Viki Semou presents her Palimpsest Book project Thursday at the Unbound Book conference. A sort of Fluxus-inspired work, it "is an individual game and each one of the players ‘reads’ the story that the objects in the book-box tell and s/he continues ‘writing’ the story by adding one more object. The book-box, after that, has to be gifted to someone else who wishes to play the game." When she passed by one day in late February to talk about building a website to accompany it, the box contained these items:
Here's the story I more-or-less came up with - more or less since the original included the sock and the yoyo.
The rattlesnake that bit mah woman was as thick as my arm in its middle, though that may have been on account of a rat or a cat or a prairie dog it had swallowed the day before. In any case Esma was dead before she hit the ground. Her lucky chestnut - "lucky" i reckon, but in the worst sense of the word - will get buried with her, along with the silver spoon she was fed out of as a child, though anyone who knew her or her kin would snicker at the thought of any of them "being fed with a silver spoon." I made my way up the dry riverbed here, with her body parked up top of the mule, who will be the only one of the three of us alive when the sun goes down behind the hills that line Slaughter Gulch this evening. This has always been one of my favorite spots…you see i was one always on the side of the Indians, what with all the butchery they was subjected to by us White Peoples, and here was where a small band of their fiercest women put to rest 87 settlers one February morning about four score years ago. I've got my tin of meat for my Last Supper, my pack of smokes (which is where you found this note, if you're readin' it) and my lighter. I hope I don't make too much of a mess of myself, as i wouldn't want to see a man with a hole blown into his chest by a 12-gauge shotgun, no-how and no-way - which is why I hope the contraption i rigged up dumps all the dirt on top of me after I fall back into the hole next to my beloved. I guess that's about it, and about twice as much as I've ever written in the last 10 years. Keep the pack of cigarettes with the piece of that motherfuckin' rattlesnake skin, be careful with the lighter, and enjoy what each day brings your way, hear? Sam August 12, 1921
The pit from my subconscious this emanated from is tied to a rattlesnake memory: while working my way up the steep incline of Hell's Canyon, near Riggins, Idaho, in 1993, I met a rattlesnake at eye level. If it had struck then, I probably wouldn't be writing this, since (1) it was big, (2) it would have injected venom into my face or neck, and (3) I had 20 minutes of climbing before reaching the car, and another hour after that to the nearest medical center. Before I knew what was happening I smashed it with a rock. After my heart began beating normally I began to wonder what to do to alleviate the guilt over this act of stupidity (I was in ts habitat, after all). At the tail end of my medical illustration career, I dutifully skinned and dissected it, kept the rattles and fangs, and had dinner. Yes, it tasted like chicken. A piece of it made its way into Viki's Box...which reminds me of a Throwing Muses song.
She's passing out 15 or so of these at the conference, so visit the project website for creative wordsmithing.
Here's the story I more-or-less came up with - more or less since the original included the sock and the yoyo.
The rattlesnake that bit mah woman was as thick as my arm in its middle, though that may have been on account of a rat or a cat or a prairie dog it had swallowed the day before. In any case Esma was dead before she hit the ground. Her lucky chestnut - "lucky" i reckon, but in the worst sense of the word - will get buried with her, along with the silver spoon she was fed out of as a child, though anyone who knew her or her kin would snicker at the thought of any of them "being fed with a silver spoon." I made my way up the dry riverbed here, with her body parked up top of the mule, who will be the only one of the three of us alive when the sun goes down behind the hills that line Slaughter Gulch this evening. This has always been one of my favorite spots…you see i was one always on the side of the Indians, what with all the butchery they was subjected to by us White Peoples, and here was where a small band of their fiercest women put to rest 87 settlers one February morning about four score years ago. I've got my tin of meat for my Last Supper, my pack of smokes (which is where you found this note, if you're readin' it) and my lighter. I hope I don't make too much of a mess of myself, as i wouldn't want to see a man with a hole blown into his chest by a 12-gauge shotgun, no-how and no-way - which is why I hope the contraption i rigged up dumps all the dirt on top of me after I fall back into the hole next to my beloved. I guess that's about it, and about twice as much as I've ever written in the last 10 years. Keep the pack of cigarettes with the piece of that motherfuckin' rattlesnake skin, be careful with the lighter, and enjoy what each day brings your way, hear? Sam August 12, 1921
The pit from my subconscious this emanated from is tied to a rattlesnake memory: while working my way up the steep incline of Hell's Canyon, near Riggins, Idaho, in 1993, I met a rattlesnake at eye level. If it had struck then, I probably wouldn't be writing this, since (1) it was big, (2) it would have injected venom into my face or neck, and (3) I had 20 minutes of climbing before reaching the car, and another hour after that to the nearest medical center. Before I knew what was happening I smashed it with a rock. After my heart began beating normally I began to wonder what to do to alleviate the guilt over this act of stupidity (I was in ts habitat, after all). At the tail end of my medical illustration career, I dutifully skinned and dissected it, kept the rattles and fangs, and had dinner. Yes, it tasted like chicken. A piece of it made its way into Viki's Box...which reminds me of a Throwing Muses song.
She's passing out 15 or so of these at the conference, so visit the project website for creative wordsmithing.
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