Suicide Doors
It’s as if your soul is starring back at you, explaining how you never existed. History the recurring dream. Reruns upon reruns, on repeat, built to fade, fade to black, black to red, and back again. Welcome to the future, past, and present. The place that always is and the place that never was.
Politics is a spectacular failure. And the Spectacle is all that's keeping politics alive. Things aren't happening in the field of vision but are overflowing on a blind, mute, deterritorialized socius. The impersonal is apolitical.
Telecommercialised nomadic multiplicity aborts nascent global unity. There's no such thing as a single market. End-of-the-line global tunnel vision is locked onto the rear view mirror. Localized urban metropolitics is a protection racket. Paranoiac nationalistic lapses into necrospective.
The space-time of hypercommoditisation is a nomoid zone of mad clusters where the polis disintegrates into unintelligible webs of swarmachinery. Schizophrenic Capitalism: Cultures without a society, a mutant topology of unanticipated connections
The urban city is a jungle, becoming snake, becoming clandestine in nights of micro-cultural mutation, becoming zero as machinic assemblages mashup and crossfade. becoming diagonal as markets lock into guerrilla commerce, ever-decamping nomad cultures, melting in the heat of the chase.
Uprooted shapes and sounds merge and rescript, break and repermutate in the virtual machinery of the sampler whilst social fabric warps into localised chaosmosis. Rewind to Replicate.
Alienated and loving It. Current. Press K for collapse. Maximum Slogan Density.
Suicide Doors Š 2016 All Beuys Club