*the felines just left the room.
The aura of their friction fills the space.
-It could. Or another one.
-Every location will always be frictional. Will be diminished and eliminated into the smallest amount of volume so then to be conquered. To be capable to fit in a pocket.
-It has already been under private property. It belongs from the beginning, every time, to each first step.
-And the battlefield could be placed again there. Looped
-Will they come back? Do you think so?
-Yes they will, in every new discovery of coordinates. It is always the same spot.
-No it’s not, it should be a new one.
-Oh yes it is a new one. There is a new one…
Battle is the name of our present.
No, it was the name of a tale days-gone-by.
No, it lives in bodies; it flows through intuitions and relationships between strangers and simple acquaintances.
Now, here, this moment.
And the more we pretend to be innocent the guiltier we are. Guilty of not being present there, where the scars are marked.
We can still desire victory and defeat. And it is this battle, this war for victory that resides into a silent space of what we would like to abolish.
Yes, in this way we never have to take sides or believe that words can even harm the milieu, the external shell of our bodies.
No, there shouldn’t be a sudden end.
And so we mistake.
Yes, I remember when once I told you that the struggle for war only belongs to professionals. I criminalize that. I do that all the time… But it is in struggles that I remember to seek of who will accompany me.
Although, I go to war alone and I come back alone since it’s always the others that die. That arrogance.
And when we return to our curfew of our everyday life, over saturated screen surfaces late in the dark.
But the battleground has changed. No amplified perception. Normalcy?
A vision of the world.
The concrete constructions above and around me the ones that I sleep in will certainly protect me from the war.
Although I know that they were the first reason for the battle.
And during the night is when we become the whoever individuals.
No, do not valorise. We are the whoever individuals.
Experience of what?
Experience of what we love. Will show us that it is just a non-attachment to a predefined subject.
What you love and links you to the other is the individuality, that night vulnerable whoever individuality.
There is not a specific cause.
Nor a specific reason. No performance, no behaviour.
Naked universal substitutions? Yes a certainty to vacillate.
All of us, exceptions in the eyes of power. And when we meet the arm of the law, what it does with us will not vary on conventions nor on establishments and institutions, but on the contingency of this particular friction.
What did you say?
Ooh. Yes. Our present has become unpredictable. Exceptional moments.
New new battles, new frictions. Or always the same.
Identified power vs. whoever individualities.
Anonymous, uncountable solitudes.
Most of the times surrounded by objects.
Bits and pieces of desire living in the present.
Thousand of devices, less intimate vocabulary, exteriorities and information, misalignments of the bodies. Incapability to tune in, huge amounts of receiving waves.
A flood. A monopoly of violence. Governing us.
Gazes rest on screens and scratch them glistening apart them.
Distraction and our perceptions aligned in non-alignment.
The target of the war.
Spectators were never that treated in more a generous way. An entire economy sets serenity in inflammation.