Sand rope and a photograph. House of leather and definitive brain stems. Retina is a ready-made, the seen is murdered. Concept of directionality does not exist. Earth, on its fallen face is no longer of skimmed fleshes, but is in snuffed happiness.
Futurism was interrupted.
The repetition of my birth melts the seal of understanding. Curious minds of previous centuries were not in constant Limbo as we now are. It used to be an honour to touch a book, it was of self respect for a person of every profession, person of any harmony or vapour to understand elements of Universe, darkness of our minds. Silence, science, torn off, studied, death, written. Nowadays, we live in the societies of even worse structures. How many of us are striving towards philosophical thinking? I cannot even use the word “inventive” for matrix reclaimed it and an array of repetition is outputted. What does it mean to invent a thought? What does it mean to invent a thinking pattern? What does it mean to invent a thinking ability? What does it mean to event a brain? Philosophy has fallen onto a fact of Earth,- it cannot noise, its palms are stuck. Lungs scorched, baby shoes, only plane of Hell. Stuck for emptiness has no tissue doors to Silence. How many philosophers can one generation have? What does it depend on? Nothing but knowledge availability and nowadays we have too many books online. We can see through the eyes of any century (even the erased ones) and observe own selves in the timeline of development. Unit of a thought and the how it finds unknown is timestesia. For directionality is too embedded. Neuroscientific theories, just like any texts, are written in the language of politics and not Universe, nature, Kosmos. If we were to observe humanity on its own grid, - we would always ask one question - how come human brain did not evolve?
It is not possible that artists of Industrial age took light bulb for a light bulb - an object of electricity that hangs from the ceiling. It is not possible that artists took train - a moving engine - for a train, just something that moves. Artists used to question every element and aspect of life. That was the fire of every mind. It was the culture. Therefore it is not possible that artists of 20th century broke only two dimensional plane as history wants us to think. When tool as vast and inventive as a first photo camera appears, an artist becomes more than fascinated to understand how this sundial work. How can an object make realistic painting in the house of few minutes? How can Time capture itself? Architecture, tools, speech, all of it, contain symmetry of their times: meaning and form. Therefore one can assume that artists of Industrial era were crafting not only two dimensional spaces, but those of physics and engineering, too. In Industrial era, tools were a net, an entirety of thinking - to excavate and think on matter and to shape it into a useful form. It is unwritten ideology. Creation is the purpose of human life. Creation, ink, tail of wooden chest in a mouth of a snake, not welcoming church that is battened and reshaped throats.
There are two types of chronology: relative and absolute. Absolute is the one that compares historical segments on a timeline. For example, works of Lao Tzu (6 B.C.) and Kant (18 A.C.). The difference is 24 centuries. So how is it possible that a human brain did not develop throughout all these centuries?
Relative chronology is juxtaposition of historical segments and comparing them, as they relate to one another, in the context of meaning. Glass was made in B.C. so were sailing ships. Navigational as well as massive amount of other mechanisms were created by Arabs. Kosmos was studied by the Greeks. Each of these spheres of knowledge was studied by man of any field. People were polymaths. Artists knew how planets move, philosophers - how mechanisms work. This has always been culture in which artists lived. It has been hundred years since WWII and yet free man knows how glass is made neither how ships sail, but this knowledge is freely available online. Where does human attention go? What are we spending our time on? Technology is embedded with centuries long knowledge. Computers, space rockets all were invented in a decade. Where is development today? Human is headless, linear and horizontal, running from wall to wall, with head cut off. Culture of polymathy is erased. Culture at all is demolished.
The word “generate” carries in itself “generation”, “gene”, “general”, “rate”. “To generate” means to automatically output, to condition as well as to create. Humanity as a mechanism can be reset many times and for the past hundred years we have seen a major decline in our previously philosophical roots. Art of futurists was destroyed by nazis, leaving only its illustrative element - surfaced artworks. All the major created by futurists mechanisms as well as philosophical works about Kosmos were destroyed.
This is the century of degenerate life - life that diminishes one's cognitive ability, own thinking need. And it is the century of degenerate art. We no longer use memory when making a brush stroke. Our eyes are not adjusted to neither darkness nor light to work in different environments. Our sense of space is buried and we no longer see through shapes of objects for we no longer study the form and texture. Neither meaning. It is an eternal system of questioning meaning of a meaning, meaning of a form and their collaborations. But nowadays it is only representation of physical phenomena, illustrative servo politics, visual experimentation. Nowadays surface is good enough to be called art. Illustration to a journalistic article or to a book, even if a creative one, a poem is still a visualization of written, it is not art - a complex system of a thought. It is 2019 - central world is built already, buildings are standing, all you do is work. What is your hobby? (damn it is even called a hobby nowadays... to be curious instead of travelling or going to cafes, watching series).
Futurism is an optical rotation of pages, a necessity to decode Kosmos. A light inside, a sand of a void, a monologue of Universe.
