Be masterpieces by Martux_m

“No one is the author of anything as there is no artwork, just as one cannot produce artwork, since one is constantly de-programming oneself, no masterpieces can be produced anymore, only to be a masterpiece.”

To be in an “atopic” space, de-situated where one can grasp the invisible attached to the visible, the unthinkable to the thinkable, a wonderful space that imposes itself but cannot be explained. Then emerges the essential relationship, the complicity of sight with listening, to search for what is the object of oblivion of memory, of an imaginable in imagination, of an unthinkable in thought. To build a “literature” unlettered, a de-writing, confirming that one can no longer make music with music, just as one can no longer make cinema with cinema, or theater with theater, solid binary definitions, one must proclaim the death of every form of domination that seeks to give order and authority of one over the other. It is necessary to uproot every root and build sexed paths to dislocation of every discipline, of every method. Creating a “disjunctive articulation”, a hidden language, where affections shift, become catapulted. “If the function of sight consists in doubling, redoubling, multiplying, that of the ear consists in resonating, making resonate” in a creation that is not communication, but resistance. To proceed through crises, fractures, shocks, to create seismic activity in every work, a line never regular, but a multilinear ensemble, a movement between intersections, inflections in a state of tension towards something that is neither syntactic nor related to language; which brings forth percepts, affects, images in appearance. A parallel evolution, where each deterritorializes in the other. To steal; as I hope everyone else does with me. An increase in sensoriality: sensations of matter; speed movement: uncoded elements of languages. A disturbing interzone between impure cinema and sound architectures, crossings, displacements, in search of desiring tensions, a sexed encounter that severs dualisms, remixes differences, relocates concepts. Fascinating world in which the identity of the self is lost, not in favor of the identity of the one or the unity of the whole, but in favor of an intense multiplicity and a power of metamorphosis. A de-situated space that frees the shadow that inhabits the audiovisual body; that its soul comes to life on its own, as from the hideous clots of blood as from the humors, in the mire of the womb, and that protrudes to form a “glorious body”. A floating time, floating lines, the Aion opposed to the Chronos, “a clock that produces variable speeds”. The obsessive search for that place, or “non-place” where life and death touch, where there is all the sense of our existence, to understand the intersection of timeless with time, which as Eliot says, is the occupation of the saints. To belong to that space of “beginning” without knowing where the thing began, and where it can lead us, if beginning did not always mean continuing. Relationships between unformed elements, relatively unformed, of movements and stillness, of speed and slowness; sound molecules or particles that compose themselves carried by flows. The only connections with other languages can only be in that embrace that leads to every foreign land, and in the loss one proceeds forward, like dogs desperately digging the ground. It is always about intersecting relationships, never reducing relationships. A cartography, never a symbolic one. To re-describe the itinerary of one’s “feeling”, whose first concern is not to define the thing heard or seen, but to try to penetrate its mystery, its indisputable complexity.

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