The flickering of the screen transfers you in a kind of twilight
state. Sleep divides you in form of selections. Ben has fallen asleep
over the image of her aunt in DakTo. Until today you had certainty about
her disappearance. You display her image to the villagers. Inside their
gardens they burn light blue plastic flowers on open fires over tinny
garbage cans. One can hear them crackle. The sand from our gardens is
getting exported for the production of liquid crystal displays. We have
colors that we can turn into explosives for you - to warm ourselves in
the long winter when red has disappeared. The villagers pull the
curtains against the blue full moon sky. Music starts and the dance
The villagers risk loosing their balance, as they try to pick a red flower from a remote branch of the bank.
Your movements accord entirely with hers, your arms are driven by the same rhythm.
You take five steps until you face your own silhouette in the mirror. You stand almost still, then you tilt into the image.
These are the movements of a utopian sleep.
In the landscape you pretend to be, you are a molecule. Inside the display, the task is to adjust the use of forces into two opposite points of reference. Like a liquid crystal, you react to temperature and pressure differences, that render you visible. Through your camouflage you are becoming more and more similar with your outer landscape. On the surface of the screen you are taking on colors, origins, forms and gender.
There is a thin layer of liquid crystal material between two supporting plates, outfitted with electrodes for applying a control voltage.
In order to maintain the balance, your right hand steers like the sensor of a bee through the opening of the embankment.
Why are you looking at her unremettingly?
In a kind of radical panic to not forget her, your balance struggles between the indecision of this attitude and the tendency of the image to consolidate, to harden.
Can you lift your leg a drop higher?
First you would have passed her.
In a state of wide awakefulness a lucid dreaming crosses a volatile, shabby, flabby, indifferent series of images.
In front of the mirror, she rises up against her own image. Without a foothold on the hidden axis of the outside world. (These signs that refer to the interior of these heads, the nervous tensions, the moral hallucinations.) If one gazes attentively, then what is vain dissolves and reconnects again with bodies and stories.
The flickering of the screen transfers you in a kind of twilight state. Sleep divides you in form of selections. Its elements, its waves are the subject of another staging.
The weight of the smallest particle is scattering at millimeter intervals.
Further down, the burnt forest gets more and more bosky. A hyper modern superhero raged in here. Your picture is “inherently” arrogant.
The longer your silence, the sovereign you adapt to the submitted motions.
To maintain balance, your left hand steers as the sensor of a bee through the opening of the embankment.
The muscular tone wanes.
What are you doing? Is the blue ball already bowled into the picture?
You are watching her, as you are sitting in the coffee house. Coffee is served by a Syrian woman.
Your movements are in complete agreement with hers. Your movements are driven by the same rhythm.
In front of the mirror you rise upon your own image.
First you would have gone passed her.
Your coffee is still not been served. You fantasize: Why just leave me waiting? Just me?
In 1967, the design of the most technologically advanced cell was that which was based on a flow of electricity, through an otherwise clear liquid crystal material, in which turbulences could be generated, that scatter the light.
In the same year, battle of DakTo.
The photograph shows the result of the latest technological achievements. It is one of those which has been sent around the world. Accidentally, in the shadow of the air forces, she has been hit by the flash of the camera.
The picture is beautiful and alien at the same time.
Memory and forgetting exist equally in here, are equally arrogant.
In this picture, Ben has recognized her aunt.
The landscape, where it is located, you can’t see. A hyper modern superhero raged in it. His coffee plantations, which he has let them lay out, have dissolved under the poison gas.
The strawberries, which grow above, don’t seem to be concerned about that.
Red is a color you can only possess.