Schematics of Consensus and other deals

Schematics of consensus and other deals There is no guarantee that language is accurate to it’s meaning.

There are worlds that can not be translated into donées, there are sensations that can-not be felt online. Reality comes to remind us of our situated limits; Imagination falls resource to link fact and possibility, visible and invisible, known and unknown, senses and soul, memory and dream. The stories we tell to ourselves contain the life we think we are supposed to be living but since the body is an end to itself, our factual condition fears confronting these systems in which we are embedded in. Dualism and frontiers derived from the fear and falscity of human limitation won’t let us act.

Performance and simulations are a better escapism to the things we can not reposes, can we?

We speak in substitutions and figures extended from our vocabularies.

Paradoxically, we are having a conversation about our minds and bodies, presence and absence, facts and fictions, which leads us to an unsatisfactory metalanguage in which we believe we are communicating with fullness, liveliness and substantialism mais le corps always digesting information, never finishes to arrive to it’s end.

Text is something we long for, messages we receive and send, they cross our collective consciousness, knighting circuits of people and places to feelings and sensations, someone somewhere has always something to say about and to someone somewhere.

Behind the fictions of our words there are facts, effects that are visible on our bodies and lifechanging experiences that transcend further forms of carnalité, mais l’amour et donc le désir become fantasies twisting our aims into something more tragic, something in the order of the flesh.

Believe it or not, behind all those screens lies a life we can hardly detach from its organic form.

We are compelled to our own inventiveness and the armor of our alienated identities, those projected desires, embodied in situations, portraits of what we are and fail to be, given attention only in an emotion of aliveness.

Nevertheless, feelings know no dimension and words are only places we meet to negotiate our freedom, aren’t they?

In this excess of textuality and imagery, we are looking for a distinctive difference.

Surprisingly we always finish meeting our desires and doubts through the reconciliation of their distinctive discourses. The difference is subjected to this dialectic of seen and not seen, post and not post, pleasure and bliss, boredom and anxiety. We become a sack of culturally transmitted mythology, intertextually assembled and reconstituted for its reproduction.

Dying in the other’s eye, longing to become human again, which in this language, has become a myth of us.

Perhaps this is where the magic lies, in the creation of its own fictionality. It feeds our longing for the ideal, our hunger for metaphysics, our incredulity toward our humanness.

The deal might be to keep the show going, entertain the desires we fail to embody and when we do, confront ourselves with the reality of our fantasies.

We keep on falling on each other’s intersubjectivities, because they charm us and complete our need to be feed by the past.

We can’t live without each other.

And this is certain, we cannot, can we?

Logos is just passing by in its simplest form, as a linear and so forth endless map, where we try to experience the expressiveness of life and make it last forever in its transmissiblity.

Become a memory not to forget the divine idea of the self, where we maquette our dreams.

In this current contemporary digital living working culture, facile ideologies have replaced participation and explorations are static. Imagination has become the axis of all our being and glimpses of the unknown possibility of being comes to pervade the meaning of our existence.

As outlets of the I, we incarnate the self.

The search of this obsolete ubiquitous difference converges the purpose of our being, condemned to its own final, that is to serve to its end.

An impression of life that seams meaningful but it’s detach of it’s finitude, isn’t it?

Effects are merely ineffective on this unaesthetic world our sedated authoritative ability to decide and act for the sake of it have come to the end of its own reasoning, consequences threat the tranquility of our status quo, our dividuality seem already to have enough weight for its commitment to the other end.

We know we can be anticipated, projected and preordered, why bother when we can-not escape from our facticity; life is a suppressed sign to which we want to get back to.

As a last resource, we an one that is made from it’s performed for towards an occidental foundations for a better

persist on learning for the pleasure of ideal worth, own endless boxing into sovereign protocols, a sense of progress future that is coming for us; tomorrow, one of which ends today.

Attach to hope, we persist in trusting for better days to come.

We stand by the context of our senses, they guide us back home, where the body facilitates our words into actions, where we go inside of those systems to the matter, where everything else begins.

In the end, this is what we have, beginnings.

Words made out feels