‘Those who are blocked off from my messages, or do not like them, think I am a fool, or hate me.’ Reading these words of Ivor Cutler’s (1923–2006) – written in a non-cursive, naïf hand, in a small exercise book that’s displayed in a vitrine at Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Arts in London – I’m reminded of parties back in Glasgow at the home of an overzealous Cutlerite friend. Pretty regularly, at a certain point in the evening, she’ll interrupt the regular flow of dance tunes to broadcast Mr. Cutler (as he insisted always on being called), pronouncing, in his thick Scots brogue – spoken deadpan, or else sung in a barrelling, music-hall baritone and set to a wheezing harmonium – his nonsensical aperçus and instructions. ‘Peel your mother from off the ceiling’. ‘My hat beats a warning to the flies’. ‘You cannot erase a love-letter with a nipple, no matter how rubbery’. More often than not, the room quickly clears. - “那些被我的信息封锁的人,或者不喜欢我的人,都认为我是个傻瓜,或者恨我。”读一下Ivor Cutler(1923-2006)的这些话,这些话是用非草书、天真的手写的,写在一本小练习本上,这本小练习本在戈德史密斯当代艺术中心的玻璃瓶里展出。伦敦-我想起了在格拉斯哥的派对,在一个过分热情的克丽丽特朋友的家里。经常地,在晚上的某个时候,她会打断舞蹈曲调的正常流动,播放卡特勒先生(正如他一直坚持要被称呼的那样),用他浓重的苏格兰方言发音,或者用桶唱,用音乐厅里的男中音演唱,然后开始喘息。口琴——他那毫无意义的表和指示。“把你妈妈从天花板上剥下来。”“我的帽子敲打苍蝇的警告。”你不能用乳头擦掉一封情书,不管它有多橡皮。通常情况下,房间很快就会打扫干净。