M A Y . 2 0 0 3

WORM – The Last Party


Most people in Rotterdam thought the last party from WORM was the Schluß party on March 8. But for every party there is an after party when the real partying happens. Before the Sloophamer erases all traces but the ghosts, WHY went to inspect the gold cap of the Rotte Kies (rotten tooth in Rotterdam).

 

Expecting to arrive at a boarded up facade, they were surprised to discover that on this particular weekend, the deconstruction crew hadn’t sealed all the possible entrances to the expired beta version of WORM from junks, homeless and urban explorers. Peering through the dusty picture window, you could still see a ghost flourescent logo burnt into the glass of the window. They had a key to the front door but they wouldn’t need it.

Slipping in before some Buurtagents became suspicious, they were confronted from the residue of the party that would not be cleaned up afterwards. There was a silent chill hanging in the air, no noise but the rumble of traffic. Scattered around the door was still the advertising from March, a reminder how fast this had all happened. With various memories of each concert, performance or conversation in Rochussenstraat 169, they scavenged the leftovers of the main hall. They began gasping for air facing the disaster, a melange of ripped out wellknown toilet seats, old lamps once illuminating the breakthrough breakdowns of ingenious to hopeless talents, speakers once vibrating sounds of unknown origin accumulating on the floor. Chair with broken window, back door entrance place to sleep? The broken record hanging on the wall left to play the story.

In the end, perhaps an exploding ass trick had gone too far. Transparent, the toilet window was already a clear vision of the imminent.

Making way down the ever-precarious stairs to what used to be the bar, an illuminated sacrificial altar on wheels. In the corner, an invisible fat man sits laughing while she screams. Washing their hands the tap still dripping. You can’t hear a thing.

Digging deeper into the disemboweled corpse, the abandoned stained glass studio of the magic flute maker was still intact. From this room six months ago, they secured the massive table upon which I am currently writing. Hesitant to voyage deeper, suspecting to intrude a makeshift bedroom, they can only after-the-fact wonder if that isn’t the hanging construction for the beamer which would make a wonderful addition to Theatic infrastructure in the Poortgebouw.

Back upstairs to the blurred private-public antechamber, in the afternoon before they walked the hallway not to disturb the final improvisation concert in the adjacent hall. No longer a way out, there is no reason to knock on the door to the office. That night there must have been a meeting about the future of WORM. In the pitch black their eyes hallucinate focussing on what appeared to be a massive hole in the floor where the infrastructure that made so many performances happen was stored. Proven wrong by film development, a gutted room they never knew existed.

There was the enlightment!

In this place of dispair and merciless termination, Jesus Christ personally forgot his most obvious evidence. Fully equipped and in good shape all inclusive with wrist straps fastening ropes INRI sign and all the extras you expect from good old-fashioned torture design. Was no one interested in keeping this prop from the Vanderlinde sloopwerk brigade for an erg gezellige kreuzigings thema-avond following the “passion of christ”/ leidensweg christi: falling down the first time, last betray and patat with friends, falling the second time cross improvisatie procession golgatha hills 91024 starring pilatus and bara (on the) bass? However it was too heavy to carry the cross on their back in the metro (unless it was to be filmed) so they sent an email:
 

Subject: Re: worm beeld:messias at rochussenstraat!
From: “pierre” <pierre@wormweb.nl>
To: “W H Y” <innbetween@hotmail.com>
Date: Sun, 11 May 2003 21:11:05 +0200

 

Well, since the fisherman wasn’t a materialist, we left it there in his spirit. Maybe the junks who at this very point in time have taken up residence in our (not totally abandoned) former quarters will try to have some kinky experiences on it. Since we were not inclined to go up golgotha we left it as a relic to times past and gone. Although the film you make won’t stay with human kind as long as the book of books we are pleased to know it now remains in the realm of arts.

Since early yours,

Stained Peter

 

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COPYRIGHT WARNING: Sloopkrant is currently in court with “Stadskrant” Rotterdam, an obvious plagiary of this publication.