Status Updates From Orbitór: Vänster vinge

‘Maybe, in the heart of this book, there is nothing other than—blinding, apocalyptic howling—in the carbonic rose, what of you remains after you meet the living you, what can have a revelation—It is the centre of the rose of our death, because there in the centre of our carbonised body, among the petals of char—a petunia’s soft, fibrous petals. In just a few seconds, the sound gained corporeality, and became yellow.’

i can’t tell whether i’m enjoying this or have no idea what’s going on

‘The me of today englobes the me of yesterday, who encompasses the one from the day before yesterday and so on—until I am an immense line of Russian dolls—my astral body is nothing else but the clairvoyant light of the future. From the dark toward the light—the absurd trajectory of our lifetime tapers off—And the I of every moment is connected to the one before—braid of blue—violet capillaries inextricably—synapses—’

‘There are blind people who know they used to see, but, through an accident of fate, do not, & there are others who have no knowledge of any lack, for whom sight is unimaginable, the way we cannot imagine what we would feel if a sensory organ opened in our forehead like a flower, or if we grew—antennaes like a moth. I knew I was made to exist—but also that I couldn't perceive existence. The world—dirty & diaphanous—’

“Poiché non è descrivendo le cose andate che si scrive il passato, ma parlando dell’aria nebbiosa che da esso ci separa”