Exercice the Hyperdekorativismus Mind, Body and Heart

vague liquidity egg

photo vague liquity egg

She stayed at paradise lake, but by June 25 he was back at home. He had collected on his way back a couple of odd objects and a thought. A new pair of scissors, because he absolutely needed it for a collage piece he intended to make as soon as he got home. A tacky magenta Swatch she would’ve certainly oppose to, but that he found appropriate enough as a thank you gift for Anna, who had offered to watch over Agnès and Chris while he was away. And then the thought, which was basically the realization that separation was for him a vague Columbus egg – emotional liquidity after the fact being the dreary difference he dreaded all along but was to access anyway.

The thought had emerged when he was still at paradise lake establishment. Contradictory as it might’ve been, each of them had in their own way traveled all the way to a silence retreat so they could finally speak. Paradise lake worked as the place and occasion for them to spend an entire day talking about what had happened in the last months, and a clearing in the middle of the woods was the perfect setting to cast away his muteness for good, as well as her distance. It was there that she elaborated on her story, retelling it and carefully adding her reasons. It was also there that he felt he understood something of all that she had previously said and done. He understood that she was dissatisfied, disillusioned, disenchanted. Not only with him, but maybe mainly with herself, and with life. He further understood that she could not see past disillusionment, she was blinded by it, and that that was why she decided to leave everything, betting that if something was really true, if there was something in fact essential in her, in them, in life, then it would all come back to her, it would all be gained again, it would all again be in spite of her general desertion. When he asked her directly if that was it, she couldn’t reply with a clear-cut answer, at least not judging by his standards. She mumbled a bit, she faltered some. Which, they both knew, was completely unlike her. But he understood why and he told her right away: you are now as disenchanted with your desertion plan as you were then with everything else. Maybe you see now the pointlessness of it too, not to speak of it’s obvious unsoundness – as you would put it. I think you’re right, answered. Which was clearly the line to catch, the line to launch them on the dialectics of rescuing and thankfulness that would save the day and give all back to them. Him to her, her to him, her to herself, they to life. But he couldn’t catch it and he decided to say no.

aquarelle vague liquidity egg

He decided to say no when he reached for his bag and found inside the lunch he had prepared the day before smashed into an uneatable pâté. Looking at it, the dimension of her detachment struck him hard – like the embryo psychotic symptom it was. How could she had left them like that? What did that utter disregard for everything mean? Wasn’t that I think you’re right just part of the same strategic isolation? No, you don’t, he said. And late at night, when they were back at the dormitory and everyone was again under the influence of mandatory silence, he grabbed his things and took off. If the question was that of fulfillment for both of them, and if she didn’t felt it and he obviously didn’t either, then why insist over ever more complicated solutions for the two of them? Why not go separate ways? Why dwell on difficulties instead of facing separation as the obvious solution?

He walked fast under the stars. Luckily, the sky was clear: he could see ahead and hang his wits on the stars all along the way. He swears he heard something told from afar but immediately inside of him. It was the echo of time itself, forever stating that in the end everything begins anew. It was then that he knew he needed a new pair of scissors.

He bought it at a 24/7 convenience store. And the Swatch too. Old airport goods.

paintig conversation mutation detour

End of the 1st Echo