for Thomas Köner for being the inspiration for the below text on your screen.
I am laying face down on a sofa in front of a MacBook Pro 13, surrounded by books, orchids, and walls. I open my eyes that are in my ears and listen at the gaze of the objects that might transmute the quality of the air about the room with a conductor’s abject absence of a present affect of ever-emergent silence.
Armpits smelling Gucci woodrance, voids brimming with pulsars and supernovæ made of ether and dusts of ether (the void was already full—at least, that’s how they teach us during the ads for the beauteous intonations of words by the likes of late Sir Scruton), calcium rich comets (the tail was abstract), Moog Modular dApps that would make up a single system 55 if the owners wallet could form a DAO to acquire all the necessary Eurorack parts, tablas without surs because there has always been an upbeat treasury for that.
I close my mouth. I walk into the sound and subvert upon the surface of the below, sur of a tabla. I become of an actant in a network of those who emit the sound emitters of the networks of constellations of decentralized automated organs in the church of better tomorrows of negentropy for the species that would not be humans anymore.
They become an oscillator, and a modulator at the same time, not me. I would opt for being the air that oscillate, the sound that filters the oscillated sound air. The network is infinite since the per block time allows infinity to exist without being issued at all. Now that temporality is truly handshaking wearing Stüssy with infinity, all Dr. Whos of space & time continuum might form a DAO to set Tanpınar’s Time Regulation Institute in motion as in a picture that freezes at the gaze of a xenakis particle in the wild.
To be re-mediated.
