Dillan Marsh
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Apis Press Publication 2013-08-14
printed by Apis Press in collaboration with Bjorn Mortensen and Entree all texts by Eleanor Clare 
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Helios (text by Eleanor CLare) 2013-08-14
As he rides his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and piercingly he gazes
with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his
bright locks streaming from the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen face: a rich,
fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters in the wind: and stallions carry him.
Then, when he has stayed his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the
highest point of heaven, until he marvellously drives them down again through heaven to Okeanos."
Homeric Hymn 31 to Helios (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C7th - 4th B.C.)
*
I lived to dance all night. A surging energy created a new and unprecedented confidence:
that it was possible to cheat time. I felt invincible - transcendent. Life was light, without fear
of death; at least not in this state of being. I sensed in my body vibrations of sound.
The closer I got to the source, the more it enveloped me, becoming a physical entwinement with
music and space. I felt one with it. But as the years passed, inevitably my heart began to
beat out of time. The breath did not come so easily. I held it at the top for a few seconds,
afraid to exhale. In these moments, the perceived syncopation that was once such a joy had
started to become a dissonance.
*
I feel alive, and the world - it's turning inside out Yeah!
I'm floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now,
I'm a shooting star leaping through the skies
Like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity
I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva
I'm gonna go! go! go!
There's no stopping me!
I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars
On a collision course
I am a satellite, I'm out of control
I am a sex machine ready to reload
Like an atom bomb about to
Oh -oh-oh-oh-oh explode!
(Extracts from 'Don't Stop Me Now' lyrics by Freddie Mercury, 1978)
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Burnout (text by Eleanor Clare) 2013-08-14
Burn Out
Through the grainy unsteady image and the sound, distorted by low quality compression, it
seems like something is trying to break through. The first few seconds sound like noise
pulled through a synthesizer, screaming and kicking as it emerges, fighting for life in its new
digital form. Something about it is alarming, frightening, tortured and angry. It is half-formed,
raw and unrefined. Streaks of red and white light flash across the screen.
It is an arena for action. Something about this situation that is chaotic; yet there is an
element of control. The driver makes tight circles around a central axis. At first this is
demarcated by a traffic cone, but as things proceed, the silhouette of a young man moves into the
centre. The car stops and revs up, creating billows of smoke in the air, obliterating vision for
a few moments. As the car skids and screeches, I feel a sense of alarm. This is coming close to
disaster for the lone, central figure, potential victim of the anonymous driver, a sacrifice for
the entertainment of onlookers. I can sense also the collusion. One figure willingly places his
trust in the other. There is a tension between these two.
*
A smoky, fiery object is spinning recklessly. One might say things had spun out of control.
Not quite though; for to completely lose control would mean total destruction. It would mean the
end. It all went up in flames. This is a sudden, intense and short lived burst of energy. More
like a supernova than the sun, and more akin to a meteor careering around a planet, than a planet
orbiting the sun. It was more than this, though. This scene was not simply about objects in space;
it was human. It was a game or a task, perhaps even a ritual.
Although I can identify it as a human activity, shot through with the implications of one's
relationship to another, from my vantage point it also seemed anonymous. In the dark, these
figures could be anyone, totally unrecognisable by the light of day. In this moment they had a
relationship to one another. Certainly for the two central protagonists, it was one of great
significance and trust. At any other time, on any other level, it was unclear. In this sense, the
action had become symbolic. The figures could be understood as archetypes. Ones which, for reasons
I cannot yet identify, I associate with the masculine.
***
In the threat of a loss of control, images had already flooded my mind. I remember as the
helicopters circled in the air above my house one evening in August. I had no idea why it was
happening, but this circling was incessant, the noise repeatedly coming close and fading away,
swelling and receding, but never quite out of my consciousness. It always gives me a slight sense
of unease, the idea of something being under surveillance, coupled with the notion that something
might be wrong. Why this surveillance from such a great height? It is a safe distance for the one
who watches. Then I remembered the destruction that had taken place, just minutes away from my home.
The aerial images of buildings and cars set alight, and rioters surging through the streets, anonymous
from this point of view. London's Burning.
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Mask (text by Eleanor Clare) 2013-08-14
You feel your breath inside the mask.
It is hot and damp.
You hear yourself breathing, heightened.
The mask is here: between the wearer and the world, the watcher and the watched.
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Appendix 2 (texy by Eleanor Clare) 2013-08-14
Appendix 2: Georges Bataille, Inner Experience
In this way existence closes the circle, but it couldn’t do this without including the night
from which it proceeds only in order to enter it again. Since it moved from the unknown to the
known, it is necessary that it inverse itself at the summit and go back to the unknown.
...
Action introduces the known (manufactured); then understanding, which is linked to it, relates the
non-manufactured, unknown elements, one after the other, to the known. But desire, poetry and
laughter increasingly cause life to slip in the opposite direction, moving from the known to the
unknown. Existence in the end causes the blind spot of understanding and right away becomes
completely absorbed in it. It could not be otherwise, unless a possibility for rest were to present
itself at a certain point. But nothing of the kind takes place: what alone remains is circular
agitation – which does not exhaust itself in ecstasy and begins again from it.
...
The upper part of my body – above the solar plexus – had disappeared, or at least no longer gave
rise to sensations which could be isolated. Only my legs – which kept me standing upright,
connected what I had become to the floor – kept a link to what I had been: the rest was an enflamed
gushing forth, overpowering, even free of its own convulsion. A character of dance and of
decomposing agility (as if made of a thousand idle futilities and of life’s thousand moments of
uncontrollable laughter) situated the flame ‘outside of me’. And as everything mingles in dance,
so there was nothing which didn’t go there to become consumed.
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