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.