/* Coexistence */
Am I the being I am trying to embody?
Illusion makes something, evidence do everything else.
Don’t believe me for I’m false and partial, therefore speaking with sincerity for partiality was all I’ve been given.
I heard you’re living downtown, not that makes you better than a hermit. It didn’t make you different, didn’t make you happier neither. Didn’t make you stronger, didn’t make you wiser. Didn’t make you more human at all.
All was about misperceiving directions. Was all about orientation, location, and time. Now is about transparency, transparency and material.
In psychophysical perception, the Coriolis effect is the misperception of body orientation and induces nausea, due to the Coriolis force. The Coriolis effect is a concern of pilots, where it can cause extreme disorientation. In physics, the Coriolis effect is a deflection of moving objects when they are viewed in a rotating reference frame. In a reference frame with clockwise rotation, the deflection is to the left of the motion of the object; in one with counter-clockwise rotation, the deflection is to the right.
Telling something presumes you knew it in the past.
Collect something, remember nothing.
I know nothing about myself for I remember nothing.
Feel something, Believe nothing.
Nothing can strike fear in my heart more than the ring of the alarm clock in the morning: it always rings before I’m ready, and I am never, never ready.
Pre-dating is the new punctuality.
Collecting is something, dispersing is more.
In the age of traceability and database, telling something is the ability to include something else.
Name, concept, mortality, individuality.
Is this enough to describe my living?
One are many: accuracy is now inclusion.
It has been proven to be true that a single page of the New York Times contains as much or more information as the average Renaissance man could come across during his whole life-span.
Asking of something, I would be asking of being something.
Any given solution generates new possible problems.
As new generations come one after the other increase their ability to handle complexity.
Putting a smartphone into your pocket turns your self into an augmented being, existing in a world simultaneously immaterial and tangible. Both virtual and real-life worlds are real.
Soul is in the physical. Charm is immateriality.
Though I’ve been given an identity
a place and
I have the possibility to create multiple identities,
to change the look of my face,
I can acquire a new name,
alter my sex and orientation,
move from place to place,
and choose whatever I want to believe in.
Could one fall in love with the image of a girl/boy s/he found over the Internet? Sure I could, and you could too.
Affinity comes in the first place through transient intuition, the glimpse of something unexpected which reveals itself as an opportunity. Something of which we can somehow sense the potential, despite being yet to bloom in its completeness.
The picture of somebody else could remind me of myself, a possible self, another version of me—which has not been revealed yet. Humans display affection for items and situations which belong to others, when reminding them of experience and memories belonging to their own lives. Once again, a delicate line becoming more a subtle, inaudible, vibration.
Everything floods everything and is flooded by every-thing.
There are paths you try to follow, and paths which seem to be following you. Paths you are supposed to follow, that you don’t. Paths you didn’t consider at all, which you are following already. Paths revealing as such after you covered them completely.
Parallel universes don’t actually move parallel.
In fact they stream into each other reciprocally and ceaselessly, possibility becoming real, fact projected beyond itself into abstraction. Between the folds in the planes of the multiverse we have come to live into, polysemy is due to replace the whole sense of the word meaning; or better say “meaning” is due to include “polysemy” by defaults, very much like “polyphony” came to replace “monophony” in music since many centuries.
The universe sings a texture consisting in many independent melodic voices. A kaleidoscope of counterpoints which are momentary relationships between the joints of what has been and what might be.
The constant opportunity of what might have been reverberates perpetually in what actually is, like the ripples of waves in water concern the very essence of water, and the circular strata of bark of a tree involve the whole tree.
What we fall in love with is definitely the image of ourselves cast over somebody else, so that we love that idea first before the actual person; an idea reconnecting us with the ideal perception of our being. In Fragments d’un Discours Amoureux, Roland Barthes pictures the lover as somebody speaking to himself standing in front of the other, the loved, that in reverse stands silent.
Learning something about yourself has to do with handling complexity. Handling complexity is awareness, and awareness is relational; and the way I exist is only possible put in relation to what I’m not.
“Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.”
This sentence composed by Noam Chomsky in Syntactic Structures is an example of a sentence that is grammatically correct but semantically nonsensical.
Ironically, although specifically composed as an example of nonsense, the above sentence stirs up all over deep feelings and emotions somewhere inside of me in a way significantly close to some powerful passages penned by modernist writers of the like of T.S. Eliot and James Joyce, with their ability to challenge syntactical structure and push language to its limits.
In a broader way, the manner these ideas come to thrill me is about their being green, which carries a whole symbology about nature and prosperity—but also evil—while at the same time colorless, neutral, in the making, embedding a full spectre of eventual processing. This feeling is even more strengthened by the fact that they are sleeping furiously, rendering in my mind the idea of something like a seed, boiling underground under a blanket of snow, during the winter season; in hold for the completion of a process, in condition to reveal some extraordinary potential at the right time.
Simultaneity is wonder. Comprehending permeability.
Even though a paradox it is often common to recognise more pertinence and similarity of ideas in someone else’s words rather than in one’s own.
Like a rip in the sheer peplos locating where I end and the rest of the world begins, the permeability of all things reveals a glimpse of itself—stealing words from my intimacy, clanging them by your speech.
Overflow is true transparency.
No source and no copy,
no success and no failure,
no master and no pupil,
no URL and no IRL,
no work and no holiday,
no life and no death,
no new and no old,
no full and no empty,
no log in and no log out,
no better and no worse,
no on and no off.
No anxiety can arise, if departing I know there is no place to be reached.