Release all ballast. Urgent action
to hold the essential as if suddenly
we had to float in the outermost atmosphere, there
where all the energy is spent on making impressions
and only settles down neatly structured by the algorithmic
genome of social platforms. For us death, then, is like
old internet domains today
returning a 404 error. Like those of permanently
closed art galleries, and discontinued fairs
and biennials, all those standing now
for the understandable value of art
in times of contagious prosperity. Everyone
took a cut, now demand some sort
of financial support, though. But art now is finally
everywhere. Everyone impersonates a not too low
aesthetical ideal. We learnt to paint, and most importantly
we learnt to behave like artists. The old domains
redirect you to shinny betting websites. If not porn. Now we have
Instagram. The inertia we internalise without knowing
it always happens that what someone thought permanent
is always ephemeral at some point. And
yet it still belongs to an excess
of images that does not make us better. Yes, words
can also pollute minds, and minds pollute souls,
and souls, raised to the hyperborean layers
of being, can call into question
existence, the essence of reality. But we’re fighting
for causes. While making the world less liveable. Same
as those who ask big brands to support fair causes,
fortunate are those still on the path
of a shared struggle, those who can rejoice
the blessing experience of defending a common ideal. They
are the ones who will have shared memories. They will never
perceive them as cages. Scenes of relaxing piano music
in vast white halls, enriched with ASMR background sounds. Rewind,
rewatch the kiss in Sonic Youth’s video. What was designed as ephemeral
is now permanent. Candlelight concerts. Experiments
with animals watching screens. The great
aberration of transit places is that no one
understood them as a path to makes us better.