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'Nodding out to rising mist' by Noémie Degen & Simon Jaton at TUNNEL TUNNEL, Lausanne

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Humiliation or humiliteration, a journey unto extinction Be humble Humbled down ♪Bitch sit down, be humble♫

The humiliation, the constant humiliation, made humble by the ruling forces, all the forces, even by those of nature. From an ultra-competitive society to the most intimate spaces of mine, be pushed back in my retrenchments, useless, I was escaping from one place to the other, from dozens and dozens of webpages of rankings of the big schools and their admission processes armoured with all human misery’s speculation, to a city where I don’t know where to be useful, where to be relevant, and where not to simply be an already planned and policed product; up to the network’s spaces in a continuous thread of informations and images as Instagram where I’m never good enough and where all the people I interact with put me in a reflection with myself incapable to have enough the necessary leverage to be able to say what I want to the girl of my current dreams up until the fields of the first war in Battlefield I where I relentlessly die hundreds of times from the most expeditious to the most unfair ways. I’m barely starting to get used to put my mask on to survive the mustard gas through which I’m running to assault my enemies. They shoot my body while it exhaustingly tries to get across the annihilating mist. As I can’t even see the enemy anymore, the absurdity is starting to make sense.

In the ultimate retrenchment of my teenager’s bed still besieged by my mother, grandmother and the dog, held unable to heal my wounds and live my failures alone and in silence, sheltered from the world’s eye. I’m compromised by my own kin I can’t support and at this stage even entertain. Returned to the sender, weak link of a passable lineage, I finally feel what the point is. It is the humiliation.

It’s the profound angst, deep in me, not to be to use to anything at all, no cause, no performance, no place, no dance to lead, no argument of choice. And right there, if only there could be the humility. And I feel that what hurts, what hurts really is the slow burning of the ego, the incapacity to turn it on, to deploy it, to float with it, be in that overexpression, overrating, validation of “me” as an active and conquering whole. What a man’s stupidity, because the humility I should tend to at this stage is that of the whole humanity.

[...] To see them fight, struggle, try to find a place and then find a last minute compromise. With a world who didn’t give them permission to flourish, to find the meaning [...] We are starting to get slapped in the face a lot. I don’t know. I have the impression that it starts to run out of steam. I feel there is a sense of.. “but damn it, we don’t have to be fucking here”...

[...] When I see the ultimate fight that is the visual communication in the mirroring space of virtuality, I see a war of egos, of identities, of the search of meaning, the horn of plenty for the anxiety of a persistant human trait, the wish to really exist, even more when we can’t. [...] Real poverty, the less there is sens, the less goal there is, the less there is a goal, the less utility there is, more anxiety, more movements, reflexes, unconscious, the more there is febrility, the motion of insects, systematics of the escape forward.

[...] and this deaf.. and degrading consciousness revealed itself: it’s the humiliation that I would call, to breath 2 more seconds.. humiliteration, alliteration in humility. “To be humbled down”. To Accept to be sent back to the expeditor. The confines of a big enterprise, a better life without their speeches. (deep sigh, blow of relief)

[...] So the ego can’t be totally accomplished, convulsions of pleasure, thanks for the t-shirt she lent me, “Roger Federer, Respect All, Fear None”. I will say that I fear for all of them.. as much as I fear them all.. for what respect’s supposed to be in all that mess.. I don’t know anymore.. ‘cause I don’t wanna encourage anyone. And I know in the same place that.. for friends.. lovers.. family.. and any kind of associates.. respect comes in many forms.. supposed to fulfill all their needs.. and validate me as their pair.. and a reliable part of our successful entreprise but yeah.. man.. really.. it’s full of bullshit... we don’t have communities anymore.. we don’t have anymore goals.. we’re too much.. we should terminate our accounts.. let the garden grow.. get the fuck out.. find a way to over-terminate ourselves.. and that we find the essential.. and (laughs) maybe there, just a moment somewhere.. I’ll find the taste of love, of friendship, of family, of humbly pragmatic entrepreneurship together.

12.10.19 — 16.11.19

Contribution by Johanna Odersky & Emanuele Marcuccio

Text by Sherian Mohammed Forster

Poster by Kim Coussée & Eliott Villars


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