The urge to transform the flow of one’s existence into a musicality abstracted and crystallized from the continuous flow of noise that surrounds us.
The demand of a level of attention more and more absorbing, with no other horizon other than the final export to audio, which leads to the final listen in a car or on really good, expensive headphones.
Within the darkness of the self. Alien to our own existential dread, we never find peace.We just pick at it.
Not the flow of consciousness but the flow of perception. The world you pass by passes you by, too.
Kenneth Goldsmith: “Quality is beside the point. This type of content is about the quantity of language that surrounds us, and about how difficult it is to render meaning from such excesses.”
A pulse, a skein, a codex. The sound of debris.
Maurice Blanchot: “To answer for what escapes answerability.”
I hear, therefore I:
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