Sometimes there’s an inexplicable match between a state-of-mind and a sensory input. This is what happened to me while listening to this fragment by Gilles Deleuze about the Duration – La durée. What happened is that I processed the whole piece as a potential DJ Spooky track: a musical intro; Deleuze’s voice full with fluctuations, insistence, repetitions; a chaotic background noise; and finally phrases that can be cut from the entire piece and still survive – this entire Spooky complex placed me in a different emotional state.
The Deleuze piece is in French, I hope, though, that non-French speakers can enjoy it too. You can listen to the following piece several times, and each time get something else out of it. What I heard was a poem, much like the following:
Gilles Deleuze – La durée
La durée c’est ce qui se décompose Ha! La durée c’est une défection . La durée c’est, tomber en poussierrrrrrrrrrr. Oui, oui. C’est Flaubert. C’est Flaubert. Et. Et. Si ça dure, ça se décompose. [silence] Ce n’est pas du tout Bergsonien.
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