1. Parody repeats, first as commodity, then as art
Let X be the unoriginal. All art presupposes the formula: return of X. Progenitrix of Alienism: “return” of alienation.
Art evolves by multiplying its unoriginal elements. In 1848, capitalism gave a social dimension to art. Pseudo-emancipation: the “human drama” of the alienated.
Thus furnished with its specific means, art began to produce a “new” reality by successive resurrections.
It produced several expansive masterpieces.
The revolutionary idea of capitalism arrived at a stage when by 1968 (’89?) it had accomplished the synthesis of every known inauthentic self-negation.
(It isn’t that art becomes commodity, but that commodification becomes art.)
Then, having laid the question of History to rest, art produced (but not for the last time) No Future.
2. Alienation: not as it is construed but as it is constituted
The invisible system of psibernetics & electron-flows relates to the structure of the commands cycling across the screen just as the barely implied forms of the Corporate-State Apparatus relate to its “aesthetic content.”
3. That Art hasn’t favoured them doesn’t mean they don’t exist
Not only what returns, but that it returns, transforms into entropy. Dark probability waves course the signaggregate. Dismantled radiophonies. Loop branch glitch. Their geometry was so perfectly cadenced the eye was paralysed by it. Do machines comprehend stupidity? These autodestructive tendencies are accelerated cycles of telepathy. Taken apart & put back together again not quite right. The first time not quite right. The original bloodstained perpendicular. Fiat currencies of molecular rift. Abstraction is the (retracted) armature of appearance. Ghostwritten by LSD to mimic standard convolution. Future derivative sine-wave gif. The means by which people can be persuaded to live are not the means by which a diagram operates. Vocations of waste-disposal. All art tends to the immanent aestheticism of dust. Atonement as retroviral leap into the void. Hidden machines of sickness-consumed. Life bears only so much repetition on the path to singularity. A destination looming out of the fog. Weapons of M.A.D. love. Those who stole their imaginations were their own mortal enemies (they didn’t know). Such “things” as nature & purpose. Generative Adversarial Networks Inc. The world not behind the screen but of it. An airport for clouds. Every revolution (they said) is the parody of a lesser evil. The portentous hypnodomme of inscrutability. Surplus gravitons in the membrane. Applied alienism isn’t the social anabolic you’ve dreamt of all these millennia. The tiny helpless number among the many who’ve known better. Silence is Golden. Typographies of bliss stuffing the throat of the Oppressor. Yet the tenuous, the immanent. Is this a body? Re-grafted sky-pieces to mirror adulterated calm. Bombculture analphabets of disaffect. No thought but in things? No things but in thought? What of darkness? An oasis of pandemonium built from reams of pixellated RGB. To re-engineer the collateral affect into a moveable horizon? Depicting the way a protoplasm in a jar depicts. Upward mobility is perfume to a garbage collector. This is only to be expected it’s the general rule. Ignition cut-out in the poetry destructor. As sullen & vague as a sniper drifting into sleep. Art is cacophonous kleptomania demanding property rights. They abolish difference only in what you see, not what you pay. Life, or the inexhaustible market for robot melodramas. The time-delay had already been set. A counterpressure working within words that fall apart. They had a throw-down corpse prepared for the occasion. Official verdict: suicide. It’d be suicides all the way down. As usual, the #EndOfHistory would be to blame.
BRNO, NOVEMBER 2018