Oren Silverman | How To Become A Golem At A Noise Show

How To Become A Golem At A Noise Show


Recuse yourself from laughter and pantomime the boxy contours of its torso

to the noise artist seated beside you. Fashion the shoulders with your hands 

widely cupping the air, like this, say we want the strong-arm fealty the Golem 

embodies and mutely turns away from. Our hopes more fickle than the passions 

that make them, unmake them. Body cameras, ombudsman, and the slow leak 

of emails is nothing to the Golem too ancient and never feeling. The noise artist nods. 

Undoes one mistyped word and enters another more descriptive of noise. Dry wall  

dust spinning in your beer is neither fragrant nor edible but it’s enough to cough 

up an ampule of blood while reciting a hierarchy of angels in the bathroom. 

In the Jewish tradition of being a Jew in the mirror of speech you swallow a post-it 

with truth on it and pocket another with death. There is some music and it reminds you 

of nothing, which is how you like music now. You undress in the bathroom, methodical 

and impatient as a spell.