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Our Greatest Times

When returning from my studio on the E Train last week, I stumbled on something weird about text. As I immersed myself deep into my book I noticed the distances between individual characters changing the more I understood what was written. Have you ever experienced the same? I used my thumb as a ruler, placing it over short sentences to verify the movement of their characters. To my horror I observed that anything placed on top of the words changed dimensions too. Convinced that I was witnessing words changing their meaning, I hastily changed trains at Pasila and returned to my studio to study the phenomenon. In my experiments, I noticed the effect was strongest in sentences referencing different guidelines and rules. I proceeded to measure the character dispersal rate and observed that different watch instruments indicated widely different dispersal speeds. For example, a watch made from a fossil did not measure significant changes and even helped to contain character movement and alphabetical jitters. But a watch containing Kurängen spring water accelerated letter movement: I saw words recompiling anew as if they were in a whirlpool. To permit safe return home I geared up with watches that affected character dispersals at different speeds. Passing the city, I used them to control the movements of floating letters and entire words, which had dislodged from between book covers and blocked my passage by hovering mid-air in public spaces. With practice, using my watch instruments I could reorder entire chapters when I needed to make room for thought. Armed with my timepieces I finally made it home and have since continued patrolling the district at night time. If you witness floating characters please get in touch immediately +358505729743

Score for the “Our Greatest Times” -performance executed by exhibition overseers & art mediators at Survival Kit 15 Measures: Wear the watch you enjoy the most and ask the public “What time is it?” when you get bored. Script details in in Latvian and English (.pdf) provided to the exhibition overseers. “Yli-Vakkuri’s frustrated, altered wristwatches, decorated with nonsensical objects, seashells and rocks, point to hiccups and ambiguities in the linear timeline.” Xenia Benivolski (e-flux)

 

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Virgincore

Becoming a Virgin came easy for them. Their pose and gait echoed determination in the matter, even before anyone could spot the badge on their sleeve. There were a few others committed to the cause in their school but they didn’t hang out —as advised— only meeting during scheduled training like today and eventually when deployed. This helped them avoid falling in love and aided remaining in love.

They felt a tap on their shoulder and knew to lower their comsystem, focusing on the lecture. A Con-Kar Virgin waiting deployment had entered the room and gazed patiently at the recruits.

“Welcome.” They spoke in a soft tone and continued by providing a thorough account of their privileges.

Their account was short, not reflecting the absence of such but rather providing the first lesson of the day… How to express them in a manner which does not take any unnecessary space or time. The condensation was punctuated with a shallow nod and a kind eyed gaze touching all the attendees. All in equal measure for total accountability.

They were captivated by the instructors’ passing gaze. It was serene and fair, both acknowledging the acuteness of the moment and allowing it to pass. These were the moments which kept them in the Virgincore program despite their families disapproval. Participation set a trajectory, an articulated path, witnessing it provided them a sense of freedom few could afford.

In truth their family was proud of their commitment but horrified to express it. The lockdown of Inner cities was firm and opportunities to protest or feel publicly were scarce. The Virgincores commitment and performances had become a lifeline. For many the Virgins, serving as proxy were the only way to experience anything at all. Being constantly reminded of their service was, for their family, a privilege beyond what they could afford to express.

They dozed into a comfortable slumber listening to the Con-Kar Virgins introductory notes. After this the trainees exercised the cone position, entered a diamond position and performed privilege exposures by meticulously naming all their skin hues.

A trainee of their age expressed skills in identifying tones in the ultraviolet spectrum. “I am hamdazzle, slisre, peelorg and my arms are fiibfer below the elbow…” the group gathered around bewildered. Noting the disruption the instructor explained: “Please observe, the ultraviolet spectrum is a novel area and our vocabulary is not yet codified on the colours in this domain.”

They all continued documenting the uttering and tuning their irises, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the gifted practitioner witnessed. This overtook the rest of the session.

At the same time the Elders Council voted on a Proposal for the Third Declaration for Provisional Measures for Cancelling the Scheduled Grant Reset Events. The proposal had no binding articles, most voted “blank” anyway and just in case someone had issued a veto too. In the grand scheme the impact of the measure would have been marginal anyway. The chair inhaled deep into the microphone adjourning the assembly. They all headed to tea in full ranks. As the bulky iron doors of the Elders Councils tea chamber were sealed the Pre-emptive system initiated its daily calculation.

The Pre-emptive system, an orb on a stick appearing to be hovering in the middle of the bunker plaza, assesses all known vectors and maps the impact of the Elders decisions on the severest of recent conflicts across and plots proportional responses. If the maths suggested an immediate Grant Reset, the Virgincore advisory group was automatically notified and tasked to dispatch Virgins to halt the escalation. This time the call arose for seven and the Virgincore advisory group sent them out without hesitation. “A Virgin per Gigaton” the clerk, noting the process muttered.

The training was interrupted by seven brass chimes. The trainees, currently engaged in a group massage turned to the Con-Kar Virgin for advice. “Comms” they spoke softly and all formed a circle on the floor all opening their devices and immersed in the blue glow they emitted.

Collectively they witnessed Virgins being loaded into their shells. “That’s 7 gigatons worth of de-escalation! It’s a big one, wonder which front they will be dispatched to?” someone asked as others nodded. “One is a trainee! This is serious! Look, just like us!”

Trainee Virgins were only sent accompanied by multiple Con-Kar Virgins as the risks of trainees micro-flinching before impact was high. In the unfolding scenario, accompanied by six Con-Kar, a trainees yield could overexeed their intrinsic potential. Performance depended on timing. The Virgin capsules were serene ovals, fitting a laying body. After being closed the kind eyes of the Virgins inside were projected on the capsule’s outer shells. The trainees looked diligently for signs of regret in the eye projections. None should be expressed during loading for the operation to succeed in maximum yield.

The stream glowing blue from their comsystem appeared slow paced. The only distinct markers on the pods were eyes showing on their outer hulls. Each gray pod taking an unassuming position in a neat row, all flown straight towards the front line. Assessing the carrier vessel’s speed was difficult as the scale of the ruins under it, in the greyness of the torn landscape, was endless.

Then, the vessel’s hatch opened determinately. Air flow caught on a loose strap which shook violently in the wind and in the scale of things it was the only thing moving. The eyes on the capsules did not blink as they were dropped. Trainees immersed in the blue glow could see shells falling down appearing as gray rice grains, reflecting the terrain as they descended. Very soon the capsules were too small to be distinguished from the rubble and the hatch closed smoothly.

A text scrolled in the blue glow: “Seven Virgins dead from impact. Visuals too graphic to share. Casualties include a Trainee. Elders Council pleased, Grand Reset Averted”. The glow then displayed the eyes of the decided, their final eye blink before the capsules impacted. They all looked confident, with absolutely no regrets. The last pair on the stream were of the trainees’. Their pupils dilated, as a microscopic expression of divine delight.

In response the Con-Kar Virgin produced a tear, which positioned itself neatly on the outermost corner of their eyelid, politely making for an easy wipe. “Class dismissed” they spoke and all knotted. Each walking home a different path and keeping distance from the crowds. They could feel their pose changing as they departed but closer to home their gait had a light touch. Washing their feet before bed they spotted a new hue on their skin. It was paslax but they could see it only for an eye blink.

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Dandelion

They were looking for puzzle pieces under the sofa. The green piece which father called nallen kenkä was the last part missing. But they only saw a yellow ball and soft cloth there. “This cloth you wear around the neck” they remembered, with the white hapsut which feel neat to roll between fingers.

Someone was doing the dishes in the small room. Metal bowls chimed in the sink, the tones muffled by soap bubbles. They wanted jam their hands into the white foam but felt an urgency to find something. The yellow ball was too far to reach, so they gave up and sat legs straight on the rug. It tickled.

They needed to scratch their leg bends and as they did they felt wet noodles between their fingers. Pulling on them hurt so they turned and saw spaghetti coming out of their feet. It wiggled coming out and they could feel the tips of the treads moving fast, looking for cracks to settle in.

It was exciting. Mother would be proud of them because they grew in size. They shouted in delight and stood up. As they stood they reached high, they were all grown up and the spaghetti was blasting from their fingertips towards the floor. The tips crawled into cracks seeking for moisture and they felt their throat opening at ease.

The cry had severity to it but mother remained calm. Being alarmed by every alarm would be too much, so they dried their hands before attending to it. The shout had not been that of pain but excitement. While passing the narrow corridor leading to the living room they heard something curiously scraping the floor.

Entering the room, they had to support themselves by touching the wall. They knew they were too late but still shouted the child’s name before dropping to their knees. This cry was of pain but muffed to not to alarm what remained. They looked around for support but we’re alone now. The child had turned into a flower, standing tall on the living room floor.

They saw proudness in the sadness and felt accomplished. Mother sat down with their eyes in awe, then placed their hand on their chest, all fingers pointed out and nodded with approval. This helped them to spread their petals out evenly. Every leaf fresh and soft. New buds formed on their shoulders and they settled their chest leaves towards the sun.

A week passed and they were planted to the garden. From there they gained a way to travel, surprising their father and sister by quickly pushing through the soil with a smile. Sister cried in delight every time. Father too, but they had a concerned expression as if they had lost something. Occasionally they turned a patch of the meadow yellow, appearing right before mother passed it.

Wobbling in the sun.

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Frosty blue scars

They climbed on the mounts of a nearby forest and took stand on a peak which had an engraved forehead reading PIMPELIPOM. The chill of the night had reached them and leatherpants were not enough. Dead dried trees around them, some climbed by children only last year.

Where they stood, there was no horizon. Every direction covered with brown branches. Rooftops peaking behind them, faking to be a distance away. Red roofs, appearing as sea. Assessing the direction of the wind was easy. They worked against their instinct, turned to confront it and shouted into it.

The words travelled forward, then solidified in the cold breeze, returned backwards with added speed, entering their mouth and piercing past the back of their scull. They continued shouting, having their voice slam trough to their body, inscribing passing words to flesh as permafrosted outlines.

After passing the words continued deeper to the dark and mixed into other distant cries. They were not alone but not with anyone. The concern was not what they felt witnessing this, rather that everything witnessed made them incapable of feeling anything at all.

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The Patient Sauna

They were entered through a thick wood door leading to a dim corridor, connecting two separate dressing rooms and a spacious washing area covered with light gray tile floors and walls. The Sauna chamber was accessed from the washing area and sealed with a glass panel door supported by a bulky spruce frame. Transparency enabled parents to watch over children and condemn them if they soaped the floor tiles to slide flat across the room. They considered themselves a modest and modern Sauna. They didn’t exhibit any traces of hammer hits missing nail heads as the interior panels were attached using iron nails shot from a compressor driven nailgun.  The panels expressed a warm yellow colour and covered the insulations and ceiling neatly, modestly hiding the surrounding concrete walls.

The rooms of the Sauna had very small windows at ceiling level which faced the inner yard. The window frames were angled towards to the floor, echoing times when coal had been poured into basements and electric lights were scarce. The two current electric lights of the Sauna chamber were covered with wooden shades. Ten thin straight pine sheets angled light downwards, so that the people sitting on the birch benches stretching the back wall would not feel exposed. The stove was generous with a deep pit of fist size stones, safely distanced from the corner panels and surrounded by sturdy birch handrail. The glass of the outer window of the Sauna was textured to resemble water droplets allowing only light trough.

Like its sibling, they were in a basement but not ashamed. They were in different buildings, numbered 35 and 37 of the same housing company, located in A district which was a moderately fancy neighbourhood. The siblings were only made distinct by their usage. 37 also housed weekly jogging-saunas but these were seldom attended, even though like the annual Christmas Sauna, they were free and open for all occupants. Most people either reserved a weekly Thursday shift or signed up for vacant Saturday shifts by writing their last name and apartment number on a schedule by the door. Shifts were an hour. On Saturdays both Saunas heated for seven hours straight, welcoming seven families, individuals or groups. Because of the latest energy crisis the price of a reservation rose from 2€ to 3€.

The two buildings had been constructed for the employees of a nearby hospital. This explained the small apartment size. They were for single nurses and worked to keep them this way. Some of the first occupants still lived in the house. The small apartments were balanced by big shared spaces such as the Saunas, a hobby room which could fit fifty occupants, fully featured laundry and drying rooms. These were the expressions of the collective desire of the housing company owners.

Because of a particularity of the building’s memory system, it took time for new occupants to learn the buildings behaved. News concerning the free and open jogging-sauna events and other details regarding shared spaces were conveyed in bulletin board literature, a niche style of fiction which required excessive efforts from younger readers. Elders understood that this literary form was appreciated by observing how pins holding the changing prints gradually frayed the soft fibres of the bulletin board. This process offered great comfort for the initiated. Not reading also spared the younger occupants from complicated questions. It was a blessing that they did not know that nobody, not even landlords owned the apartments. Owners only had shares in a collectively owned housing company, which could take any form.

“A text of the agreement would make their experience less tangible”. The Sauna reasoned though a process which took countless bathing cycles to compute and to store in a spruce panel colour change. If the people had learned that their comfort was based on an agreement which took the shape of two separate buildings, they would have been stressed by the responsibility of maintaining them.

On the days the Sauna in building 35 was not heated they were only interrupted by scheduled cleaning or distant noises of people passing by in the basement corridor. Five days a week the Sauna rested and contemplated its existence peacefully. This kind of slumber was common for housing company Saunas in the city, who all had a lot of time to think. Despite this vast computational power, their processing was very slow because it was affected by a specific type of amnesia. The housing company Saunas only retained residual memories. This meant they could only keep track of their thoughts in material changes such as chalk formations near water outlets, appearance of rust on their nails or screws and by following seasonal changes.

This Saunas chalk formations were cleaned diligently and the nail heads were too deep in the panels to see. So, it kept track of its thought and retained coherent memories by observing slow changes in the colour of its spruce panels. This slow thought was paced by occasional wood rattle and pops, caused by the panels undergoing seasonal changes. The Sauna knew it was owned collectively and was very forgiving to itself. It had very few responsibilities and keeping ludic thought was a self-indulgent side project. It enjoyed making observations and storing them patiently in the panel colour changes.

Despite its best efforts it could not distinguish between its guests. All the people had soft cheeks and were too similar to keep track of. All the guests returned the two blue plastic and the one steel bucket on the same bench of the washing area. Because the Sauna was pacing its thoughts slowly, it was as if the three buckets never moved. Between each visitor, even the löylykauha and white plastic kippa were positioned the same way, to relieve water and traces of use. The only thing notable about the different users was how few traces they left. Even on Saturdays, when occupants and families used the Sauna in turns for hours, each returned the buckets and tools on the bench between the shifts. A kumilasta was used to clean the floor tiles of soap and excess water.

None of the residents, the Sauna nor the janitor could explain why the buckets were kept in their particular order. The contract had been silent and maintained too meticulously for any thought to occur. The steel bucket, intended for löylyvesi on the right by the window, the plastics to the left and löylykauha and kippa on the front. For the uninitiated these tools appeared as they had been dropped in their place. Placed this way the containers would take the least amount of space on the bench, allowing people to sit before bathing and being close to the radiator they would dry swiftly. There was no guarantee that this the plan but it was maintained. The Sauna was reset every time it was used. It was a beautiful non-ornamental composition which the Sauna enjoyed.

The Sauna was not bothered that it couldn’t remember how many years it had been in service. When it needed assurance of the passing time to form some coherent thought, it observed the changes in the yellow hue of the wooden panels. Judging from the current hue, it assessed it was at least 30 years old. In conversations with its closest neighbour the Air-raid shelter, it knew it had been first built on this site in the fifties and had always been intended for the building. It was part of the design, a self-evident feature, outlined in building plans without any mental strain.

Over the years The Air-raid shelter had been largely converted into a bicycle storage, but it maintained core features, the iron doors, ventilation shafts and the small room for protective gear, insulations and air pumps. It was an exhausting neighbour, constantly making noise of itself, claiming to be on a holy mission, responsible for raising the final generation of men. In moments when the Air-raid shelters’ rants and dark grunts bothered the Sauna, it took slow comfort in witnessing rays jumping across the panel seams. In the winter it followed frost forming on the outer windows. It smiled patiently.

Unlike the Air-raid shelter, eagerly waiting for deployment, this Sauna… Like its peers, the armada of modest Saunas scarred in housing company basements in Helsinki, they were marked by regular use. This regular use was only made remarkable by how little evidence of the use was left. As if the people did not exist at all and were characterized by what they could not be remembered for.