• THE FOREST MANIFESTO 13 October 2023
      posted by: Lucia Palladino


      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




      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


      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.



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