Melting into air.

"All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and men at last are forced to face...the real conditions of their lives and their relations with their fellow men."

Karl Marx

What am I?

You don't know me.

How will you define me?

How long do you have to go beyond the surface?

Seconds to scan me, to eliminate me from your attention/concerns/interests/perimeter.

Race?

Nationality?

Size?

Weight?

Name?

Age?

Profession?

Education?

Language?

Publications?

Social networks?

Credit Rating?

How will you categorise me?

How will you decide whether to continue the conversation beyond your check-list?

How much is it worth taking the time to enter into dialogue, to discover nuance behind the binary?

How will we meet?

Where will we meet?

Where will it take us?

Who am I?

Who are you?

Who are we together?

Immaterial.

"No permanence is ours; we are a wave that flows to fit whatever form it finds."

Herman Hesse

I am not sure how long to make this.

I have been skimming Keith Hamon's recent post:  

"The Viscosity of Rhizo14". 

http://blog.keithwhamon.net/2015/10/the-viscosity-of-rhizo14.html

I feel that I should excuse myself. 

SKIMMING 

across 

the 

surface.

WHY?

Should I be deep?

"Plus ça change - Plus c'est la même chose."

Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Baptiste_Alphonse_Karr

A

WORD

There are words...

OBJECT(S)

We are stuck on objects.

WORDS.

OBJECTS.

WE ARE STUCK ON OUR OUTLINES.

WE ARE STUCK ON THESE OUTLINES.

THESE WORDS.

THESE OBJECTS.

I was skimming a Mariana Funes' recent post on her DoubleMirror blog.

MIRROR

OPENNESS 

IN 

EDUCATION 

-

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

http://mdvfunes.com/2015/10/05/openness-in-education-plus-ca-change-plus-cest-la-meme-chose/

I am fixed in an outline in a pool.

I feel that I should excuse myself. 

SKIMMING 

across 

the 

surface.

WHY?

Should I be deep?

"Plus ça change - Plus c'est la même chose."

Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Baptiste_Alphonse_Karr

“The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:

"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.” 

― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

WE ARE FIXED 

IN

AN 

I
CON

VITRUVIAN MAN 

da VINCI

“I like the stars. 

It's the illusion of permanence, I think.

 I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. 

But from here, I can pretend...I can pretend that things last. 

I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. 

Gods come, and gods go. 

Mortals flicker and flash and fade. 

Worlds don't last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. 

But I can pretend...” 

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives

THERE ARE NO OBJECTS

THERE ARE NO WORDS

THERE IS NO WEB

XYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXY

THISISIMMATERIAL.

Image Credit

http://prostheticknowledge.tumblr.com/post/68114410144/waves-installation-art-piece-by-te-raijmakers

Internet of things.

A selfie. 

I am already dead.

The instant is over.

I am passed into pixels.








Beautiful chimera.

I am young, I see myself acting, acting middle-age anger.

There is hurt in the glaring eyes.

I am reduced to a still.

I am framed in a moment 10:30 on Sunday 7 September.


I am a stream, a river of disconnected instants screaming for attention.

I am alive, I am dead.

Hope resurrect my youth with a swipe.

You see me as your thing. 
We are as web of avatars, algorhythmic robots, waltzing in a cloud of particles.

I am made in your image.

I am target.

I am customer.

I am lover.

I am your object for an instant.


Save me. 
Move me.

Scale me to your attention.

How will you divide your attention?

No matter.


Grains of sand
We are swimming in quick sand.

We are both grain and grinder.

Time slipping through our fingers.

Shall we drown in this sink-hole?

Save me
Throw me a rope of reality, of time spent together, of common history.

Let us drink together before we drown to drown no more.

Let us touch.

Let us breathe in the dew of distant lands the dawn awakening.


Cyclops
What shall we make of Cyclops, who would Google us up?

Should we believe his plea that he serves no evil?

How shall we avert his gaze, while we dwell on the island?

Must we seek to blind the Cyclops?

We are prey, toy-thing, free lunch.

Circe
Sleep, and doze, listen to the sweet songs, fix your eyes on beauty my friends.

She is yours. Your play-thing.

She is dancing for you.

She is already ancient, her face is made up.

She is Circe.

Notice how the wolves are packed around her court.

They are as docile.

Beware the enchantress.

They are wolves and we are become swine.

You are myth, an odyssey to be written.

Attend to ancient heroes.

Awake and sleep no more.