Figure of Desire No.1 / WhipperSnapper
by Vidur Sethi
I am the whippersnapper, my garb—a mothership—is woven of macrophages by quiet investigative provocateurs. These agents making raw turns while ascending down any staircase catch vortexes of all behaviours deviant even to the most deviant norms. They occupy times inside the shining orbs which seek to care for all the existence of any non-taxonomy at the centre of ER=EPR. From earth, when I am there, the orbs appear like glowing worms mating in a night sky which is as dark as any desire that strives for a transparent flag. But the moment I realise that the designers of what would make my flesh are not distant to me but continuously activating cells of plural desires in my clothing, the separation between us is filled with much lesser gap.
I land in my mothership often at spaces of conflict where adults are so threatened by children that they invent an Institution of Childhood to kill Child Soldiers. Adult soldiers however, are allowed to exist and it seems so strange to me that I feel that even though many over here, on this earth, feel free, what they are actually trying to say is that they feel alone. After all, what do children make a case for other than letting those emotions and ambitions which are termed as degenerate live a longer life. With my long and plump body, a scrunched-up head that looks like a gas mask to many, I move slowly through the joints that hold these two walls which translates more children to grow up as adults in this world. A cosmos inside a microcosm where a language of communication--in which I write to you as you look at a black mirror lighting your senses, or a white paper which you can touch and feel—is many a times to live traditions which master in the act of getting lost in what entails the human.
So, all I desire for is a diagnosis of exclusion.
I do that by snapping my whips which might seem diminutive, insignificant, presumptuous at first but in its arrogance and irreverence towards all things ordered, it vandalises and searches for the before of an after, the after of a before. In this necromantic process of quietly entering inside the bodies of tables and books and speakers and trees and eyelids and veins and soil and airplanes and pencils and rockets and many such things, I love metamorphosing into tardigrades and step in slowly to desire for deviance and construct a chrestomathy of dissent, an architecture of care where I grow up as a child while I descend down some stairs.
In being the whippersnapper, I liberate; In being liberate, I feel alone; In being alone, I think of what to do with my liberation; In that and this, I deviate.
Would you like to deviate with me?
Figure of Desire No.2 / zoe aka posthuman critters
by Anish Cherian
i am it, i am the armadillidiidae,
the one infected with bacterias that could turn me into anything it pleases.
But i am not it, for i was something else already.
i wish i could take you to the floor where i lay squeamish as I generally am. i remember the event but have forgotten what i was. but i was squeamish, perhaps i was trailing these isopods, wondering if armadillos were becoming something else. or maybe i was the room, in which case i believe i was annoyed at this infestation.
but i wish i could show you that day, show it exactly as i want.
you’ve made me a vestigial class when all i’ve ever wanted was to be a class part. did you know i was stung by a wasp a long time ago? that was all that was of that life. no, the wasp did not survive and here i could not survive in any other moment. do you remember the first time you were stung, did you feel the adrenaline corrupting your childhood. do you remember all the other times you’ve craved more of it.
are you predisposed to your current notion of me and instruct me to move elsewhere so i become another. i have no qualms with you, for i guess i could have been you. there have been many miscarriages before i got to be angular. but you have to know that i would not have had a car to have been in this ethical conundrum. for equating ER with EPR has my mind split.
i spoke of malarkey in a party and wondered if you fancied it. for i wanted everyone to fancy it, but the foul odor from the roasting swine was fancied. and then we dined in this room that was folded too many times. I’ve heard that we could be folded only 26 times. but is there a way to make one more fold that doubled the fold instead on taking it to 27.
i am going to bed now. and i shall be up soon. but until then i believe you will be up and keep moving towards the center. but ones it becomes elusive to you meet me at the periphery where we whipped ourselves into these forms.
becoming yours truly
Figure of Desire No.3 / AnimalInside
the figuration of the text 'AnimalInside' by Laszlo Krasznahorkai
Radio performance at Max Mueller Bhavan / Goethe Institut as part of beneath the tree there is more hope for a breeze an event by Anish Cherian for Five Million Incidents conceptualized by Raqs Media Collective