“DID I BORN THE 31 DEC 1999?”
It’s been happening to me, sometimes, to have abstract dreams.
There are no characters, even no feelings, nor any smell. Once I dreamt of points, or stroboscopic lights, where I could perceive in it legs or arms like people dancing. After long rave parties, I used to dream of this spiral and entropic space with lights and movement turning on itself.
To love purely is to consent to distance, it is to adore the distance between ourselves and that which we love. Working at the end of the world people are forced to think in terms of competition. Hyperreality does not wipe out class relations: it just intensifies them.
The air was crisp
Like sunny late winter days
A springtime yawning high in the haze
And I felt like I belonged
Come with me
This summer I started to have apocalyptic dreams and feelings. In the first one, appearing at 7 am after a rave along the Leman lake, I saw the sun raised or fallen. It was red and huge. I was thrilling, maybe pushed up by drugs. We came back home, thirsty and stoned crossing in the large streets some lines of cyclists, hard faces, skin-tight colored suits.
Robots are biking and accelerating again.
Outside in public gardens, many people and families were sleeping, laying down uncomfortably on the grass. A mix of light shirts, making grapes of body fragments. The heat waves was such a new surprise for everybody, especially for people living in the city, where there is less air to breathe.
The illusion of being weightless. There is nothing around for kilometres, nothing visible beyond the line of the horizon. We are all there, we just wander, we sprint, we jump. Eventually we run. There is less time, less space, less gravity. A yellow huge feeling of liberated warmth. Words are raw thought, fully understandable. There is no filter, no translation, no need for mediation. I have always been there, forever.
Overflow is true transparency.
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Allen Ginsberg is endless screaming in my ears.
May the end be invisible? Might all the bridges and buildings, all the monuments and palaces, start to crumble when they began to be represented? New soft powers, where iconoclasm and iconolatry coincide. May the end be absence of explanation, or the excess of description?
The potential of any idea die in the precise moment it starts to be planified. I don’t remember how this sentence started. Revolutions are choked out of identification.
EXPO Milano, new brand from Moloch.
EXPO is invisible but its name is written everywhere. Sponsored by Coca-Cola, beloved by the banks. Shirts, self-service bikes. Tautological writings, which show what is hidden or hide what is shown as a technique of power.
When the devil came
He was not red
He was chrome and he said
Come with me
You must go
So I went
Where everything was clean
So precise and towering
«Two and two makes five.»
The violence of images is proportional to our credulity.
New forms of communication and relation are present in social networks through the use of images, and their relational hyperlinks with tags and facial recognition. Images are becoming the real, and we cannot see the distance in between anymore. The new power of the image as symbol is exercised against us as violence.
But does this hyperreality of the symbol through image have just a one-way existence? Are we condemned to never produce any images again because we are scared by their power?
I was born in 1989, but could my real date of birth be the 31th of December 1999?
It was a special New Year’s Eve. My family dressed a table with strass and paillette.
In the middle, a magnum of champagne was enthroned. The sticker 2 0 0 0 had the 0s turbaned together shaping a chic signature. Daddy gave me 15€, my first ones, he went to exchange for 100 francs. There was no informatics bug, no end of the world, but a new money.
We Millennials are likely to be among the last non-hybrid human-only generation.
Living on the verge of a post-anthropocentric universe to come of companion species, we will be encompassed in some multiplicity beyond both corporeal materialism and spiritual understanding. The Millennial herself has so come to embody the paradigm of built-in obsolescence.
«We have never seen any money that was not attached to a political order capable of backing it. That is also why the bills of the different countries bear the personal images of emperors and great statesmen, of founding fathers or personified allegories of the nation. But what is it that appears on euro banknotes? Not human figures, not emblems of a personal sovereignty, but bridges, aqueducts, arches—pieces of impersonal architecture, cold as stone. As to the truth about the present nature of power, every European has a printed exemplar of it in their pocket.»
I was welcomed
With open arms
I received so much help in every way
I felt no fear
James C Scott is a political scientist and anthropologist. He is a comparative scholar of agrarian and non-state societies, subaltern politics, and anarchism.
Inside one of his books, named Domination and Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts, he interrogated the underground resistance inside the societies where citizens’ participation in political space is reduced. He named «infra-politic» a language between, or outside, the norm of talking in political space. When government or equivalent organisms engage you to participate in the way they want, they give solutions and reactions you can use, and considered as «normal». People are allowed to do demonstrations, boycott, do petitions, and vote.
The infra-politic is a hidden form of resistance, discrete and disguised. One of them is the development of dissident subcultures like millenarianism.
«The earth is evil. We don’t need to grieve for it.» tells Justine to her sister Claire «Nobody will miss it. And when I say we’re alone… We’re alone. Life exists only on Earth. And not for long.»
But beyond the astonishingly black and sadly beautiful character of Justine, Lars von Trier seems unable to admit that our species may be the worst malady ever happened to planet Earth.
Cathares, Jehovah witnesses, Mormons, even ISIL are forms of millenarianism. They believe and justify their actions because of the coming of apocalypse. But today, what does the end of the world mean?
Could it be a loss of explanation over what is happening?
We believe we’re failures, immoral and irresponsible.
We believe we’re not proper adults. We believe we’re lazy and self-absorbed.
What is happening? She said, watching the rain over the windows. We are in December, it’s 20°. What is happening? Asks the newsreader on the TV. She shows images of vacationers. They have deserted the mountains where snow is rarefied, in favors of the sea. Sweet temperatures, maybe we gonna take a bath this afternoon.
«Love is a mighty power. Isn't it? If I die It will be because love cannot keep me alive.»
During the fall I enjoyed looking at the flocks of birds. There is a sign inside, together they form an arrow pointing towards the direction where they are going.
«But I can hardly remember what it's like to make love. And if I forget that… then I'll die.»
On Sunday January 17, 2016 I had strong auditory hallucinations. It’s been the most powerful ever I could remember since when I was a child. I woke up suddenly in my bed at 7:05, hearing a distant tweeting-like sound, similar to glass material falling. The rhythm was irregular but persistent. I had been convinced in my dreams before that when you can notice a noise like that some black magic spell is happening, cast by someone who can hack reality like a computer virus. The twitter became louder and louder, now clearly hearable and present. Something else was also starting to come along, but way quicker than before. I realised it was a mass of silence, utter and magnificent. I could sense it being huge and physical, expanding and coming like a landslide, or a gas filling up every existing particle of space. I checked my e-mail and the date to control myself and verify I wasn’t actually sleeping, I also checked the time again: it was 7:25. After a while the tweeting sound ceased. I fell again asleep in the silent drone, choking in its warmth. When I woke up again it was sunny, an average non-working day. It was 14:54.
Walking along the fairground, we looked at the people who were shaken by those giant machines, with flashing light and loud music. It’s funny to see what mankind can use to achieve an altered state. She thought that maybe believing to alteration and passage through realities is only viable if we have faith in the object that make this passage possible: pills are the same fetish as roller coasters.
A bit like when people get crazy with images on instagram or Facebook, which are no more images but becoming just emotional things
Because this has modified also a lot the social relationships and the behaviours with the others and also yourself, not only on the Internet
Imagination is my kingdom.
The whistleblower have no voice anymore. Wrapped inside his own tongue, he is whispering for help.
Some people believe that spirits are born again in new bodies, occupying the bodies of children. That’s why I clinch my fists when I sleep; to find out the first mental image I had one second before my birth.
The aboriginal dreamtime is a term for the animist framework and symbol system
inside the myths and mythology of aboriginal australians.
It is like a concept of «time out of time» or «everywhen», inhabited by ancestral figures, often of heroic proportions or with supernatural abilities, but not considered «gods» as they don’t control the material world and they are not worshipped.
One says that the biggest catastrophe appears when no one can see it.
Aboriginal people might have seen the catastrophe: they have been moved out of their lands and many of them died by maladies from white people.
But even inside the Dreamtime, there are some taboos that make them unable to go back to some ancestrals territories to celebrate and dance to their tales.
The Dreamtime is existing without human decisions, it’s a dynamic and complex structure with many interactions, it implies network and shifting modes and levels, like dream territories, dream names, dream languages, dream worlds, beyond what we call «a map».
Since the Dream is «everywhen», even if Aboriginal people was kept on camps or reserves, far away from places of memory or sacred by ancestors, they could take care and preserve it, keep the Dream alive in stories or rituals among them.