The net gives everyone this strange sense of anxiety and vulnerability, and to cope people create these subjective safe spaces and lash out. Too much information, too much transparency breeds contempt for the Real. Friction in trustless intimate spaces gives way to irritation gives way to irrational, reactionary xenophobia. The Future = skin-to-skin contact, peer-to-peer exchange rendered as foreign and novel. Global village must be re-engineered, re-learned. Everyday life has no affect, no release, only infinite reciprocal titillation. Connection is a catalyst, communion is a virus, cooperation is a fatality. The Club as hologram, the net cafe discussion as complete projective lie. The crash isn't the devastating part, it's the realizing that you were never moving to begin with. The foot is firmly planted on a proverbial pedal, but the engine only backfires in response. That's the future: Incident, check the damage, fix the problem, start from the beginning; there never was a beginning.
Conceptual heft of creative procedure reduced down to exactly that, a procedure, a finely tuned list of ordered operations upon which the artist-technician, the "blank-collar worker" must subscribe.
There will be no copernican turn, only failure and the mechanization thereof
Acidic demise, chimerization as decomposition
Modular Youth and the gesture of destroying, the indelible
The context of the club is bleak. The club is like an asylum, everyone is there for a reason, escaping the 'outside.' The club is the brief, Kafka-esque waking-nightmare where the individual gets away from the nightmare of everyday banalities.
"A Human being is in fact completely in the world, but in such a way as to stand apart from the world." Flusser goes on to say that, "[t]o him the world as environment is an object. That allows him to gesticulate, to behave as a subject. The world is fundamentally entropic." - Vilèm Flusser (Gestures)
The act of a freefall, is a tetherless, swift motion. The body leaps and dives and rockets straight down. As this happens there is the velocity, the quickness with which objects shoot past you, you shoot past them, distinctions blur. The distance is wide and deep, but tied together through the act of compression and release. This alludes to an end of compositional prowess, potentiality. There are exponential combinations and then there are enumerated axes for dissolves, this is a nihilistic act: watch music, and its compositional possibilities decay. The human hand, upon the computer instrument composed of radically enumerated source material.
explore anemia, poverty
Materiality is ensconced and enveloped by the vaporous. The utility of speed and the intense lack of control in speed causes actions to become more impressionistic and built around the absence of immediate perceivability. The affinity towards arresting all intention and autonomy in favor of a more technocratic, mathematically based expression is very much like Deleuze's conceptions of time where you're being flung through collapsing temporal figures, hanging on the outside of being; but inside, within the subjective state, time appears to be very much self-sustaining, cyclical. This discretionary time is distinctly non-Euclidean, whereas as the Euclidean mode consists of materials being tied to their coordinate positions according to our filtered - though real - visual and cognitive reasoning. The non-Euclidean operation, in this instance, would be seemingly abstract. Philosopher and mathematician Hans Reichenbach while interrogating non-Euclidean topological modes, described it as being that which exists in a circuitous - and thusly - vague space. Objects within a non-Euclidean geometric mode would be mis-aligned with its surroundings, and when in motion, appear to phase in and out of time in strange and nonsensical intervals. So, in immediate relation to the artist and their output, the work post-crash could be founded on conjugated particles in disparate space. This essentially takes the principles of aleatoric minimalist music (music that is founded on calculated chance) and applies them to jazz chord progressions. From this, entire worlds are constructed in fluctuating space.
The sonic microbes, the remnants of some lost digital particles are rotated backwards. This act is beautiful, entrenched inside of figures of “Object-oriented ontology.”
Sculpting tangible forms from frequencies, posited in the center, dancing in posthuman immanence.
Viractualism as the topological space in which music exists, the Hegelian geist plane.
Mangled, bloody carcass in a glossy Her-esque environment.
Anterior nostalgia for the grotesque femininization of the Lovecraftean
There is no hope in #postcrash, only the automatic, the automated, the performance of the expected and indelible. It is banal, banal beauty.
Identity is architectural, a construction of a series of moments that ultimately collapse into a fiction of functional archived bits
Cleaned up, romantic dystopian metropolis as functional, organic, rhizomatic, viractual labyrinth of archived signifiers
History is contained in a generative flux. All metaphysics are physics, structures constructing and unfolding phenomenons, meshing.
The internet was discovered not invented
Move away from the socio-political constructs while not collapsing into the object.
Opinions are generated from data streams.
Lubricated boundless object out running itself to realization.
Histogenetic deep-time emergence
You work so hard to realize how far behind you are. The materials simply weren't there.
The world is just so different than how it was presented to be. And autodidactism only goes so far, there's no stability in that.
All an artist can do is speculate about the potential of a system, not even the system itself; and wait for reality to fill in the gaps.
There just needs to be a metabolic auto-generative art that destroys itself upon impact.
I realize now that I must focus on the ascetic artist-technician's will to, the joy of dissolution. The self is a virus that counters art.
Southern Gothic anime featuring Negarestani inspired, unobject leviathans
My over zealous sense of morality has always been my worse enemy.
Ecosophic asphyxiation, the tightening tendrils of diffuse upon potentially utopian conjectures....
Technospirituality giving way to platforms that usurp the memory. Experiences as logs that last forever outside of the territory of the self
Vertigo: astral-projects approximately two-inches outside of the body. Hegelian [Cartesian?] residue sprinkles the first series of moments thereafter.
Transfigurative metropolis destabilized by free form assimilation, self-participles gathering and distributing itself across free jazz, post-structrualist modes, forever in fluxing flux to "be"
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre" - William Butler Yeats