ISMELLTHESMELLOFYOURBODYINCONNECTIONTOME


A pressure over its upper-right corner
Here you stand
Exhibited behind the screen, only there to be seen.
You stage yourself in white context;
I scroll..................more,
Wetware of a wet picture
Virtual distress, Augmented Depression.
Despair for you hair.
A body but no smell,
Like a silicon statue made to endure..........................their most alienating game.
perfect subject to enlightened domination.
Disoriented.
You are the mirage of suspended bodies.
Imaged identities prevail
leaving you like a ghost with no smell.

ISMELLTHESMELLOFYOURBODY


Here it appears, sudden hints of corporeality carried by micro-sensible entities. Only the nose can see. Sight became obsolete, reversing the phallogocentric logic of the modern aesthete. We enter the scent-troposcene betraying the aseptic dogma of the clinical realm.
Accumulations of body secretions; those ancestral territories release scents their beholders can not see. Secretly fetishising our own demons, we are bond in delightful aversion.
Sweat, blood, fluids of all kinds elevates as ghostly manifestations of our promised putrefaction.
In shared vulnerability we move ourselves toward encrypted mortality.
Smell number one is cronspesive.* It is grandiose, persistent, shamefully pervasive. It deploys during moments of shared intimacy; physicals overtake and vulnerability. Its curves traps our noses, confusing eros for thanatos, it is an advocate of repulsive passion. Its space is round, dense and profound.
Cronspesive smells belong to the corpse and the spirit.
Smell number two is trissurvissant*, inglorious pile of carnal corporations. It is the primitive betrayal, human untamed temptation. Inquiring its cybernetic presence only leads to its eradication. Trissurvissant is the initial one, the first manifestation of otherness in olfactory sensation. Its femaleness is threat; its origin fluid, aka the genesis of all smells to follow. It consistently inquires the nose attention through violent oscillating between bitterness and dense absolution. Its strategic dual position is harder to escape and creates illusion between processes of absorption and expulsion. Retaining the ex-forms of human procreation, discharging the nurture of our bodies sedimentation. Its existence is colonizing as it paves its way in the throat, invader of the tastes notes. A smell with a taste; a taste of iron, prominent feature of female possession, embedded in stimulated duration.
Smell three, escabane*, is the hardest in being neither entry nor escape. Crucial frontier amidst our natural weakness and the clinical fortress we have erected for ourselves. An extremely thin declaration of something so human it leads to deception. As a container, it stores too much of the current colonising process occurring in olfaction. It became neutral. Some moments, however, testify of its repressed nature; during deep connections between our bodies and their fluctuation, it is possible to recall its original membrane. A dense warmth, like hot air, source of both calming satisfaction and repulsive suffocation.
As you can smell, you can hear this ongoing failure in tran-smelling our physiological durations. Entailed to the empirical structures of both language and imagination, I fail to address this sense that is missing recognition. Wholly through memories and evocations am I barely framing my olfactory sensations.

UTERII


It began 96 hours before. Something un-noticable, so small, minuscule. Like those seamless habit that hangs in the background of our lives.
It imploded 72 hours before the event. On a casual diner night, surrounded by the people she loved but couldn't understand it, didn’t seem to understand her.
Anymore.
It remained during 4 endless days. As soon as she woke up, a pain in the chest. Located on the left side of her body, so small, so sharp like a broken piece of glass lost in flesh. Similar feeling she felt the first time she had to go public. Only, this time, it felt like a constant becoming public.
Anxiety and fear are inherent to creative process. They are simultaneously motivations and limits of what one can achieve with honesty. It is present, thus never locatable nor avoidable.
When I realised that those four days of troubled navigation into the every-day normalcy where the result of a pervasive anxiety I slept.
I slept out of my productive and performative self-imposed patterns,
I became unproductive,
I stoped task listing, fine-tuning, rehearsing, preparing, exercising, improving,
I became nothing more than a social-sentient being,

The very subject of my research,
Afar from cognitive labor, just a be,
Weak,
Vulnerable,
Wet,
All this really to protect the Uterii.

It is necessary for me to address my project as a singular entity and differentiate it from myself.
Giving it independency and potency to be for, and, with others.

Anxiety is part of the process,
Performance is an avoidable game,
Sharing a discursive protocol,
Weakness and vulnerability are part of the method,

Reflection on the event itself:
I really need to think more about my listener, viewer, participant, spectator in terms of both visual and textual language.
I need to move toward a making process. The cognitive saturation is overwhelming. Creating balance, a fair share in thinking and making.