THE FOREST MANIFESTO

ABOUT WHAT YOU DO

or neurologycal atypical patterns

or how to practice anticapitalism

if you want to tell one thing you tell another one

if you want to do something you get distracted by something else

you look at the frame

you never know anything about the content

you ask yourself if the content is the structure

is the structure the content?

you always need a context

you always recognise a context

you are always out of context

you always go out

you are out

you always go somewhere else

walking

dreaming

remembering

you go further away

you get completely lost

in the forest

in the room

in the streets

you keep on forgetting what it is about

you keep on doing what you are doing

you keep on repeating what you are doing

you copy

you repeat

you copy

you repeat with differences

you have faith

lost in the forest you find things you would never imagine

you always learn something you don’t know 

you are an idiot

a pioneer

you never know what you are doing

you difract attention

continuosly

you do hundred things at the same time

or just one for  an immeasurable amount of time

when you want to write you go reading in the library

when you want to focus you go walking in silence

when you go to the cafe reading philosphy you write looking at people dealing drugs or getting out of the toilets after wild and short sex

you never went to school

you have kids and an extended family spread around

you weave impossible things together

you always do something else

you climb

you poledance

you do everything obsessively

you do nothing obsessively

you stay still in your room per hours

you wander all the time

you translate into words

you try to grasp what it is about with words

you take notes

you don’t

you write millions of letters

you always need an interlocutor 

a distance between you and the other

you practice metamorphosis

you become the tree

you become the bramble

you become the wild pork

you always come back

but you are never the same

you keep on doing always the same by doing always something else

you always move away from you and you always end up with another you

you listen to a song that brings you to that place

you listen to that song again and again

you listen to echoes from the pink floyd

you are half bear and very sexy

but not

you are with lots of people

while being somewhere else

you prepare the conditions

you offer whisky

and home baked bread if you had time

you share the structure with the interlocutors

you share the scores with the participants

you are the participants

you never manage to grasp the whole

you are always missing an important part

you practice losing an important information

you practice losing the other

you practice losing

a view

the sense

the direction

but you are always taking responsability

you lead 

you are not original

you are always in relationship with something

you are alone

you are with the others

you are obvious

you do operations

like + or –

you love mathematics 

and you don’t want to know too much about it

you don’t know mathematics 

that’s why you love it

because you can wonder about it

you do mathematical operations though

you know it is about the operation and not the esthetic of it

you are baroc

you are minimalistic

you are punk

you are pop

you pop up possibilities, reveries, dreams

you do with what is there

you are very slow

and you change your life in an eye blinck

you trust not understanding

you practice non productivity

you practice not

you don’t practice

you are lazy on the sofa

you are a mother

you always shift perspective

you practice one millimeters shifts

you trust non agreement

you struggle

you fucking enjoy

you open the box inside the box

the reference inside the reference

the bone inside the muscle

the organ inside the bone

the philosophy inside the organ

the flash inside the philosophy

you follow the rules

you don’t

dear N.

you are my favourite writer, which is like telling warrior.

I enter with you, I open the window and a myriad of animals enter the room. 

since a while I am no longer surprised, they are part of the extended family, or of this dislocated way in which my neurons practice alliances in bumpy paths. I feel the greasy warmth and pungent smell of proximity now that these beasts are here. but they are still gentle enough to avoid the piles of books as if they were trees in my room and, to my amazement, they do not eat them. perhaps the books are trees even in this transformed version and retain a sufficient degree of roughness to ensure their survival in the encounter with the other, and somehow they resist. 

roughness is a quality of the fractal indeed… perhaps the book is the pattern of the fractal tree seen much much closer. a millimetric proximity.

the crates of the latest publication arrived at home, I pulled out all the books because I wanted them to physically occupy space and in the scattered stacks they actually occupy a much more chaotic and cluttered order of ideas, in which, needless to say, I obviously get lost.

I manage, however, to make my way confusedly to the closed fireplace and pull out the chessboard. I place your letter A in B7, a peripheral position of presence that I like, hoping that even though you have it before your eyes you will not recognise it as insidious. 

it isn’t. it brings the mystery of all those things we don’t see even though we are standing next to them, or we are immersed into them, thinking we have understood.

we didn’t.

this letter A in our game, in B7, is a metal spinning top like the one in the film inception, whirling around the four walls of the game box because there is nothing to disprove between us. 

there it is, now the cow has risen from the quadruple bed in which I chose to sleep and sniffs at my game puffing curiously between my childhood and my white hair, and while breathing in its whirling whirlwind distractedly, it doesn’t notice the spinning top dancing. 

the weight of her presence is a peace of galactic times. as soon as I think of her, I feel like leaning my body against the philosophy contained in her mass. then she moves her head in the direction of the window and I see that the water level is rising. I sit on the windowsill and notice that the whole street is now covered by a layer of water some ten centimetres thick. the cow makes its way through the water with its weighted step and a bird comes to perch between its horns. 

you and I have been here before. do you remember?

I thought I didn’t have images, but look at this.

Look how I think through images. 

Look how I can learn through them. 

How I can be with the world through them.

I take the chessboard like a tray and holding the spinning top still balanced inside its square I gently place it on the water and the chessboard begins to sail. 

apart from you and me, the road is deserted, but to say so seems absurd.

tomorrow luckily  enough there’s the djset with the beautiful trans she-friends.

I don’t remember the address though.

L.