The voice over text:
Why did you do the piece? Somehow I was already doing it in so many ways, so, I thought I do it consciously. An attempt to search for subjectivity, intelligible not only to me, I hope. It is impossible in being and viewing not to compare with your self, as a self and a being, being your only reference. I realised with time that geography and memory are parts of being. I am the actor. I can be instructed to play any part, knowingly or not. Normality is unconsciousness. Fear built in to the construction of the self through the terror of the future or, maybe, the parallel now. Through culture it is based on the prediction of punishment, the coming of the apocalypse. Maintaining that fear is what religion always done. In my childhood I often visited a friend who had a computer. This was in the mid eighties and I remember the mix of stress and fear when starting a particular computer-game, a dialogue box occurred on the screen with the message: “please wait while the world is created” Future, existing or not…? Time, memory, nothingness. Attempting to conduct planed actions, future-past. Time indicated through the foaming waves moving away from the bow as the ferry cuts through the water. Indicating: movement, travel, to and fro the isle of sound as memory. Now, to the forest, to the walk through a large area covered chiefly with trees and undergrowth, a large number or dense mass of vertical or tangled objects : a forest of connecting wires. Memory as an interfering substance that pierce through the impression of now and thereby alters the present, history, understanding and memory itself. Repetitiously. Individuals, victims of trauma, that force themselves to re-live the traumatising moment, drawn to similar situations, ending up in similar situations. Censoring as means to point something out. Creating the sexual, the fear, the terror, the self when life and history joins. There is no end and no beginning. There is no line for time to travel. Now, the end to the belief that I am, or can be, the origin of understanding, the origin of belief, the origin of expression, or even the origin of my self…
Nobody knew exactly how to explain or put into words this feeling of something different.
Thus, everybody felt it, in some strange way connected to each other like a silent language. Technology had made them not addicted to anything in the sense they were before. Still, they all knew they could not escape, not that they were imprisoned, they simply were beings they did not wish to be. Fragments of poetry was discovered everywhere, it came as a surprise to most people that every empirical analysis of the world failed due to negligence of this fact. The morphic resonance of memory interfered with everything. Some time before the news spread scientists had discovered that due to the nature of memory and memory as the foundation of human life everything had to be revalued.
The only use of knowledge from before this was as proof that everything from now on would be very different, including the knowledge from before. On a basic level it meant that there were no longer a difference between fantasy and reality, dreams and awakened condition, imagination and proof. Everything that was possible to share as reliable facts was now for ever out of reach. The world in every instant became resuscitated in a never ending flux. It was a new terrain for all people and as such it was affected by everyone as soon as it existed in their consciousness. This new ground was before frozen by collective suppression. Then it was firm and stable for most of the time.
Now, for most people harsh to travel hence they shape it, make it possible to step on, with their minds before they walked on it. At this point madness equaled sanity. It is in this landscape we travel, it is in this landscape we fall, tumbling, breaking the fall with our hands. Still, our face clashes in to the earth and earth comes in to our mouths and eyes, in to our system. The border between the inner and the outer world dissolves. We exist in the in between, moving, changing, becoming…
Collaboration with Robert Moreau