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    Art(e)fact
    Art(e)fact
    Art(e)fact
    Ebook46 pages43 minutes

    Art(e)fact

    By Pierre Matile

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In this world that we barely know and understand, this world so full of supposition and assumptions, we strive to make sense of this cluster of cells that constitutes us, sometimes on purpose, some other times unintentionally. We fill in the time and space with useless acts, we make public scraps of oneself, scraps of you, scraps of us, scraps of yourselves too sometimes, and seldom, very seldom, scraps of them, of other people that we observe through our machine designed to decipher reality, being in a constant search of identity, of eternity.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBadPress
    Release dateSep 8, 2020
    ISBN9781071565216
    Art(e)fact

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      Book preview

      Art(e)fact - Pierre Matile

      Art(e)fact

      Pierre Matile

      ––––––––

      Translated by Andreea Mirică 

      Art(e)fact

      Written By Pierre Matile

      Copyright © 2020 Pierre Matile

      All rights reserved

      Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

      www.babelcube.com

      Translated by Andreea Mirică

      Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

      Table of Contents

      1 FIRST DESCENT INTO HELL BY THE  NORTH SIDE.

      2 THE GAME OF MADNESS IS AN EXTREME SPORT OFTENTIMES PRACTICED ON THE EDGE OF SLOPES.

      3 DEMAND IMMORTALITY, AND REFUSE TO RETURN LITTLE BY LITTLE TOWARDS THE HIDDEN FACE OF THE NIGHT.

      4 ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DARK PASSAGE, YOU SOMETIMES HEAR STRANGE NOISES, CRACKED VOICES SOUNDING LIKE THEY ARE DREAMING AND MURMURING, BUT WHO NEVER LAUGH, NOR CRY.

      5 FROM THE MADNESS OF SHADOWS TO THE ALCHEMY OF HOURS, WE GET LOST IN THE INFINITE NUMBER OF NOISES.

      6 I HAVE SEEN A LOT OF GIRLS FALLING DOWN, OFTENTIMES FROM THE TOP OF THE BRIDGE, AND LOOKING LIKE DROWNING WHILE CHASING THEIR ILLUSIONS.

      7 INFINITE SAILS THAT HAZARD MY SWEET DREAMS, LET ME GO IN THE RISING WIND

      1 FIRST DESCENT INTO HELL BY THE  NORTH SIDE.

      Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine, All living body connected to the area being called upon to move..., 1986

      In this world that we barely know and understand, this world so full of supposition and assumptions, we strive to make sense of this cluster of cells that constitutes us, sometimes on purpose, some other times unintentionally. We fill in the time and space with useless acts, we make public scraps of oneself, scraps of you, scraps of us, scraps of yourselves too sometimes, and seldom, very seldom, scraps of them, of other people that we observe through our machine designed to decipher reality, being in a constant search of identity, of eternity.

      Heroic acts are the result of chance just as much as disastrous acts are; acts which, with a wave of a magic wand, propel us to the foreground for just a moment. Acts that serve our purpose – unnecessary, meaningless, and devoid of value for humanity as they are, giving our existence a partial meaning before we turn back to dust.

      The moment, this particular moment, sometimes lasts for all eternity; an eternity that we cannot comprehend. And with regard to this eternity, to this humanity which seeks itself, it can be said that it has about 6000 years of history, perhaps, if we look back on the dawn of civilization and disregard our distant cousins from the Palaeolithic and the Neolithic. 6000 years of history seem to be a long time, but not in the face of eternity. In the face of eternity, by definition, any period of time is not only relative but infinitely short, derisory even.

      To give meaning to these 6000 years of history, one can imagine sixty human beings having each lived a century and who would have followed one another, as if by an unnatural process of cloning. And here they are, our 6000 years of history are right in front of us, standing on the timeline, a line that must be sixty meters long form one end to another; sixty human beings lined up. Sixty meters standing for 6000 stories; sixty destinies allowing us to retrace the path of humanity. Sixty destinies facing eternity.

      It’s both too little and too much, in turn. Too little to intimidate eternity. And yet too much for us not to be able to grasp its dimension. We’re far too concerned with looking after and tending to our own history to be interested in that of all humanity. We passionately practice the discipline of remembering in order

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