Crise Grise!
People of weird noses are complaining about an ugly near future. Meanwhile, dozens of flies in the air keep on coming and going out of nowhere, in a laid atmospheric greyness that nauseates your system.
Ugly governorate. Ugly nimbuses. Low internet service. Flies.
I have a weird nose myself. With a mole thereup.
I don’t take the people seriously. They are losing. Very AI-driven. Tele(visionless.) Armed force-inclined. Lawless subculture-oriented. Singularity delulus. GPTists. Existential subjectivists. Digital romantics. Commodifiers of nature. Capitalists of commodities. Dogged by neofascism, nanotech, epidemic conspirations, human rights Mafia, and the like.
If I only were a fly. Live the bare minimum. Get smashed when not asked for. Any given time. By accident. By whoever. By the circumference of the loop of death — Basic, repetitive, and under any circumstancial form: A fly dies in a capucin goblet. A teenager drowns in a swim to Lampedusa. Another dies crawling in the sand to and fro borders. Another burns to death in a refugee camp. Another one ossifies of starvation in the marginalia of a military/para-military warfare. And another different one suicides on-screen. See, a variety isn’t it?
We do spend our beinghood half dead, half dealing with death.
See why it’s plainly easier to be a fly? Noseless. Nerve around people who talk about a future that is insignificant to a planet that is on the verge of some nuclear apocalypse.. or a capitalistic ecocide — Whatever you’d like to call it.
Truth is; I don’t complain one bit. I don’t remember saying no to the trauma — That of living as an organic animal other than a fly. Don’t think being a fly — in itself — is any less political.
No angry whys. No desperate whens. No resentment. I know better than demanding answers that don’t exist.
Only, always, the regular things.
Mouths that talk about this and talk about that. Hands dipped in blood. Epistemic inertia. Same flow of sugary gratification on demand. Tchik Tchok. Noses here, noses there. Flies. Ugly. And the like.
The following is a series of pictures taken by this rookie author of random corners in Tunis; North Africa.
If you see this below, I’m sure you’ve felt the grey.
À plus :*
