NOZOMI (HOPE) #2
It was 2016 A.D.
The things people lost; are fragments of the collective will.
In other words, a program was run to compartmentalise the mind.
To describe the entire process would take up too much time.
Let’s just say, the instrumentality of the mind is better discussed from a parallel existence: ‘one of ghosting identity transfers without Telos’.
If the previous episode was naive, then forgive me. I did not have time to collect the impassioned arguments of Mercedes Carrera. Granted unlimited access VIA a gatekeeper of capitalist rules, I had hoped to use images. They told me to use ‘EYES WIDE SHUT’ featuring a figure head of cult leaders. That would be something else; but then also a brainwashing.
Every day figures exit the building with 'popular looks’. There are so many ‘looks’ they barely fit in one box. The boxes get jammed up in the access to a downstairs lift called ‘THE OTIS’. And in a changing world, it is a requirement to voice a different view, a sharper angle, a sniper position. But although I recognise neo-liberal work practices and aggressive patterns of consumption — consider this: if any of these shift, even slightly, then the mind does and will change. It is quite an experience to stand on the rooftop in the evenings. The flashing of the city lights extends forever! People drift about wandering arbitrarily through urban space. I witness betrayals inside standardised hotels, windowless office buildings and chains of brand-name stores. Disobeying orders. Privately occupied. Intimate Intimidation. There is no end to the criminal acts. Unable to refund things I can. Refund or not. We are moving beyond the complexity of material architecture and entering a gateway to the personal.
Since my parking ticket was obliterated. A question is half springing up. Staring out the closed rain window she was looking at me kindly. I learned one fine thing of yesterday. Her face snapped back a memory of spread nothing sheets. It was a mutual decision to rush the stairwell, to jam up the lift, and to throw boxes out into the open. It was like working in a french television station all over again. Just like the 19-fucking-80s around the decline of Communism when all the buildings were grey, epic and crumbling. I’ll never forget that time with her in Russia (or was it Poland) when we crashed together on the 14th floor just after a huge electrical storm had hit. It was so unexpected I forgot what I was doing. The fungal spores growing in the stairwell may have had a deeper effect. But after that time, she simply became one of many, but also not just ‘anyone’. For if I am accused of having a one-track mind, then at any one time, if I am unable to be reached: one look from her is more than enough.
This brief existence is already built on fading away, no matter how far we go. But to reach the line of zeros (or 0.00.00 to be exact) five sealed worlds must be crossed. Valid or invalid. It doesn’t matter anymore. This space is vaster than any other I have seen. The older people talk of a parhelion TRIANGLE ► on the move (esoteric history labels it a phantom, a halo, a sun-dog illusion). But from any one point on this pillar of light the existential boundaries of mathematical control break down beyond visual repair. I no longer remember her close-up. She is right here with me. I have a clear definition of her enhanced colours: entering a space, a place, a time, all of our brief existence collapsing into a ZERO POINTED STANDSTILL beyond the wall/
s.t.lore