The Black hole of today’s sensory overload is cheerfully swallowing a huge mass of indistinct stimuli, and spitting out an exhilarating mixture of mythographies and styles which feeds on incongruous oxymorons, eccentric juxtapositions, ultra-speed perceptive inflections.
Planes intersect: the point in which media (pseudo) events,
personal mythologies and urban landscapes melt, there arises a fecund psychic interzone which originates images, emotions and sounds.
We want to build a desiring machine to tight the colonization of the unconscious, to destroy the soft servomechanisms of control.
The superficial abysses of our own soundscapes absolutely need the creation of new algebra of desire and emotion, at the same time visionary, erotic and ironic.
Recombinant styles and sonic caresses titillate the synapses as if they were erogenous zones, to celebrate the never-ending eroticism of leather and latex, the unlimited sweetness of our own benign sexual psychopathologies, the infinite conceptual geometry of the new immaterial flesh.
It’s the collapse of the future on the present.
It’s the sex appeal of the inorganic.
The writer-mathematician Rudy Rucker asked the two fundamental questions of this new ice age:
How fast are you?