The desire to reach the end of loops, to escape recursions is basic and maybe even universal. But it is impossible to achieve, impossible to consummate. Invented narratives try to fill-in what experience doesn't provide. The unspoken is doubly spoken to make sure that the silence is not jarring. Open loops of experience, of give and take leak memory. Bog the system down, invent states of business even in comparatively unoccupied times. Lack of closure is also one of the reasons to live, drag on…
Imagine living in a house where you have to pay the bills for a service that you have never used. The previous tenants used it and you are stuck with the bills. The only reason you still pay them is because they called you and told you, "Pay." And if you do not listen to them, bad things will happen. Rough-looking-people will come home and powder you to minuscule pieces. Fans will stop working, water will stop running. So you just pay the bills. This is how we live. Functions exist,…
A word is worth a thousand pictures. But wasn't that obvious? Why is the contrary is considered common wisdom? When I see a picture, I don't know where to look. From the corner of my eye, I can already scrape all the information. What after? What do excavate by peering, staring piercingly into the image? Any analysis and philosophical extrapolation I can of course muster by leaning back on my memory. The physicality, materiality of the visual is overrated. It is a desperate crutch that needs to…
"Be sensitive to the moments," S tells me. And I might just start doing that. I mean, this is full-scale advice. A moment of golden truth, supposedly. Common wisdom. But then you decide if you'd like to live in stop-motion or if you'd like to live in video. What would you like the frame-rate to be? I for one, can't trace the trickles, I have to let it the fuck be. Let moments pass, let them settle. Moments accumulate and they develop a buzz. A kind-of-buzz at least that stays rotting…
I wake up in the morning and I am try to re-collect the previous night. I try to remember which state of dejection I was in. What was I chasing? Where was I? There are maps, of nightmares that I would like to navigate. For visions to be spelled out, connections illustrated. But the body is slow. Let it have the time, if that is what it wants. We are creatures of infinity anyway. I find it easier to be generous when I am writing. Magnanimous. Else, being the penny-counting savant is not…
