Hyperbody by Martux_m

What is a body? A body, a border space, inside outside, a within and a without, how much is an “I” and how much is a “we”, “I am an enigma and I want to remain an enigma, forever, for others and also for myself” says the protagonist of the film “Ludwig” by Luchino Visconti, divided in the lacerating conflict of a role that his body does not want, a body that continuously reveals dark and rebellious zones, which incessantly claim to be external. The body is actually an indistinction of inside and outside; in “Memento” by Christopher Nolan the body is memory, an endless tattoo, a topography of: who am I? Losing one’s identity, disappearing, becoming unknown. Crossing, diverting, losing memory to reconstruct the indefinite, the mutable, resetting the notion of identity. Becoming a being now, a flow of experimentation-life, “Here I am as I am”: that’s all! How to extend the perimeter of my body, how to give voice to the many “I’s”? The one in its multiplicity. My body is a place of existence, a “desiring machine”; no truth, no answer, but only questions. I don’t know what I am, who inhabits me, what populations I discover, I can only read for intensity, flows against flows. The soul is neither above nor behind, it is “with”, exposed to all contacts, encounters. Capturing the vibrations of the soul and the flesh as it passes, in a glance, in a scent, capturing a charm, perceiving a gesture, a modesty, a thought, even before it is significant, but that touches life. Capturing an atmosphere, an emanation, a shimmer in a tear, like a ray of light. There is no need to think.

It’s hard to think of managing and organizing our little intimate terrors. None of us is a person, but a wind, an air current. There are faces, phrases, sounds, gazes that penetrate, that cannot be erased, that possess such enchantment, such delicacy that they lead us to say: It must be mine and I hope to be theirs. It is not easy to be free men. Many think of a future of revolution, rather than of becoming-revolutionary. Contradicting oneself, contradicting the rules, the rules of morality, of the state, rebuilding within oneself one’s own unexplored jungle, to explore, undefined, shapeless; rediscovering non-being, reconstructing new and significant shades of thought, of elusive attempts to escape. Distant, unexplored worlds, desire for “otherness”, escaping the immediate, desire for new anxieties, horrors, terror, odors, sensoriality, traces of appearances, desire for east, west, south, everywhere, always, distant but together, “so that the current of beauty penetrates again into the beloved through the eyes, so that it reaches my soul through its natural channel”. Making the body a power that does not reduce to the organism, making thought not reduce to consciousness, being deserts, men without references, depersonalizing to open oneself to multiplicity, more names for as many selves, but not for an anxious and continuous search to be as one wishes, but rather the dismay of being as one is, oscillating, being cross-eyed, e-x-p-a-n-d-i-n-g from within to without, incessantly suspending the horizon of our normality, opening up a breach of madness. Perceiving something that teaches us; each emits signs that reveal something and are perceptible to another, coupling is in the sensitivity to the signs that someone emits. Giving life to sounds to free life from its prisons, to trace lines of flight. No language is needed, no homogeneous system, but an imbalance, one does not make a work of art, one is a work of art. One must be masterpieces; failed, but still masterpieces, a mutating production of enunciation, exploring new fields of the possible, delirious, breaking out of the rut. Give me the possible, otherwise I suffocate. Being in the “sensation”, what acts directly on the exposed nerve, on the living flesh. Sensation addresses both the subject (the nervous system, instinct) and the object (the place, the event, the fact), both things indissolubly. Sensation is in the body and I become in sensation, art is sensation that is transmitted, it cannot be explained, narrated, it is a clot, an accumulation, a calcareous form, it is not a story, it is unspeakable. Affections in their pure state, conducted directly on vital emotion, there is no representation, but convulsions, free signs, presences of sound bodies that intimately traverse our body, freeing it from its inertia, disembodied, dematerializing it. So we are an extension without boundaries, a changing space, a place of guerrilla and perpetual struggle, without losers or winners, a place of pure intensity, of desire, of separation. A field of sexual forces, skin, blood, saliva, humors, sperm, mixtures, pulsations of life, “the selves are where I do not think”, “it is always for a desire that one fights or dies”, one must be obsessed, restless to seek an idea, the idea belongs to insomnia, “what takes every question is not in turn a question, nor a knowledge possessed a priori, but desire”. Encounter is an event, it is Eros, the demon of lack, “we are in what is lacking to us” but a seeking without ever possessing, to love, penetrating between the cries of physical pain, between the songs of metaphysical suffering, to release something joyful and lovable: a glimmer, a mist, a discreet population, a change of hue. A collective, that’s what we are, that meets others to discover a world made of impersonal individuations, to escape the repressive forces that always need an I, a determined individual, on which to exert and persuade us that life is hard and heavy, to then manage and organize our anxieties, to extinguish ourselves in enthusiasm. Every artist has only two possibilities: either to go with the current, or to work on the renewal of aesthetic practices, exposing oneself to the risk of incomprehension and isolation. Poetry, music, cinema, have a fundamental role, they can be the referential paradigms of a society, and the humus that generates creative conditions not only in their specific contribution, but above all as referents for the creation of new systems of value, of new tastes of life, of new sexualities, of new coexistence among ethnicities, etc, etc… It is in art that we can find the most extreme resistance nuclei to the steamroller of capitalist nuclei. In other words, aesthetic experience does not concern representation or discursiveness, but existence. A sound, a cry, a blue, give rise to an incorporeal, non-discursive universe, blocks of sensation, deterritorialized bodies. We are not talking about reproducing the sensible in the body, but about forming a sentient body. If one goes through a catastrophe or an enlightenment, one can only leave a living trace, like the damp and viscous trail of a snail on glass. Common opinions, conventions are those predetermined ones against which each of us must fight to pass a new vision, of free and windy chaos. We must erase, clean, reduce, tear apart, open a crack to let through a regenerative air current, an instant, a sensation, create aesthetic varieties, vital ideas, make resonate, vibrate… to generate a spasm, a contraction, which is not an action, but a pure passion. Encounter, find, steal, instead of recognizing, regulating, judging. Judging is not a beautiful thing, justice, correctness, are unhealthy ideas, one must oppose with Godard’s formula that said: “not a just image, but a just in the image”. It is on the idea of correctness that people love to give answers more than to ask questions. Are we perhaps in a fracture that still does not allow us to grasp the unfolding of that minority that does not want to be totality, but that intends to free new languages, new possibilities, to tell the infinite possibilities of the labyrinth, in the play of concepts that do not confuse with the state of things, but “grasp the events”. One must lay down the will, not exist, the will is never good, the will is consciousness, consciousness of things, one must be unconscious, seek abandonment, rid oneself of the weight of the body, make it an event, meet on the theme of “language bodies” where the identity of the self always refers back to the identity of something outside of us, to mean that each thing opens up to the infinite, through predicates through which it passes conditionally to lose its identity as a concept and as a self.