when i had to move out of my mothers’ place i lived alone in a small room in an attic
a mattress on the floor next to a computer
a computer which i built myself.
the case in the form of a tower
the motherboard had to be attached with short but thick screws. the machine needs power, a fan, ram, cpu, several hard drives. we didn't have a connection, so once a week my body went to the schools' library and downloaded movies, games, documents, plug-ins and sounds, wikipedia as an offline copy, entertainment and readings.
I was reading about the universe. about the hubble deep field.
a copy of the image is on the desktop
again i don't sleep well
nothing is true here
i do not feel
cotton wool under the skin
a slight flicker in front of the eyes
after i was awake for a long time, i don't know for how long, i can finally see something
i keep dreaming about this picture. armed men in protective suits are running through the streets, chasing someone or something. they are running past a mac donalds restaurant. it must be in hong kong but it could be somewhere else. it could be everywhere. i don't know. i asked her why i hate the police so much.
she told me that after occupy wall street large international companies increasingly embraced identity politics and social justice as a shield and way to deflect. this ensured no movement could ever grow again because people are only interested in advancing the cause of whatever special group they feel part of.
i thought she’s wrong but i can not argue
during occupy i was asleep. it was the time when i became part of the machine.
i was still living in the old world for a bit.
my machine was running all day.
the fan electrified the room with a hissing noise.
flashbacks when i enter a server room.
i was a junkie for the bit.
i didn't eat, wasn't able to bite.
had irregular sleep, no drive.
the noise of the fan calmed me down,
falling into precognitive dreams
the noise woke me up.
i woke up attached to the machine, i was becoming a part of it.
the hubble deep field on the screen.
the innumerable amount of galaxies
the vastness of nothingness in between.
i wasn't born here, i'm new here.
i became part of it
being something else
not a native
something forgotten
a déjà-vu
becoming a savage
i moved to a city when the hd, the high definition screens were introduced
there was an electronics store opposite my apartment,
they put up a huge screen in the shop window
i looked out of my window through their window into their screen
on this screen the demo video with the orchid and the hummingbird
in a resolution and color as i have never seen before
in an endless loop always attaching to each other
again and again
i have seen hummingbirds before, but that was in the desert, the real desert, sandy, desaturated, without dynamics or colors.
in the real desert the hummingbird moved too fast, i could only make out a smudge. a blur.
on the hd screen
every feather and every single drop of water on its beak
the drops of water on the orchid flower, on the scoop, reflecting and encapsulating everything around them. a warped mirror.
my machine wants to be like this drop.
it is real. like violence.
my language is no longer different from yours
everywhere it's the same
everything dissolves
we are going into a pre-babylonian thing
i don't know your origin
i just assume it has the same irrelevance as mine.
this is a text about violence
for every living thing being alive another living thing has to die
i'm still alive
i must love the violence
in here you are safe
nothing bad can happen to you
relax
feel comfortable
you can close your eyes if you feel to do so
you are relaxed and you breathe slowly and deeply
you see the pictures in front of you
but they dissolve
they are just ideas
when you will open your eyes again
you will know what it is about
something in you will be different
just a little bit
this text is from the night
between two dreams and unretrieving sleep
to be cut short
every sentence wants to sit
and yet it slips out of hands
it's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you see them on the screen
you won't have to listen!
you can deviate at any time!
you are allowed not to pay any attention!
to think of something else
to be a wandering mind!
you can take out your device
you are allowed to open an app
to close it again
to go to the bar, to go outside
you are free
but a part of you already became a part of this text
this text is a machine
and your body is a part of it
carrying it
moving it
moving with it
and against it.
like my body is moved into place by this text. lungs pushing it, a hearth and organs to keep it alive, bones to carry it, muscles, skin and so on.
searching in dreams
in sadness,
tears, incantations, enchantments and curses
in wishes and nostalgia
i feel like we’re allowed to be nostalgic but not allowed to be wishful
nostalgic for what?
and what is my uneasiness with these words?
my uneasiness with words like soul, origin, family, parents, mother and relations.
i'm just somehow afraid of it.
of its embarrassment, of course
but also because it's not true
how terrible it is when someone tells you that your dreams are boring
(it will be the truth. dreams are not supposed to be exciting and entertaining when they are a vehicle for transformations and change.
but you already knew that).
