Écrivages automatiquesMay 5, 2021 - July 27, 2021
A few weeks ago, I was amazed to discover that MY WASHING MACHINE IS A POET TRANSLATOR. It transforms everyday human words into an encrypted poetic language, probably intended for other M.R.B. (Mechanical Rotating Beings). Skeptical? Here is the proof: One sad and bleaching tuesday, I found in the pocket of my freshly washed jeans an old to-do list. In the bustle of the Double Spin cycle, words on the paper had melted, others had emerged, and it looked like:
Poster le orange
du Centre de la
Randomness? No, I do not think so. It is obvious that we are dealing here with a new form of non-human communication.
On the DARE-DARE billboard, I therefore propose to dry the words recovered after washing and explore the translation interference that is frequently found on clothing labels and in household appliance instruction manuals. I could also give my washer a poem to see what it choose to keep from it, ask it a question to find out what it thinks about it. Divination? Why not?
It's debatable whether the sentences will be denser when on the Spin cycle or softer when taken out of a load on Delicate, but what matters is breaking the omerta. Washing machines have been silent for too long (well, it depends on the models) and reduced to their normal, Heavy or Permanent Press function.
It's time to shut up to listen to their music.
Amélie Dumoulin enjoys working in varied writing approaches. In children's literature, she is the author of Fé M Fé (Prix des libraires du Québec), Fé verte, Kid and Pipo, all published by Québec Amérique. In theater, she collaborates in the writing of shows with the companies Joe Jack and John, Des mots d'la dynamite and Petit théâtre de Sherbrooke. She is also a writer at the National Arts Center in Ottawa and teaches at Muses: performing arts center, to artists with disabilities. Amélie's texts all deal, in their own way, with the unusual experience of inhabiting a body, a world, of being alive.