Written by Sybrand Veeger
Written by Allen CaldieraThey have constructed the cocoon, sparkling, diamond-body, fecund sac of mottled clay, congealing in a formless flotilla, the dew pearl, a stamen for the light of moon. And the soul is ferried across the channel, a future fortress for the fire-brand ball balancing against the stem of mast, basking in the lake before the river before the castle, whose towers it will rest in, whose apses it will hover above while soldiers work alembics and furnaces, shelter windsacks and retorts, who press the ashes of a phoenix cooked in clay into the form of a future body, the form, homunculus, fed by the blood of seven kings and left to flower in the strike of daylight. And the body is breathed, astrologers operate breathwork automatons by the stars, which haul fireworks to the shoreline, which stoke the ember of an endless flame formed from sunlight in their stomachs, the priestesses and virgins flock against shores, against the weight of their hope, their longing for new days, for re-born kings, for the unfurling of the sail of the sun. And the king unfurls his fingers, tendrils of day, and embarks in the memory of chrysalis, the reconfiguration, molding of his body in a soup thick like sap, mutable like marble-mirrored light beams, hot as fire on a wrung-dry forest floor, cold as the shelterless northern wanderers in night. “And where had I been when I was there? How to know the body if it is reconfigured ceaselessly? How can one be himself when there are infinite one’s to become? Is there a spark is there a core? Is there any inkling of immutability anywhere in” And then a jolt –
the merchants and soldiers, handmaids and schoolboys, priestesses and plum farmers, flower-haired, confetti-formed, waiting at the shore to ferry him home.
Written by Sybrand Veeger
To the skies he cried,
Nothing is but fire!
Observing thus that everything is change.
He knew that God-or-Nature had but one desire:
To stay in flux, to stay in flow, to re- and rearrange!
Nothing ever stands, for the cosmos eternally will dance:
Being’s moves are both random and necessary,
For the beat is chaotic yet perpetually voluntary.
One never steps into the same river twice,
Whispered our Greek identifying parallel streams:
The river flows and so do I,
Observing thus that “I” is something else than what it seems:
There is no meaningful, purposeful or essential “I,”
Or a “self” to be developed as a self-contained existence;
Rather life’s basic playfulness is unwise to deny!
If at every instant “I” returns as another
and as an other,
Self is a ceaseless repetition of different others to discover:
If this morphing game is a play of masks
Like an inwardly theatre with no future, with no past,
We should conclude that self’s a stream or a perpetual come-and-go,
That there is no truthful state that will one day lead the show –
Unfold all masks!
Release all fire!
Let us play!
Let us dance! – to the cosmic beat’s desire.
Written by Marten Bart Stork(A) Small change. (B) A little different. A little goes a long way. Together all the bugs on this planet not only got us outnumbered, but they also got us outweighed. What’s a little and what’s a lot? What is big and what is not? An amount only has meaning in comparison to something else. The size of something only has meaning in comparison to something else. What is a galaxy to us could be only the nucleus of a cell. The cell of a body so big we could never even experience it as such. What’s small change for you to someone else could mean so much. Make (a) small change. (B)e a little different. What is change? What is difference? Change is everything. Change is the difference between everything and nothing. The conflict between everything and nothing. Change is energy. If an object or an event never change it’s impossible to experience them. If there is no difference between things it’s impossible to observe the things. Difference is information. The difference between 0 and 1 Creation out of nothing. Everything is the change from nothing into something. Change is the difference between everything and nothing.
Written by Sybrand Veeger and Jonas GuigonnatSybrand: There is something romantic about an etymological voyage, Something utopically revealing – The feeling is akin to tracing back your genealogical roots: Familiarizing yourself with familiarity, Fathoming alternative familiarities: Unearthing roots To imagine trees. Let me share a genealogical log with you: This time Heidegger was my guide, That German Virgil of meaning – We sailed down into the etymological piths of technology, That timeliest of concepts. Currently, he said while descending, Techno means something radically different from its Greek root: Techne signifies something other than Instrumental manipulation, The obsession with means, The encasing and concealment of nature. Techne, rather, is not opposed to nature – The craftsman, artisan, manufacturer, Akin to the poet and the painter, Brings forth a creation, And, like nature’s disclosure of light, The technecrat reveals, un-conceals. From this root, I imagine a tree, I utopize: What would a technecracy look like? Jonas: What would it be? A possibility A rhetoric answer to the didactic – What would hell look like? A travel through the world of words, Might not be worth the bet: Forgotten corners Of human abysses. It is now my turn to share something with you: This time is not different than any other, Chaos shall be our only friend – Time and words are no sea to be sailed on, For near those places there are no grounds to be found. Mistakingly, heading toward nowhere, Techno means the same as any other word: Techne suggests the dream of Human’s manipulation, The creation of means, The enchaining and impairment of nature. Techne, then, becoming an arm of nature – The charlatan, conman, mindreader, Attached to the same fear that drives the righteous one, Brings forth an illusion, And, similar to nature’s inexistent logic, The technecrat steals, Mis-reveals From this abyss, I shall see no tree, I temporize: What could a technocracy look like? Sybrand: Surely, from the hellish wells of history, From the depths of human chaos, At least one meaningful bucket can be drawn, To pour upon ourselves, To awaken us from present drowsiness? To quench our thirst for hope? Techne – that hellenic understanding of technology, Reinvigorates our relationship with Gaia: Re-embedded in the natural, Technological production Mutates into technelogical creation: Re-embedded in the natural, Productivity re-evolves into an essential craftsmanship, Re-embedded in the natural, Power as coercion becomes Power as potential: Common statecraft replaces Distant democratic delegation, Desperately in need of reinterpretation, Let’s unearth the roots of our technological foundation, To give birth to an earthlier sense of future procreation.