La Fatalité

Ce sont ceux-là qui le protégeaient. En parcourant la ville, il les voyait chaque jour se balader comme si rien n’était. Il se demandait si c’était lui qui avait tord, et bien sur n’avait jamais trouver de réponse. Mais les jours se multipliaient et le temps est infaillible, alors tels questions avaient à présent des réponses temporaires. Il passait moins de temps à les contempler. Il passait plus de temps à contempler les gens. Il commençait a sentir que les gens comme les jours se multipliaient à leur tour, sans pour autant des nouveaux spectacles.

Lorsque l’extérieur envahi sa conscience il lui semblait que seul son intérieur existait vraiment. C’était paradoxal dans son fond, pourtant l’idée semblait logique et rationnelle – au moins c’est ce qu’il pensait.

‘Il est inutile de comprendre’, s’exclamait une voix dans son esprit, ‘et encore moins de chercher à le faire’. Cette exclamation était, elle aussi, rationnelle quelque part. Mais peut être était-elle une erreur. Regardant autour de lui il ne trouvait pas d’autres tâche à entreprendre que de vérifier sa vérité. Après tout, l’idée elle même l’imposait ; si rien n’est à comprendre et il n y a rien à comprendre, il fallait chercher ce rien, il fallait trouver le néant. Et où mieux chercher le néant que dans l’existence ?

C’est en ce moment que l’abstraction du monde en représentations se heurtait à l’idée même de la sémiotique. Arriver à l’objet est une impossibilité logique – tout est signes, et simulations. Ne reste que les signes. Le discours est la seule existence. Mais toujours pas de néant.

Dependance

Looking back at history and time that passes by in the abyss of some books and pages, we find images and illusions – words that qualify and disqualify groups and individuals. Judgment is a much debatable issue. When we look at the present in some screens and have the impression of reality and truth, in virtue of some certainty and convention of objects in space, the fetishism of the present is all is left for us to gaze upon.

Lost is the ultimate goal of knowledge and happiness. Lost is who seeks justice as an ultimate ideal without it being subjected to institutions and power relations.

What do citizens of countries around the globe know about reality? What does the soldier that shoots his missiles on a target reproduced on some video monitor fixed in his war plane know about the life he just ended? What does supporters of war or carriers of some opinion about a struggle know about the real people they are supporting or rallying against?

Democracy or what we know of it has taught us to take positions and brand opinions whence we have no right to. The politics of consumer society has made ideology a commodity easily adopted by whoever is able to afford a television set and maybe cable subscription. The populace, corrupted by what it takes for granted as justice or unjust – by virtue of some undercover racist notions of universal norms of good and bad – is set to condemn, or promote what in its ignorant sense of individuality is to be condemned or promoted. Possessing political freedom is not synonym of possessing knowledge about the world, nor about one’s self.

I wait for the news – a dose of drugs I cannot quit – to get to my reception organs. Like a junkie dreaming of his hit, I take a deep breath when news reaches my eyes and ears. With a self destructive sense of concern – quickly transformed into perverse entertainment and pleasure – I devour the absurdity of politics and power. Feelings of despise mix with others of engagement. I get various emotions and thoughts, to such an extent that the two loose the dividing line between them. Emotions become thoughts and thoughts, emotions.

Destiny is postponed. From beyond oceans and seas he speaks as a king about his congregation. He condemns, accuses, preaches and listens with a smile on his face to applause and cries of allegiance to his divine status. If only.

What is left of Islam except an image on television and a bearded cartoon that erupts into massive demonstrations? What is left of Arabs except for strict visa measures and extreme security checks at airports? All are terrorists until otherwise proven.

Your eyes are my home.

Slowly, steadily and with no remorse shadows of war and destruction lay their darkened cloud of light on a land that takes pleasure in its suffering. Violence erupts from their eyes, subjects and leaders alike. They align for a cause they do not know – neither seek to uncover – they find peace in waging flags of illusion in the faces of some enemy they did not choose.

Let the soil burn under our feet and the image we worship will fly us over the peeks of these flames. Soul and blood sacrificed on the altar of modern clans, we were given nations and laws, the kings we chose and till the end of time we will bow to.

Time passes by, words impress pages and books, thoughts float weightless as they ought to be, and still masses of men and women take pride in their slave-like condition. This land is cursed by its inhabitants, a land of discrepancy and alienation, what is left for it but flames to relieve it from its state of waiting.

Let them taste the poisoned fruits of their discord and the languishing traces of their blind hatred. I do not feel pity for them, nor do I wish them mercy.