Found functional objects that re-acquire their purpose in the post-apocalyptic, electricity-less world. Two worlds. Different modes of perception. Different tools of knowledge. Choice always affects us and maybe even protects us. It’s always a matter of life. There, same as here. The pre-iPhone era gives us function.
A vision of a sticky, gleaming mass, stretching somewhere into the void where I can gently hear its soft impact. Gradually it spreads outwards into the space, solidifying and fragrant. It makes me stronger. Fearless. Able. Still the sweet taste creeps on my tongue.
As if the weather suddenly went crazy. All the droughts, the floods, the hurricanes. We talk a lot, but we do nothing, just the talking – yet it affects us nonetheless. We don’t have the strength; we lose our chance to give. We gradually dwindle; we’ve nothing left to eat. And our golden liquid disappears. We now have to import it from places where it still exists. But what to do when it’s completely gone?
We need to keep the light. To hell with romance. But still, take care she doesn’t burn you. Be mindful, you need to let her burn, give her the space. Give freedom with a hint of freshness, but be scared for her just the same. More than ever I see the flickering of my own terrifying shadow.
I see nothing. My eyes just won’t get used to it. I feel like I’m quite blind in the dark. How do the animals do it. My body does not work the way it should. The dark becomes thick darkness and everything spurs in new dimensions. I don’t how long we can stand this.
Freedom is a certain kind of adventure. You fill it up, you put in just as much as you can physically carry. An escape of sorts, or is it just my character? With sensuality and cunning. How is this used? Where should I hang it? Tighten it up a bit, so that I feel it more. No, that’s too much. It has to be just right, you know. First lightly, slowly and then fast – so that I see how much can fit you. Just you and me, fully devoted.
Don’t go anywhere. You’ll take a wrong step and there’s no going back. These floods of people coming from god knows where. Uniformity of society is weakening individual manifestations of identity. They would just photocopy us all. Sometimes you bind me too much.
A flattering present. Fully aesthetic. Minimalist design of a black sleek thing. I have quite a few of them. I like their little army. They contrast to one another and I can always pick a new one.
I forgot what it’s like to fence with you. I forgot the smudges you give me and how bruised my hands get. You have quite the stamina. And that has value nowadays. You are a shiny bauble no more. Now you feel natural to me and I seize you when I want and when I need you. You give me proof of my existence.
Its scent calms me. Its stability and monumentality. The wrinkled body always has so much to tell. And touching.
Its in the way and blocks the light. It stretches and expands; you need to pick a time to act. It doesn’t even have a healthy colour.
Could be an artist or a viewer. We all are, in a way. And no one is. A hero has to go with the times. Which times, which world though? The one ahead of us or the one coming after him?