This morning I had to undergo a tiny tiny surgical operation. The kind of operation you don’t even need to be fully anesthetized for. A local thing, and I guess that’s the stake here. You are long gone and yet still looking exactly like you in the mirror. Mirrors at every corner, to make sure you would startle yourself enough to stay shattered.
And you are amputated as you are almost still walking, so suddenly you cannot not take any step further. It is a weird quality of exhaustion that the experience of impotence. It can create a sensation of potentiality of a different type. It is no longer a potentiality connected to the power to act, but one linked to the radical affirmation of passion and passivity.
So I was there, fully awake and yet partly extinguished, figuring out: Infirmity is an offer you can never refuse. Besides, the gesture of embracing weakness makes the passion of the exhausted body seem like a potential pathway to bliss. Above you a helicopter you scream at. Your sky has other eyes that hammer their headless wrath into your head. How long would you stay awake to your half-inhabited, half-abandonned body? Is the concept of redemption any real?

Contemporary life produces all forms of waste, it exhausts and amputates things, amasses litter and drains the meaning out of signs through their prolific hyper-use. We pretend you cannot feel the operation but you take each cut all the way in. We try to shake what is ours out of you, but it breaks on your skin.

Happy Easter!