Memory & Repetition (a minifest)
Repetition is a form of change. Change is a form of life. Life is a form of repetition. And the message becomes the vestige of continuous change. The dance is the same. A form of repetition. Each memory exhausted as soon as it occurs, and all we have are traces, texts, that accumulate upon the waters -- they do not stop. The idea of presence persists, but suddenly it is mere absence. The water, river in reverse, in its transparency does not admit that the ice has silenced it completely. Silent duel. In the winter, its waters still flow, submerged, protected by the ice. By skin and by ice. Under the transparent absence of the waters where this former text writes itself, like snow, it forms a presence, alien to me, though invisible like voices upon the surface. It transforms. It transcends. Like the waterfall, whose text is celebrated and canceled at the same time. Its writing is a form of disappearance. A form of life, of change, of repetition. Like that which is written with lemon ink, is only revealed under by sunlight. All information is equalized: there is the impression that nothing happens there. The only thing we have, I repeat, are traces, trails through the thicket, false leads. Yet thousands of eyes pass by that trail, imperceptible gestures, at every instant. They converse in an extinct language, the language of ice; the language of water, of travelers. Silent, they behold the halo of the moon, (another form of repetition). There is nothing new in all of this: not as much as in a poem not yet written. The aesthetics of disappearance invites all forms of change, like the nomad thoughts of Nietzsche, eternally repeating his return, which is nothing more than a form of disappearance. A fiction. Ritual dance of the mind. Fleeting tattoo. Memory of memory. A new form of repetition.