This future is unthinkable.
Yet here we are, thinking it.
Coexisting, we are thinking future coexistence. Predicting it and more: keeping the unpredictable one open.
Yet such a future, the open future, has become taboo.
Because it is real, yet beyond concept.
Because it is weird.
Art is thought from the future. Thought we cannot explicitly think at present. Thought we may not think or speak at all.
If we want thought different from the present, then thought must veer towards art.
To be a thing at all – a rock, a lizard, a human – is to be in a twist.
How thought longs to twist and turn like the serpent poetry!
Or is art veering towards thought? Does it arrive? The threads of fate have tied our tongues.
Tongue twisters inclined towards nonsense.
Logic includes nonsense as long as it can tell truth.
The logic of nonsense.
The needle skipped the groove of the present.
Into this dark forest you have already turned.
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