Atrophy of Fate

—eine Vielzahl an Linien, die auf dich blicken, return
—broken memories from distorted reflections
(earlier) I regret not having fucked you (earlier)
—auf ein zersprungenes Display starren ...

Can you tell where it all began?

An arbitrary starting point: leading to its destiny, always. It’s in its nature. The end, then, won’t feel like gears engaging into one another. More like fingertips running down soft valleys until they touch the end of the screen. There you’ll find this blind spot of an atmospheric optic, occupying a surface where the missing pieces should be. Although similar thoughts were formulated in the past[citation needed], it could not have been prevented:

At the beginning there’s a big change:
NOTHING is there and then SOMETHING is there.

On display: lacunae in an object you wanted to be
fluid and flawless, amorphous.

I’m wearing your wet clothes while you are out there. Somewhere in the
heat, sweating. The suns: robbing the essence out of you. You usually
don’t go out there when all three plasma spheres are up. For some reason
I’ll soon forget, today you had to. Before you left you’d asked:

Have you thought about what it means to appropriate
someone else’s memories?

You were filled with all these emotions you accidentally picked up somewhere you were never supposed to be. It can be detected from light years away.

You went to find the horizon. To this infinite sum of hopelessness you added another journey, stacked up the disappointments piling up so high you couldn’t spot the endpoint anymore. It was so far above you, beyond multiple forms of madness, but still belonging to you.
Looking up there would only wreck
your soft neck I like to bite into when we fuck.

At the furthest point you stopped like you always do. There you dropped a message in a box full of dead recipients as if one of your words could suddenly resurrect them.
I need to be sure.

You keep on repeating.

What seemed to be plain sounds to the rest of the world was a complex symphony to you. You kept on playing it over and over again. It were these sounds that transformed your mind into a fortress where Antonovs and Bells took off to bring nothing but misery.

I am counting the remaining water stains on your shirt, while your palms swipe over your temples. You don’t like it when your hair’s falling in your face. The wet pattern on your shirt reminds me of a story you told me about your old man. About how he survived the wars without ever being called a warrior.

It all started by splitting up 1 into equal, uniformous parts. It went on with dividing until nothing visible was left. Too many parts, spread every- where, nowhere. Like dust particles carried by rough winds throughout the landscape.

To reassemble them would feel like
gathering water from a fountain with shaking hands.
For every bottle you’d fill,
you’d lose another one.

By the time you come home your clothes are perfectly dry, so I’m not
wearing them anymore. The journey from your collarbone to your scapula
takes forever. You don’t have to say anything. I already know.

The fire of three suns is burning in your angry eyes. I’m too afraid to look into them. I haven’t thought about what you had said.

Blind hands only in the concrete sky.
It’s not about seeing.
It’s about the desire to see.

Asking:

Who draws the line between—you—and reality?

evokes an impression as if treading on your own coat when climbing a steep spiral staircase.

Paradoxically empty your mind by concentrating. Take all the aspects of a situation into consideration—not
only the ones confirming your theories.

There’s no water left for the echoes of eternity.

Split nights, full moons.
My eyes meet yours again.

The horizon never existed. We drove there by car and never found anything.
There was no rock, no island, no...

Nothing was there.

The landscape in the background: didn’t exist. Still, we could sense it.

And at the end there’s another big change: something is there and then:

it’s gone—

Sources:

[•] Take me on podcast | HOW TO DISAPPEAR – Reality Management Episode 6 | soundcloud.com/t ake-me-on-podcast /t ake- me-onhow-to-disappear-reality-management- episode-6

[•] Laure Flammarion & Arnaud Uyttenhove | Somewhere To Disappear | vimeo.com/23168966

[•] Nicholas Rankin | On the history of camouflage | youtube.com/watch?v=z_MfYlqDodY

The Devil’s Drool

Sanctum
Levi van Veluw
2019

Of the countless false certainties that roam the world, art does not subscribe any.

Ernest Berk – The Complete Expressionist
Christoph Winkler
2018
Exhibitionist 2 (film still)
Jeff Mills
2015
Alhazred’s garden
Paco Chanivet
2019