index

1. THE FOREST MANIFESTO 13 October 2023
   posted by: Lucia Palladino

   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.