Old and damaged soviet film from the late 80’s and early 90’s was used for this project of sensual insurrectionist alchemy. 

We have been presented with the gift of a proper amount of numbness unwillingly fancying the negation of the negation amid a mid-day faint. Mesmerized by solitary stillness, producing an arcadian-but apocalyptic- vision of subatomic accelerationism, this phantasm challenges a future which is nostalgic of the present. 

Easter is spent in trance challenging the nexus between life and this specific hyper simulation of reality imposed by arbitrary institutions. Intoxicated by the possibility of dynamic deterritorilization a line of flight has been traced that leads all the way back to a plane that includes all potentiality. What has happened is not real; reality is the desert that needs to be crossed in order to decide whether existence itself is desired or not. 

Hear the war cry of the ensnared nomad, her fluid war machine clashing with stable borders and fixed confines. Listen:

Across the bridge that leads to heresy
the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, 
offspring of the antisocial god,
I still am

You know we have been struck by the Colossus of the outer rim, 
here’s the imminent memory loss (we have the shortest attention span anyway),
the periodic fever syndrome in sight of the necessary suicidal army

If we could get rid of this constantly present irritation, this persistent spatial sickness
we would have a fiesta on Sunday
then be consumed by wrath by Wednesday

Respiration, deflation, sublimation and a cosmic Sergey Nechayev
mechanism of deflection, chemical lung, luben immolation process:
such is the conduct of a violent demographic

And then rocks pinned on bayonets
hearing diminished, a rise of 0,7 degrees
in the end the day of the bread suddenly crushes like a wave on the Parliament

This time we’ve brought canons instead of prophets


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