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cris cheek


the church - the school - the beer

These texts are transcriptions of transmission broadcast by CB radio from the environs of the corner of St. Georges Street and St. Andrews Street in central Norwich to a second floor gallery window of Cavendish House, at Norwich School of Art and Design. A CB extension speaker provided a listening post from which the writer could be viewed on site at a distance of approximately fifty metres away. Witnesses over-watched and over-heard the improvised talks from a screened-off office-style cubicle in the first floor window of an office building, used by the art school, overlooking an intersection between a church and a public house. These improvised talks, assembled in response to site presents a witnessed form of decisive note- taking. The narrowcast from the extension speakers were recorded onto mini disc by pointing the microphone at the output speaker, so that any conversations in the viewing frame became party to the text. This was particularly the case for the evening 'hour' on Wednesday June 24th when a largish crowd was gathered around and trying to get into a viewing and listening position. Between the members of said throng there was ongoing concern about an additional video camera that I had set up for those present to watch the events through. I was thereby offering a further frame with should they so desire Wednesday June 24th with the option for the temporary camera operator to record what transpired or not. There were also occasional taxi cab interventions into the narrowcast channel and at times, due to the more speculative perambulations of the writer the transmission channel was lost into silence.

Titles of the texts and therefore some more general enframing were announced in advance of the series. Otherwise what occurred was utterly in the moment.

These transcripts are as presented on site at the time. Each day's writing would be transcribed that day and placed in multiples available for free via an in tray in the cubicle into which my narrowcasts arrived. Transcription took about six hours per tape. Each talk lasted for one hour and the journey to Lowestoft from Norwich and home again took about 90 minutes. The end result was just over an eight hour long working day. Eight one-hour talks were written and freely circulated.

Sometimes I toyed with direct address to those I could see participating as listening watchers in the window. Sometimes I imagined that there was a friend there, when in fact there might well have been nobody present at all. Sometimes I thought I was talking to the taxi cab call operators, sometimes passers by.

I was thinking hard about talk strategies that I had witnessed--participated in, deployed by David Antin, Steve Benson and Kamau Brathwaite. Benson I had known and had high regard for since 1979, Antin and Brathwaite I both met and experienced working live in Minneapolis at the Cross Cultural Poetics Conference convened in 1997 at the University there by Maria Damon. These transcripts are as issued at that time, barring some extremely minor typo and lineation adjustments. Their representation here might appear to epitomise problems with my attitude to inclusive editing - forms editing in. However there were intended as a series and as an example of live discourse in a public, civic space - composing a subtle modality of civil disobedience. More recent writing in this vein occurred at the Southwark Carnival in 1999 and in Oxford Ohio and New Orleans in 2001. A number of re-mixes, undertaking further editing and re-assemblage necessary for publication of a further series of versions of these texts are in preparation for another publishing occasion.
cris cheek, January 2004.

Editor's note: the three further texts in this series can be read at http://www.crischeek.net/

Tuesday June 16th, 1998. ll:30am - 12:30pm.

transcription of transmission broadcast by CB radio to Norwich School
of Art and Design. Recorded on mini disc.
Second text, under title :

. . .Gajagajagazagajjagajjagauge .... this this this this this this this this this
this is here we are okay, bye. The idea, on, is, of registration. A registration,
or a registrations, of one, series, of inputs. Placed, onto,

another, series of input. And of whether they 'fit' and or or interact. Whether
there is or can be a logical cause and effect in operation here. I stroll up to the
crossing. It's a rainy morning.

Howling and there is another voice, talking into my ear, boring into my head,
brake steam. Described, I'm crossing St George's Street. From my notes The
Crypt of interactions, so far, there is a sign here. A small

tangle of blue and white striped plastic lying bedraggled on the floor. Due to
increasing, I'm reading, complaints being received about unlawful taking
place at these public conveniences, the police request 'are you

aware, that inside these toilets, there is a distinct change of embouchure, cock
fun graffiti?' and mobile one is expected to make a date 04 straw. Step by step.
The wetness, located out of sight. Of a puddle, becoming

redispersed. Underfoot. There are, new rock, the roaring away from light,
sensation that, clutching, outside traffic, the more general 'noise' of this site
competes intensely, with the voices in my head, pressed through

gauze, a known ideal that is used and stuck within scaffolding. I am talking to
and trying to be taught to assimilate and inspect this, I can see from here an
image, of myself, reflected in the monitor of a video machine,

playing back, through the window, of a second floor of a building, above the
city gents Barber shop. Adjusted to one, or unmasking, from the church. The
figure is spinning with a frame, one side of which is painted

grey, the other side of which is unmarked wood – 'the bifurcate' - forming
and reconsidering that, there is, so ley land, the death are, how, one, bound,
impact to cancel out, intact another. Is that similar to

hearing, no sound at all? Or curing bone's attention, correction - the school
is, becoming present. We're still waiting for H to arrive. She's running up the
hill here, with a blue rucksack

on her back on which is stitched the word transport. There is a piece of yellow
cloth, folded around here waist. Drops from these railings are pushing a button
and holding, umbrellas are furled this morning although

conveying expectation. The royal male, breaches a post code, van. Its
registration noted now. For those who are considered to be present. Correct ,
certainly, of course not everybody actually in this space is in this

space, or sharing my perception that there is here here, they are, some of
them, already in other environments, psychological if not physical, although
physically the Hollywood Stunt Show, for example or Friday

nights at the Festival House, where goth, punk, metal, retro, industrial and
much much more - sorry, no children - the allowance. An alarm drives
past, with smoke, belching from the back of its, there is. To run it,

whom through the vanishing grey, stop. There is, a hand, pulling the shoulder-
strap, of a bag, up, onto THE shoulder. And, next formalised, the church is
varied grey this morning with light drifting through the join into

Bridewell Alley, where is one of the finest napped flint walls in the country,
refracts bluish grey through windows, from one side to the other, onto this
street. Some of that catches me standing here. A guy,

drudge-legged, drawing the weight from his cigarette, absolutely. Refusal to
be the fallen remains, of, except for loading. A contributory, to, the eastern,
match, he, lifting her hand to press the left side of her face with

the back of her right hand's fingers, and adjusting her glasses, she, glances.
From the beetle centre, there is, an industrial presence here. The sense, that
some people might have, which there is simply too much going

on, if one tries to take it all on at one given time. That what 'one' needs, is
focus. Or attention, and the suggestion that we need to move beyond that
unitary gaze. XYZ, the kickers that graze on the grass, where there

remain patches, that daisies haven't grown, because people have sat, in a pre-
nuptual, sorry, where the stamps have become stacked, there. Today, showing
at Cinema City, 'The Boxer'. I'm remind of the junction box jockey,

who, went on, before he was so rudely interrupted and the transmission
became broken, to talk about the origin of junction in 'joust'. So, the idea
here, as we have, on these two dominant 'sides' of the road here, not an

but an as it were begrudgingly acceptable expression as binary, but an
infestation, where one charger, or one person who is charged up, by dint of
placement in the lists, or one charge such as this speaking might be

considered as a charge, or brought up on a change, whereby the visible video
could be construed as a payment to closure, err, kind of clashes with another.
This engagement, is, an opportunistic mould, on the facing

base-side of a tree stump, that 'hewn'. Well, I only need to go up to the bank,
and he strolls past. Money returning to the gala, because orbit has been well-
disposed of, in the bin. The wombing sheds, these loose tobacco

lighter pipes, that braid, she puffs into a clenched hand. Man, is having his
hair cut, opens his hand, with a knife, remaindering, classic shootouts for the
after service coffee, where, there has been an eruption onto the

memory of Godfrey Kelly, 'who departed this life 25th February, 1775'. And
stained, that presence, with tea, blown, through the bloody cup. This, zap,
here, as a clover, configuration, and acorns carved from oak. We

have the technology share, to record in a variety of, another location guises a
large party of people, crossing the road, talking in Swedish, although they
might be a class of Swedish language students, rather than

native Suedes with greying hair. This, considered, an equitable wash, although
where diffusion has mistaken the shapes of profusion, plethora now steps
towards these lights, examining his watch pulling, let's say

tweaking, the peak of his blue cloth cap. An entirety, given over, perhaps, to,
to premonition here. Looking for a more punchy signal, looking for the idea
ideal, the ideal which ... broken transmission ... scaffolding humps

these. Now, to business and laminate. Someone, to the difficulties of
overpowering, ray, there is a pseudo-up configuration, that walks step by step
to ensure that flight is under as, or vacancies exist, though there

are silver, wreath, like a dog, OTC wept as, holding in skin summer, toots to
passer, by and, being, is, exposing, a bare, with an apple that driving,
confidently, towards black fryers is, embedded. A registration of one

activity, one speech, not fixated, but embraced within, an other. How, they
heard what carried this, the fixation for an instance, is, at different points in
time of something recorded and something recording and

something being observed, coexisting in a space where one converses with
another and we have a kind of forming of a map that is hinting at how
different views from one perspective, one window to the next as we see

through the example provided by the church raised opposite, creates a shift,
from public gaze, to the decoration of an annual gathering, that corpses to
congratulate and to award. To provide apivotal moments in a

life. Not a passage but a marked gateway through a passage. The push bar.
That, except for loading, ohm, is , at, she, is, now, just climbing the hill and
pushing down with sticky fingers, onto the gleaming handlebars of

her bicycle. There is a white helmet that catches the reflection of a figure
emerging from the toilets by The Crypt. A man is standing on the third floor of
a building overlooking this junction, he appears to be

observing me registering the fact that he notices me watching him. He leans
forwards onto a wooden railing. The train war carriers, who are frequently a
feature of this site, perform for the vanishing, block after

block, up the hill, where the voice had been registered blank. The scaffolding
holding a party to ideal, is still erect. It has that brio. Double yellow line,
intersected by a covering in the road, that ohm, is from Wales,

a tri-glide in fact, hands in pockets or just clacking two packs of batteries, one
on the top of the next. As if searching for a spark in this contemporary location
and hearing the remains of what had been a

registration of a rain storm. For example, at a puddle, fixated on an unevenly
flat roof. As the figure turns, so that that foot, which plunges into that puddle
on each rotation, disperses,

or re-disperses the waters. There is, err, huh, actually she's standing at the
crossing here, holding coffee in a white polystyrene cup. The steaming. She
says, “I'm really great”, to her friend. But the back other

rucksack is open, and the pocket is something almost dropping, out.
Somebody, motorbike, stops at the lights had that working, their gold takes
off, with a flurry. The foot pressing down hard onto escape, down hill.

Where a west sidled story don't, ohm, bleak, or, and, the, owner emerges from
Little Ikaria licensed restaurant. And, under the door, the smudge, of peel. The
scent, the pungency, coming straight off of that.

Almost a stay, as, rumbled from the boot, in an arc, the puddle, THE, the
residue is, redistributed to become, a, almost, a matter of fact stain, that still
registers activity here. Or, a, and hard to tell whether

engagement here is, on the free-functional grown sense of displacement or
registration or stillness or activity, those ahh here, blank page, as, constructed
and not equidistant but equally distant, THE, the nexia, to

warm one, two, err, the police have arrived. A policeman and a policewoman,
crossing the crossing. One police man crosses outside of THE, the expected
line of crossing

and a police woman actually uses this crossing 'properly'. A sense of gender
there in the manner in which this utility is negotiated. Um, the woman, is, far
more, comfortable within the convention that has been

established before them and the man is kind of being deliberately po-faced
about striding across, with their yellow kagoules here skilled. Attendant on,
err, things that could possibly have been misplaced or gone wrong or

were been not misbehaving as they should in this environment. They look at
me and pass on by. As does a cyclist, fixing, forwards, up the hill, in a pair of
floral pants, we have the tutelage to bring a sense of engagement

to this site and begin to hopefully, even to that empty room into which this
talking is transmitted to reveal something about it and can pass that on, despite
denials mapping these so-called 'receiving' 'end'. The school, a

deadened ear, an incapability, contingence, the function of the school here.
Very different from the leisure of the beer that works for forwards, though,
pumping out fumes.

Extremely noxious emissions here, optic lighting of equity that washed the
stairs before we leave this shaken, tunnelling out from her mouth as a cloud of
smoke, shifts. As, almost by association 'we' are 'here',

implicated together. From the tobacconists a tarnished weathered, flowers, in
the night flood walking which warbled, past the barrier wall, in to the
churchyard, wiping. And then placing into her pocket, the first moulding in

Norwich. This is, the largest choice, of, power, assistance yet. The white, are,
what is he talking here for, staggered, almost dropped the frame, then regained
a balance, livered with black petals, as, operating a

vending coffee service perhaps twists back into somewhere which could be
chalk talk tyres, where the fireball has some measure of composure. A corner,
flushed into fear, here. Leaning in the doorway, as trying to draw

heat from the brick. Attention that gives tire services profit. There are
beverages and they are redispersed here with regularity. We have the,
temptation that create serrated, or no intact it's err, err err, stuck-on

T-shirt, glued, we're raising the tin to, technology. The dry, broken paving, is
carried, as a backpack, to achieve, Cinema City. There is, a considerable,
amount of property, as, for sale here. Born, to be a

newsagent, I was, thrust, into that life, appalled, as bright scarf, might, make a
form of direct personal address. The lines, of, sleek, bilge waters have, flowed,
through this sight, as, the grey, just attempting to wake up

that sleekness, her button is unreadable at this distance. Cabbage, teasage, has
Hubble minceable gold, although, doos with intoning err, continual
registration of sense here. We could rename this activity as,

let's say ... break in transmission ... 'p'ty work, achieving the pain, and.
Scooting down the hill, with hands off the handlebars, and lifting something,
foothill, from her pocket, it, begins to rain, here. And the

gross rate of at least some of the people who participate through this
environment is about to, shall we utter dramatically, increase. And, that's what
I call striations, setting the standard overnight. Err. If one makes a

call here ... break in transmission ... break in transmission ... Err. This
is a form of hailing perhaps. That he off the vigil, jowl to vulcan jah. He's off
the vigil of emergency engine stop. There is greenwash that, performs

a clear, turning through. He raises glass, from windows, open, to give me road
rage. The next as, almost stumbling onto a crowd of daisies. Early morning,
for some, heading sharply towards midday now. The glum and

thin, sticky-toed. The tapes have been tattooed onto his arm, as if there is a
sense that he's been stuck together and this has been created as a virtual
realisation that has drawn us, err, into err. This is a form of virtuality. This is

err, a caricatured , well, in fact I think it'd be unfair to characterise it in that
way. She, stepping from the phone booth now and snuff might, humble, and
hug the tape that broadlands guard. Drapes,

vanishing for assistance. Zip level, spherical five. Attention has become the
daughter, of a gleam that, is a maturing, or was that churning, spears or, star
heart that, feed had root. To

ethnicate awnings that roar of past, blotting out repeat, brought air-
conditioning for hire to pleasure beach. This could, one day, become, still
registered, as a tourist beach. In fact the school, to choose the dead now,

or its most immediately connected representatives, in this instance, are little
but sand here. On top of that, as they watch use now, they've lost their grain.
On this, cool suffers spot, if I mention moves off, holding a

red metal hand and fanning his fringe, with a green file. I am being observed,
by a man in a window. He waves slightly, as the smile is being wiped from the
wheels of a buggy, aboard the tourist bus. There are

occasions when, the frame of this registration, becomes awkwardly
superimposed upon the frame of of the registration previously registered and it
is hard. To tell whether, one is possible to be privileged, or one is

correct, that is the right moment adjusted, pointed out that which, through a
ritual of rust, nibbling its nails
on the gear stick had parted this, breathing his fingers, a hand that had

pinched, from her mouth holding his mobile phone. Between his ear and his
shoulder, as he drives, informing the world, cup headlines. Distantly,
articulating that are ... break in transmission ... in search of a panel

beater, focussing here. On, filing and joining that jousting and travelling,
wiped out by rumble, as a servant form of observing or of making
observations from what that could possibly be that I'm serving here. This,

apparently meaningless work, could be, changed with objects and rendered or
made more, immediately dramatic. Which excluding, the, two by four,
heading past waste, up the hill, before it, a siren, that, brought

acclamation, from Saxon, R165, the maestro, of exclusion. Leap, charged with
the fanciful. To, grade B a car. Walking, away, from the heat, of the bell. A
deformer oppositional of an authorised ancient reads the notice, posted at the

entrance of the toilet as and showing left alone with suckling, the society of
space. To three, brand new, self-contained units. Full-mouther and the mealy-
male. Tell this residue, “well, you've got

questions, now put them, there are physical, muses, that tonite must be re-
baited, as favoured, a cosmological”. Howard, arrives. He's driven here
authorisation and underworlds where messages are sublime and natural

instances in inverted commas which notably jarred the rubber band, flipped
into, left hand escort expression, are realised, of course, but perfectly shaved
and sculpted the compliment, is more, to them, talking in

voices that ventriloquise these spaces. Somehow, the trees and the bushes,
have become, more than merely residual. There is a dance going on here. The
bee line is theory of nurtural, scratching a duct at the side

of the century, right on your doorstep, a pharmacy, right for you price. Almost
wiped out traffic, to work the. Have come to deliver the cadence, developing,
driven by direction that pushes the buttons and wait, to

achieve, their own. The women of Boulogne, have come here often, on a trip.
Idling the complicated err. Battery of, he stuffs his buttocks into kickers that
form an expression of exploratory admonishment. So, he has

stopped here, catering for the waiters. Conceived of, as – I'm going to
accompany him, across this street when the traffic has opened up, as brake
squeak - something sinks. It could be, one's heart. It could be an

anticipation of the productiveness of towards variation that the afternoon now
brings. Stood up at five past twelve. The stuffing has been pushed against a
broken window, blacked out of, presumably a rehearsal

room, where music from a claps rock band, vibration comes to represent
Friday night in Africa, the mysterious correspondence of examining one's
fingers for a fan that makes a sport of business, taking shape within the

heathered distance of this dance, where simply perambulating on, almost the
spot, or turning, with a frame has created an interlocking series of dimensions
that can't be reductively explained as new dance it says in

sort of dayglo colours on the back of the black roaring panda. Essentially, with
a paper rolled into the side pocket of his windcheater, a huge. Furling
umbrellas he, could almost be a spy, for the police, on the activities, within

this toilet. Moving out, we are the decorative ones. The great err, dispersed
corridors of the provocative. Shoes from barefoot power. A cathedral of
intentions. Gone, to pot, as Norwich – 'a vague city' -

makes the announcement that attention is what circuitry is being teased here.
A tension is, that which, should be, conveyed. On wheels that vote the marrow
home. An indifference. Here, people are public display and

private space embodied, moves within them and between them. I'm being
watched by a painter, tickling her hair into a bun as a pigeon lands on the roof
above the Greek taverna into a euphemism that fields of a

carnivalesque access culture, inside of which, the franchise of being regarded.
An angel, steps off onto traffic, from a sense of dangerous, to accustom a
culture at any time (honk), of mighty opportunity that weaves

his hand as if to say, get off my line. She feels, she, is in danger of slipping
inside that feeling, a tenderness lurks, with its fear biscuit uppermost. Cheaper
than the pipeline that officiates controls. And head,

there, gesticulation had brought a shower to be roasted, from a small situation,
that credible such, of, as, click clack, the paper bap was. Chewed as,
everybody, begins to move unmarked through other words or

unremarked here, the fount eating its lunchtime. Given, lift, can't say, serious,
paint on her trousers, how. Suitable stimulus, is seen as irritable. Dependent
on, where the point of stimulus originates or irritates from.

Nobody bothers to changes the focus. Nobody interferes with the technology
provided. They appear to consider that it is what it is and leave but ritual well
alone. They are anyway absent. They have removed

themselves from this source of distractions, call them exquisite interferences.
As these showgrounds are helped, for and against, hurtfulness are located in a
dark room. Talking oblivious of the jump that

is scratching its process here. Of breath and won't embrace, alterations. Of
cranial corked spires. There are surrogate daily the polite man, in between his
consciously hemmed had smeared, an impassionate, stall for

hire. Oppositional curtain that, was a mouthful of frequency. As if, on auto,
the stage on space an auxiliary, outside the church. Between accounted, or
flouted that power, on the hair of a dachshund, the hound had made a tick that

vouchsafed ground, formed, onto these implicate ankle, but one-footed.
Rolling back down hill, almost an accident. Drowned out by engines, was
smiling and a banana of princess that healed. For

there are wrong-footed, the sterility of infusions made rails that cursed or blent
enamel paper mate hotels, note held in the mouth as a general skilled parcel
who had geared jump gent. An intensive, black patent, body,

the archetype, shaping, the brolly, an imaginary, gleam in her eye had, hid, the
mirrors, to, jauntily. This wildlife experience here, at the corner, the
compasses are, achieved. So, this bottle of thought had tied, the loose

dichotomy, described as a scarf that one wraps on the head as an office. The
blind and jointed knee-deep, to take the list and order here. Where time
reverted to inflammations of a plastic city. A child's hand, plunges

through the clouds at various people walking here and panic spreads, from one
side of the street, to the next. The gold ornaments adorning pensioners, leaving
a showing, are in at threat, noise erasure, they are

put, under risk, noise erasure, right on time the securicor
omega express van arrives, to offer, comfort, pushing the button. Into, if
backwards, the patient, had bridled and thus become ill. We find here, that

the programme, which is being clutched in the left had, the right hand holds
car keys, is, already losing its ink in the rain. Washing the text, onto his
clothing. And smudge in the gutter, my highlights, are, formed from,

many small highlights, each moment a moment of closure. The current sore
that parked here. Jangled with fervent. Apelike, the laptop had. Something
here in Welsh that is impossible to decipher for, the English as.

Gull wear, to be verified, for virtuous goons of the dominant ritual, let her,
wither ways to dally, armfuls, posted, virtuously, grabbed at, my jumper. From
whirr of motorbike, a big issue seller, appears by the

telephone kiosk. He, is about to make a phone call to his banker and of course,
no, in fact, he hands the parcel to another seller. The jobs change hands. Small
notes, covering the skin,

here the skin formed gradually beginning to create a web, offering a forum of
habitation for protection. As input, that is, sucking on the butt, or to have
happened at this libidinous body of gyration pales, in the van and coffee

served behind the bar. As scarred objects of exposed are others built in Britain.
Call free but call direct. Here she comes, a walking wine bar in a red Butlins
jacket. The walk, near, every neighbour. As tract,

there's a holding, walking, carved, the disfigurement of smiling people,
associating, bubble-pop distance, with a nucleus of culture, charged with
negative value here, that can locate, sensations indited order. And irony

that, exists to pet the pipelines pat. File, a description, under, inside of the
outside, swinging, her eyes are a spectacle that, has been hung, on the pocket
of her jacket, swings to wail deformities, into expressions of

entropy that walking backwards, deformities as if from a what? Become a
menace, to word order, There are, belted in the mean pony. Terribly via
academic scrutiny, in the most anally retentive sense of rapport

diminished. As Utopian mysticism that infects and invades the here, towards a
high point of wind blusters, not conception or correction but, music has started
up, it's pulpamatic in the pub here, taste is being

refined. Almost nobody, visiting the notion, of, “it's gone too far now” he
says, “John has just gone passed, and to a reception of the witless, these are
gesturing, now ...