ACHOUSEMATIC, Intimate Pluriverse, Remote Video Action
__Achousematic, the intimate pluriverse, a lamentation for the generative ecology
Tuscany, May 2020, Lorenzo Brusci
__ original video action for the Festival “New Music in the Old Town Hall _ IN A SONIC NETWORK”
_ Gdansk (PL) Virtually Hosted, May 7th, 2020,
__ Achousematic, the intimate pluriverse, by Lorenzo Brusci We’d like to buy time – Instead, I’ve seen the night let itself be infiltrated, The domain of the dream, losing its isolation, with desolation, Look at you, are you sick? What are we? I don’t want to hear any other story than this one, disjointed material landscape, no longer the center of immaterial mysticism, Where the sylvan shamans defended Today helpless, themselves, The epidemic coming in, epidermal She’s mocked herself with her own wise promiscuity, For everyone with everyone, Bringing, coming true with meekness, been like But that’s not so true… The women, the children, the boys, the young men, the young women, they seem Of a promised force, We feel safe for them, reassured, Yet we look at them as an anticipation of future struggles, other struggles, Never imagined, Until now, but, where are we? Crisis of cyclicality, radical morphism Cyclicality and variance, heat and cold, the universe line, from the inside out, from the why to the nothingness The shadows are cast in the void, in an astral velvet choir, Abstract and in its own way timidly spinning, warped, never experienced A parallel cosmos, spreading with no known feeling, too internal, ultra-human The whispered offer of a concentration, free from all blame… To begin again, and this is the sign in the vast Who of the vast holds a flap of clothing A smile of strawberries, a mouth of roses and tulips lined up Moreover, created-not created, the concrete flowers, nimble in the wind but it’s where creative is the future, as creative is the wind of the unfinished relationship, of the surprisingly… paths, loves, inorganic sexes, the dead with the living Here, it is Now, that the Book Opens, so that it is opportune to rescue one another so the string of light lets itself be known, to the eyes that of reading will want to give back Dropping nurturing, everything Dropping of nourishment, everything, and nothing is as before, as after, all in all, self-regarding, the people a single body like at the beginning But how to perceive justice, out of continuous rain, fertility as gravity, obsessive, the protective membrane of life, which perhaps protective is not is it justice that as a gift, as done, welcomed us, and always releases us? is it justice that, as a brake, diverted us, and that always holds us back? Premonition, presentiment, lending oneself, pressure, press on fear, move, push beyond the membrane, without really nostalgia. It was said. New feeling always asking to go, to go how, where, to come back? This celestial life, orchestrated, voluntarily synchronous, is not living alone. The feel picks up that blurred color, and that color is in the transition, Stratifies the movement, it’s so high. That vibrating sound Emitting, flames, conditions music spreading, architecture for no more movement, state, momentum sunny (absolute) momentum And the story that emerges, we want to hear it again, we want to sing it again… Waving, elastic experimental frontier-bodies we-first of all Even before the brave unreal world language If the stereotypes of cyclicality are adorned with heart-rending spoils you can hold your breath and impress unconsciously And be where you’ve never been but not to colonize the drift Simply because you’re more like the not-so-similar than the frightened recorded… Which it will take to deal, by blood, but not by nature. Deception, too much intention, too much spilling and versing, thinking it’s the thought, thinking it’s the Way, the powerful organ. Instead, it’s all in the making of time it reduces the world’s subconsciousnesses, cross-reference to the world of signs that per-game To the world of signs that for-fun They just are, for certainty and uncertainty, nonsense for the sense-being intense And passionate That still tomorrow, millions of years, practically internal myriadism of the epidermic cosmos Where the names are finally supported, evoking by breath surpassing each other, so far and always everywhere forgotten, implicit, because they adventure… Be moved motionless, willingly assisting with a blast, seeing in embrace, seizing with the here and there, dismembering the details, so that Whoever join! “Human creativity has traces-explicited, And so it shows the way to the making-illusory, Worlds that will virtually universalise the one-and-only, The belief in one’s own natur-e-lected synchrony” Without really nostalgia. It was said, Bioscritpt…