du Nord in Paris twenty-five years ago, before taking a train
to Calais on my way to London (Eurostar was not in use then). I remember that in Bordeaux,
as in many cities, in the 80s, the railway station used to be a shelter for homeless people whom
begun to be more and more in France. I remember that one of the goals of the station renovation was
precisely to keep them away. In fact, we have less and less night trains in France, and the stations have
ceased to be a weird place for strange meetings and precarious hospitality.When I went to the railway station in Krakow, I felt taken years back. As in Bucharest and in Cluj.
It is a challenge, of course as the very interesting discussion we had with the technical director of CFR, Emanoil
Culda to modernize the railway infrastructure in Central-East Europe. But you cant help hoping that the mistakes
we made will be avoided, and that, for instance, railway stations will stay the strange human places of transit they
have been.
Station to station
Gara de Nord in Bucharest photo by Mathieu Lericq
by Valrie de Saint-Do
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Here's to you O brother
Here's to you on the railway
Here's to you the Polish
Here's to you from Paris
Here's to you the Slovak
Here's to you the Basque
Here's to you the HungarianHere's to you the Romanian
Here's to you from Bordeaux
Here's to you Roma people
Here's to you the researcher
Here's to you the performer
Here's to you the curator
Here's to you the reporter
Here's to you the sociologist
Here's to you the anthropologist
Here's to you the photographer
Here's to you the choreographerHere's to you the architect
Here's to you the poet
Here's to you the historian
Here's to you with no name
Here's to you Bucharest
Here's to you Budapest
Here's to you Cluj-Napoca
Here's to you Dracula
Here's to you Kosice
Here's to you Nowy Sacz
Here's to you city of Warsaw
Here's to you city of Cracow
Here's to you city of Plavec
Hail to the ghost of Erszebet
Here's to you sons of communism
Here's to you girls of Mechanisms
Here's to you the Fabrica
Here's to you Tabacka
Here's to you Bakelit
Here's to you all the artists
Here's to you the activists
Here's to you in the bars
Here's to you the hangoverHere's to you kino-wagon
Here's to you all and fuck the morons
On our rst evening in Cluj, a few of us had a drink upthe hill, and we spontaneously began to sing. Seydou
asked me : Don't you know a french punk song ?And immediately, Salut toi , from the Brurier Noir,
came to me. It used to be a real anthem in the 80's,and I began to improvize to adapt it to the groupeand the project. And then, I translated it into english,
and Jarek into Polish...
>
>
>
,
Mechanisms Anthem
adapted by V.S.
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photos by Marta Jonville
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1 VII 2013r
Przybycie. Ja, Rom, Jarek.
Przychodz po nas: Saydo,
Tomas, ukasz, Nils, Lujza.
Jest wieczr, ciemno,
ptaki na nas nie sraj,
bo pi Birds do not
shit on us, because they
are sleeping. Gadamy na
dworcu, potem idziemy. Po
drodze Nil i Rom siakaj
na murek. Centrum miasta.
Zatrzymujemy si w sklepie.
Kupuj piwo. ukasz,Saydo pytaj: pomc ci
z bagaem? Gentelmeni.
ukasz, Seydou asked: Do
you need help with your
luggage? Gentlemen. No,
przyjemnie. Barbara and
I put our chairs in the
sun. Hot, nice. ukaszsam. Jarek, Basia, Lujza
razem. Grupkami wychodzimy.
Czekam na Roma. Idziemy.
Wdrwka, wdrwka,
wdrwka. Piwo w knajpie.
Wdrwka. Metro. Wdrwka,
wdrwka, wdrwka.
Kino wagon wieczorem.
Pierwszy obiad po. Dobre,
tradycyjne rumuskie
jedzenie. Kieliszek wina
i may papieros. Potem
taniec w Control. Piwo,taniec, papierosy, my, my,
my. After that is dance
in Control. Beer, dance,
cigarettes, we, we, we.
This story is notabout a gun
thanks. Nie, dzikuj. Moe
jednak, powtarza wci ukasz,
w kocu przestaje. Droga dohostelu z bagaem na plecach
duy si. Dochodzimy. W hostelu
party integracyjne dogorywa.
Ja, Romek, Jarek idziemy w
miasto. Stare miasto bukaresztu.
Brutalne kluby i kawiarnie. Old
town of Bucharest. Btutal clubs
and coffees. P nagie kobiety
w oknach tacz na rurach. Bol
nas nogi. Wracamy. pimy.
2 VII 2013r
niadanie. Powitania. Poznawanie
si. Potem wolna rka. Troch
soca wpada na dziedziniec.
Ja i Basia stawiamy krzesa w
promieniach soca. Gorco,
Diary of thesummertime trip
This story is not about a gun. I celebrated my birthday this
year, 7-7, like every year, this time in Cluj, Romania. Lately
I get this very special present for my birthdays, a new friend,
and even though it is not common for party acquaintances,
these friendships proved to last and enrich me. These gifts
were not intended by anybody, but still I got them, for me,
to be a happier person. Best gifts for me you cannot own,
and I think precisely for this they rock it so much. A friend
is something sacred, something you should take care of and
cherish, friendship is the best thing that can happen to you in
life. Body is essential for this life we have, but as long as you
dont share your corporeal experience with others, it is not
that pleasant to be a human being. So this year I was partying
in Cluj, and on the way back from the rave we stopped on the
playground close to our hotel, and this is where my new friend
Paul broke my tooth on merry-go-round, by accident. None
of us was happy about this, but still it was a good party night.
A tooth is something that can get fixed, moments with your
friends can not be taken away from you. Yesterday Paul told
me his best friend has her tooth broken exactly the same way
as me now, which I see funny and cool at the same time, and I
am sure that were going to be supercool buddies for long time.
The gun I got from my longtime friends Bea and Kubo. This is
what this story is about.
by Joanna Bednarczyk
by Lujza Magova
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3 VII 2013
Podobno mamy wyj
z hostelu o 10 ran.
Wychodzimy o 12.
Zwiedzamy muzeum
etnograczne.
Jest piknie,
jest wiejsko,
chopsko, prosto,
misternie. It isbeautiful, rustic,
peasant, simple,
subtle. Pikne
ubrania, wyszywane
zot i czerwon
nitk. Drewniane
meble, zdobione
pokrgymi
motywami. Nogi bol
w kadej kolejnej
sali coraz bardziej.
Wikszo jest
zachwycona. Godzina,
moe ptorej i
wychodzimy. Przed
muzeum Mathieu
robi zdjcie
wycignitych
ramion. In front of
the museum Mathieu
takes a picture
outstretched arms.Najpierw w prawo,
potem w lewo.
Idziemy na rynek.
Rynek jest ogromny.
S tam mzgi, puca,nerki i ozory
zwierzt. There
are brains, lungs,
kidneys and tongues
of animals. Chawy,
sery, orzechy,
owoce, ceramika.
Wszystko. Mamy
tylko p godziny,
eby to wszystko
zobaczy, dotkn,
zapamita. Potem
lets go, idziemydalej. Na chodnikach
starsze kobiety
sprzedaj czosnek i
kalaor. Kiedy widz
policj, uciekaj
tumnie. On the
sidewalks old women
are selling garlic
and cauliower.
When they see the
police, they escape
crowds. Kolejne
muzeum. Sztuki
wspczesnej. Czterypitra. Wszyscy
prdzej czy pniej
wpadaj w irytacj
i jad wind do
baru. Everyone
sooner or later fall
into annoyance and with
lift ride to the bar.Piwo, papierosy, arty.
Mae rozmowy. Wracamy do
hostelu. Po drodze may
performance - Lujza. Nie
mam majtek przez cay
dzie. Nikt o tym nie wie.
Wracamy piechot. Kawa
drogi. Upa, krgosup
drga znudzony t ca
wdrwk. Obiad. Kolejnaimpreza. Nowy klub. Goe
niebo. Trawa. Trawa.
4 VII 2013
Performance Romana ma
by o 11 rano. Budz si
i pytam go: czy wiesz,
e twj performance
powinien trwa ju od 20
minut? I wake up and ask
him: did you know that
your performance shouldlast 20 minutes already?
Roman zrywa si z ka.
Zbiega na d i aduje
do puda wszystkie swoje
rzeczy. Daje Gulliamo 5
euro. Wszyscy stopniowo
wychodz. Tumaczymy
z jarekim karty. Rom
szuka materiau na buty.
Znajduje i robi je. Czarne
lakierki ala klapki
plaowe. Winogronowa
ozdoba. Po poudniu
performance. W sklepie.Wyganiaj nas z jednego,
wic idziemy do innego.
Tam witaj nas z otwartymi
ramionami. In the shop.
In this place we are
kicked off, so we go to
the other. There welcome
us with open arms. Gra
muzyka. Potem znw to samo
obiad. I znw party.
Nie opaca si spa. O
5 rano wyjedamy. Na
kacu egnamy Bukareszt.Hungover, we goodbye
Bucharest.
5 VII 2013r
5 rano, jedna takswka,
druga, trzecia, czwarta,
pita... 5 a.m. One taxi,
second, third, fourth,
fth... Jedziemy do Cluju.
Sen w caym przedziale.
Sleep in whole roomette.Oczy zamknite na widoki
za oknem. Closed eyesnot seeing view from
the window. Papierosy
w toalecie. Kanapka na
kolanie. 12 godzin. Hotel,
pensjonat jak z lmw
porno. Potem obiad. Rumuskie
menu, ale s obrazki. Jedzenie,
picie, palenie. Rozmowy. Small
talk. Potem after na wysokiej
grze. W ciemnoci piwo i piew
starych hipisw i modych
darmozjadw. Plac zabaw dla
wszystkich. Kindergarten for
everybody. Piwo kotuje si w
brzuchu. Kr w drug stron,
woaj. Koniki, plastik. Idziemydo domu. We trjk wspinamy si
jeszcze wyej. Tajemniczy club.
Drukuj gazety. Nikogo nie ma.
Czerwone wiato. Wracamy. Hotel
porno, witamy. Hotel porno,
welcome.
6 VII 2013
Spacer do lasu. Spacer do lasu.
Jeszcze tylko 20 minut. Jeszcze
tylko 20 minut. Only 20 minutes
more. Piwo, spacer, piwo,
spacer. Trzy godziny jestemy
na miejscu. Three hours we
are on the spot. Wracamy
takswk.
7 VII 2013
Soce, niedziela. Musz napisa
o tym, e nie przepadam za
niedzielami. Nie przepadam za
niedzielami. I do not like
Sundays... Jestemy wysoko. W
monastyrze. Midzy krzakami
troch seksu. Surowe owoce,brudne, niemyte wkadamy do
buzi. Niedojrzae. Wianek na
dwch gowach. Wreath on the two
heads lady potu pod pachami.
Dzwoni dzwony. Odjeda
zmumikowana rka. Czarna rka
odjeda. Dzwony ustaj. Bells
cease. Pienidze wepchnite w
szpary domu. We wsi may bar.
Palinka za 1,50. Palinka for
1,5 lei. Pocig, powrt. Czy
bya tu burza? Znw obiad. Dwie
dodatkowe butelki wina. Nikt nie
idzie na party. Nobody go to the
party. Wszyscy
8 VII 2013
Spotkanie na dworcu. May pokj,
bardzo, bardzo gorco, duszno,
spa, spa, spa. Small room,
very, very hot, stuffy, sleep,
sleep, sleep. Ping pong i boks.
Ping pong and boks. Zwycia
nieznany mczyzna. Szczegowe
wyniki w biaym dzienniku.
Particular results in whitediary. I cztery zupy. Four
soups. Trzy zimne. Na ciep
prawie nikt si nie zaapa.
Warm soup almost nobody ate
it. Potem koncert, koncert,
koncert. Koncert.
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June, wednesday the 26th, Bordeaux, France.
Im coming back by bus from a one month bike trip alone around Spain,
amazing. Its 6 a.m. At the station, i say goodbye to Karim, a moroccan guy
with whom i spent the last two days in Sevilla and Madrid, but mostly in the
bus. I note his email address in my book where is my passport and finally i go
back home. There, i say hello to my roommates and to a friend whose staying there
for a last night before he leaves for Berlin. I have a train the next day to spend some
days in Paris before i take the plane on monday, the 1st of July, to go to Bucharest,
Romania, and meet people from mechanisms for an entente to spend the summer
with them. The schedule is tight, but feasible.
June, thursday the 27th, Paris, France
I arrive in Paris and realize something is missing: the book with my passport inside. This is
where it all started
I was almost sure to have it before i left, but nothing. Did i loose it in the train, did somebody steel it
from me? I also remember me noting the Karims address at the bus station, maybe i forgot it over there,
who knows.. I always do that anyway, i forget, drop, break my things like i didnt care. A week ago, i just
forgot my sunglasses in a olive field. Two weeks ago, i broke a friends camera because i rolled trough water
with my bike. A month ago, my bike, another one, has been stolen, i mean, i forgot it in front of the house,
thinking of something else, and somebody took it.
I check my pockets, my bag, nothing. Im getting nervous. Maybe i forgot it at home, in Bordeaux. So i call myroommates to look for it, still nothing. I spend an hour, thinking on every place i could have drop it. I call the lost
objects offices, all of them in. Nothing. I call the police stations in Paris, nothing. In Bordeaux still nothing. I waited a
day, in case somebody found it, but still, nothing.
Everything is bringing me to that simple conclusion: I lost it. Im starting to be stressed out, understanding all the consequences
of this lost.
June, friday the 28th, Paris, France.
I go to the police station so they give me paper saying my passport is lost. Then i call the school, which is taking care of reservations
for plane tickets and everything. Im almost shaking because , of course i didnt want it to happen but still, it happened and finally
its hard to say :Hey, im a shit. Finally theyre so understanding that im almost ashamed and another plane ticket is booked for the
5th of July. The plan is to do an emergency passport. So i go to the town hall in Paris where they tell me that its going to take a while
and that, anyway, they cant do it there because im living in Bordeaux. I cant do anything more but wait until monday to do it in
Bordeaux. Frustrating week end.
July, monday the 1st, Bordeaux, France.
I still have a hope that i lost the passport home. So i look everywhere, rooms, garage, bags, kitchen, bathroom, once, twice,
nothing. I call back all the lost objects offices, nothing. I go then at the town hall with all the papers they need to make
a new passport and the flying tickets saying that im supposed to leave on friday. They tell me its going to take 10 days.
So i call back the school which uses of its relations at the town hall to make it goes faster. I should have it in 2 days.
July, wednesday the 3rd, Bordeaux, France.
Im waiting, stressed, almost depressed. I cant do anything but wait. Frustration is my best friend. The
passport is still not there. Im imagining what they are doing in Romania, looking at photos, reading mails
exchange between members of the workshop. And then Then i receive a message, from my friend who
left to Berlin saying I have your book and your passport, i took them without paying attention, sorry. Idont understand straight and it takes some minutes for me to realize. He did it, no way Its hard for
me to believe in it, but finally it makes sense. I came back home this night, i drop the book with the
passport on the bar in the kitchen. He left while i was still sleeping, and he just took it, thinking
the book was his. He has the same kind, the littles Moleskines ones. I ask him to send it quickly.
July, thursday the 4th, Bordeaux, France.
The flight is tomorrow. The mail from Fedex arrived on the morning with my old passport
inside. I call the city hall and ask them if i can use it. No way they tell me, you cant use it
anymore and you have to bring it back. I thought really strongly about going with this
one, but seriously, i dont feel like in a lucky mood and i really dont feel like being
stuck at the borders. So i go to the city hall to see if they received the new one. I
received a call from school while i was waiting. The passport has been made,
2 days ago, but they have delivery problems so it will probably be there the
next day which means that i wont be able to get in the flight tomorrow. I
go home, waiting again, thinking of my friend, thinking of the past week,
looking at the old passport, doing nothing, overwhelmed.
Story of a failed departure
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July, friday the 5th, Bordeaux, France.
I go to the city town where they finally give me the new passport. Im
looking on how to leave. I hesitate between a 40h bus trip on the 6th,
or a flight on the the 8th to Budapest from where ill wait for everybody.
I finally choose the second option. I still have to wait, but this time im sure
everything is ok. I have to confess that Im still a bit scared of loosing my
passport but i promess myself to take care of it.
July, monday the 8th, Budapest, Hungary.
Everything went fine, they didnt even looked at my passport on borders
by Alexis Emery-Dufoug
still from the movie Morgen
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KINO_WAGON #1TOMORROW MORNING, I WILL CROSS THE BORDER FOR YOU
by Mathieu Lericq
The kino_wagon sessions during the workshop started on the 2nd of July at the French Institute of Bucharest
with the screening of Morgen (2010), a long-feature film directed by Romanian director Marian Crisan. Taking
place in a little village near the Hungarian border called Salonta, the action shows a untypical friendship between
Nelu, a Romanian inconspicuous villager, and Behru, a Turkish immigrant who illegally tries to reach his family in
Germany.
The film starts with a morning motorbike journey of Nelu, from the place he used to go fishing and the place he
works. In between, a border separating Romania and Hungary. The sequence turns quickly into a metaphor : the
fish that Nelu carries in his side-car cannot cross the border without certification. He thus must throw the fish in
Hungary in order to go back to Romania. The fish, without a proper identity, will die here, in the total indifference
of the authorities. What the spectator does not know yet is that a second fish, in a human shape, will soon appear.
And, in contrast with the first one, he will pursue his journey despite a very uncertain road.
The second fish comes from Turkey and wants to go to Germany. Without any sort of interest, Nelu gives him food
and hides him in his cellar. Their friendship creates itself beyond languages, conventions, moralities and laws.
The film avoids the intentions in order to focus on the confrontation between a specific context and an unexpected
relationship. That is probably also the reason why the director prefers to shape his film as a portrait made by seriesof long shots, instead of a drama based of narrative efficiency.
One of the questions that the film rises is : What immigrating means? The film does not give the answer but draws
the outlines : a desire of passage, an impossibility to communicate, a possibility to be deprived from the only things
you possess, an abandonment without identity, a long-term loneliness in unknown spaces. An endless in-between.
A second question is developped in the film : What a friendship can be based on ? A trust beyond languages and
traditions, a possibility to start to feel again, to surpass the others and your own expectations.
At the end of the film, Nelu brings Behru in his motorbike side-car over the borders. That time, he will not use the
official road. Thus, the man who clung to his hook will get the opportunity the contingency, not the chance to
walk ahead. An helicopter flies in the sky, turning the human will into a dangerous quest of dignity.
Next kino_wagon sessions : Three Polish documentaries screened in Cluj-Napoca (Fabrica de Pensule) on the 9th
of July at 20:00, and Silence and cry (Mikls Jancs, 1968) in Budapest (French Institute) on the 12th of July at19:00.
,
still from the movie Morgen
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Nils, the Atlant (Cluj): Atlant is a strong man, who is holding the weight
of the world, in this case the building metaphorically and literally.
Revolutia din 1907, Pantelimon, Bucharest
compositions by Beta Kolbaovsk
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Bobi bumped. Hes like a little nervous
grasshopper. He has already travelled more than
an Erasmus student and speaks three languages.
He likes to show off his muscles by lifting
watermelons.
I still dont understand why Danilo wanted me to take this picture. The truck is not theirs.
They insisted a lot. I decided not to understand and do as the wanted it to be.
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Linda harvested nearly all fruits in Spain. Shes proud of it. She wanted to tell me her life
in Spain and be photographed with a watermelon. She always comes back to Romania.
They asked me to make a family picture. The
grandmother Linda, the parents Danilo and Liliand the son Bobi.
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Rosana is 13 years old. Theres something strange
about her. When I went back to give her the
picture she was sleeping on the floor. She took a
few minutes before recognizing me.
I was already leaving when Dario insisted on taking a picture of his grand daughter.
When I gave him the picture the next day, he told me that this was the first picture of her.
Im so stupid, I dont remember her name.
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photo by Seydou Grpinet
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sculpture by Roman Dziadkiewicz
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photo and drawing by Julie Chovin
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The so called "kopjafa" is a traditional grave-sign of an ethnic group of Hungarians called the "szkely" in Transylvania
(Hungarian: Erdly or German: Siebenbrgen). Szkelys (Romanian: Secui, German: Szekler, Latin: Siculi)
used to serve as the borderguards of Medieval and early modern Hungary, and they still form a majority in certain parts of
South Eastern Transylvania.
There are a number of "kopjafa" to be found in the cemetery in the center of Cluj (Hungarian: Kolozsvr), where the photos
were taken.
The carved wooden signs on graves have symbolic meaning - the way they are carved refer to the person who is buried there,
and the column itself in tis shape symbolises a human, with a "head", "body", etc. E.g. a star can refer to a man, a tulip to a
female, while a crown can refer to a leading personality, while a mace (weapon) to a person with a war-experience.
Flames can symbolise a wise man or woman, while there were of course religious elements as well - cross, turban, etc. Below,
text was also occasionally carved, sometimes with ancient Hungarian "rovsrs" (runic writing).
Graves and symbols
text and photo byLszl Milutinovits
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1
In Cracow, where every few
years people can hear about acts
of extreme violence, in 1998
there was a brutal murder. The
victim was a young woman.
Police haven't yet found the
perpetrator of this crime. I
became interested in that case
more than a year ago, when one
of my friends, I do not remember
who, said that the vampire from
Cracow again revealed. I was
then the assistant of Krystian
Lupa, who had prepared at the
stage of Stary Teatr (The Old
Theatre) the stage performance
inspired by the Alfred Kubin's
novel The Other Side. A friend of
the narrator from the childhood
formed his own state, called
the State of the Dream. In the
State of the Dream having a new
items and tools and building a
new architecture are forbidden:houses, ordinary objects, works
of art are imported from Europe
and must be created before 1870
(sixties of 19th century are a
limitation; Kubin published a
novel in 1909). These homes
are likely to be marked by
crimes, death, loss, evil, Lupa
understood it in this way. In
addition, the memory, stored in
places and buildings which are
not only a part of the architecture
or of the urban space, leads into
real collapse.
On the rehearsal, I repeated the
rumor the vampire killer and
possibly a ripper, which could
not be identified, returned. After
years again revealed. The rumor
caused a stir, especially among
actresses. Then I started to makea research for the more precise
informations. It turned out that
the investigators were found
only traces of the murderer,
nicknamed "Furrier from Cracow". The victim: Katarzyna
Z., 23 years old, a student of religion studies.
November 12, 1998. Katarzyna made an appointment with
her mother in Nowa Huta. They had to go on a visit to the
doctor. Mother was waiting in the clinic. The daughter didn't
come. Mother reported her missing to the police. When
the case after twelve years suddenly again became public,
the press reported information that Katarzyna had left the
house every day going to the university, but didn't take a
part in any classes. Apparently nobody knows what she was
Transcarpatium: The Victim of Furrier from Cracow
Story of brutal act of violence in Cracow:Furrier took a skin from his victim.
doing at this time. According
to the simplified portrait
presented in newspaper
articles, Katarzyna was a
shy girl and changed studies
several times. At the beginning
she studied psychology.
After the psychology she
started to study the story, but
again she decided to resign.
Finally, she decided to study
religious studies, the direction
which at the Jagiellonian
University enjoys a reputation
as a community of people
experimenting with drugs
used in shamanic rituals: it
applies to both students and
professors. The rumor about
the experiments comes from
my former roommates, who,
as it seems, this year will
graduate at the Institute of
Religious Studies. The circleof people experimenting
with drugs in Krakow is a
broader, drugs in some way
is a factor that co-creates
their identity: the identity
of the young intellectuals.
New patron of the movement
would be Walter Benjamin.
Another one: Stanislaw Ignacy
Witkiewicz, aka Witkacy.
Drugs are not suitable for
the writing of the narrative.
Benjamin and Witkacy's
writings are nothing more
than writings, literature
descriptions. The drugs are
distilled in a paper, nothing
can be saved, experience
eludes description.
to be continued ...
text by Jaroslaw Wjtowicz
photo by Marta Jonville
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photo by Judit Kurtg
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by Lukasz Jastrubczakin accompanied by Tomas Matauko
Several motives on letter S- sculptures
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write hereor dont
write
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Deadline staff:
Valrie de Saint-Do = editor
Tomas Matauko = co-editorukasz Jastrubczak = design & layout
list of participants of the project:
Agata Dutkowska
Alexis Emery-Dufoug
Beta Kolbaovsk
Cristina David
Desmesure collective / Agathe & Fred
Edyta Masior
Filip Przybyko
Guillaume du Boisbaudry
Jan SowaJarosaw Wjtowicz
Joanna Bednarczyk
Judit Kurtg
Julie Chovin
Kubo Pisek
Lszl Milutinovits
Lujza Magov
ukasz Jastrubczak
Magorzata M. Dudek
Marek Mardosewicz
Marta Jonville
Mathieu Lericq
Nils Clouzeau
Palce Lizac Dominika & Barbara
Paul Maquaire
Roman Dziadkiewicz
Seydou Grpinet
Simon Quheillard
Thomas Desmaison
Tomas Matauko
Valrie de Saint-Do
edition of 200 copies / july 2013 Cluj-Napoca
http://blog.mecanismespourentente.eu
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