Novi_sad

Eternal clouds covering the fragility of our wounds. This fragility transforms to smiling, hugs and –occasionally- to silent tears. This is it. What remains ? My friend told me that it is impossible to experience here what we really want. It is fine about here, but what about the ‘nowhere’ ?

We perceive things as sub specie unduvuduorum, but we think of them as sub specie universalis.

According to tectonics there are 3 types of plate movements: spreading zones, subduction zones and shear zones. The ‘nowhere’ is moving along these zones. The sound of earthquakes at spreading zones differs much from earthquakes at subduction zones. Whereas earhquakes produced by plates that are drifting against each other appear as sharp as hard beats, an earthquake from a parting mid ocean ridge sounds more like a plop.

A compulsive indoctrination obliterates the human resistance. According to Camus though, humans are capable to do anything they want. Anything ?

Seismic waves have a frequency spectrum below 1 Hz and therefore cases are rare where earthquakes are accompanied by hearable sounds. Those inaudible sounds may exist through the nuances of our wounds.

Music and its spectral enigmas grants dynamic exhilaration always on the edge of embodied aggression, an experience that glides along the line between unabashed fervor and its total ordering.

Sound has a heraldic or prophetic function and this is not uncanny, not at all.

How I wish the golden ice cream melts on the pyrotechnic eruptions of my heart after midnight.

How I wish to block my Purkinje neurons.

As Attali has proposed, music is a simulacrum of murder – it performs a symbolic cut onto the social order by always introducing noise into the structures of language; it provides a ritual space for the enactment of various disordering movements and sensations, from the ecstatic motion of dance to the sonic identification with heroic sentiment or certain role playing and its reversal. Music opens a space for the inclusion of psychic energies that de-sublimate and re-sublimate at one and the same time the vocabulary of social possibility, thereby becoming an instrument of power.

Pellucida zona is the sweetest trap ever, far beyond all theories and thoughts…

The nuclear power of loss is licking authority’s backbone by drawing shadows on a metallic but fragile breath. This could be just voluptuous beauty, huh ?

I do remember everything, yes. And blocking my memories is like cutting a flower with a chainsaw. It is like a choked screaming. But, sometimes this is the only way to sleep. And of course I don’t have any idea of the tranquility of the spirit.

I am building fireworks and you are erasing them with your tiptoe. Trembling fingers typing the distance of nowhere. How long is the ‘nowhere’ ?