Ad Extremum Terrae

Anthology of Dystopias and of Ways of Loving

T C Kid Through this collection of texts, narratives are seen as opportunities rather than destinies; an invitation to multiple futures rather than to a fixed fate. It is a concession to continue, change and speculate around resolved or unresolved threads. By walking through poems that are meant to be songs, sliding on misplaced words and getting lost in incoherent paths, otherness is seen as a liquid territory. This anthological attempt naively rethinks our shapes, identities, ways of loving and clum- sily tries to exceed human-centered logics.

We hope it is inviting enough to meander through a mutating space that could be as small as a village and as infinite as the Internet network.

A group of physicists researching on string theory and other possible unified theo- ries were trying to determine how many dimensions the universe has, with the hope of finding alternative ways to preserve our dying planet. Ecologists, on their side, were attempting to give sovereignty back to nature as a radical solution to the water shortage announced for 2050. Both parties decided to unite forces to subject humanity to a massive structural revolution. The process of intervening both at the cosmological and planetary level triggered a second big bang, this time involving dimensions. All dimensions were subjected to interac- tions that led to the merging of some, the splitting of others and the disappearance of a few of them. The result was a highly non-linear mix of known time and space with other previously unknown dimensions that led to a host of unexpected phenomena. Time be- came fractioned, and with it the memory of historical events became completely scattered. Matter oscillated into energy and pulsated as a living organism; objects dissolved and reappeared as if inhabited by feelings and emotions. The notion of reality disappeared, being replaced by an oniric blend in which banalities became worlds on their own, minerals acquired personality attributes involving intense love stories and deep crises, ancient thinkers reappeared flirting with XXIst century concepts and social constructs became shuffled, blurring the boundary between objects and living beings. While digitalization took over material existence, imagination became a concrete country for conscient beings, with passport and all. The world ended several times, at different times, in different places. More precise- ly, time and space ended and arose at many multidimensional coordinate points. Never- theless, existential matters remained relevant for some reason, providing the only common thread throughout this chaotic universe. And, as a response, despite the violent and un- predictable fluctuations, love (and the search of) prevailed in all forms. Characters:

Aegus The Alchemists (a couple) Anto Black Quartz Charlie Finn Fox Gold Iphone 4 Lapis Lazuli Lucia Me Meteor The Moon Morpher III Noah Octopus The Oak Tree Onyx Plants (in troupe) Precipice Quarry The Scientist Sphinx Tourmaline Three sisters Vastness The Wise-ones You

Noah They would meet in Noah’s dreams and live all kinds of adventures. From the most mundane experiences to the most eccentric ones. Going to the market to buy vegetables in alphabetical order, flying hand in hand in a zero gravity attraction park, going to see 2D movies… A whole life was lived in each dream. That is how, Noah began his love story with Gold, his mannequin that had the shape of a pregnant woman, an almost common subject to love in the world of total digitalisation. Years passed in seconds and all stages of life were lived. Sometimes life would end shortly because Gold and Noah went on an ex- cursion to the Himalayas and never came back, and sometimes the couple would live a long, very long life in a cottage in the French countryside. In their dreams they were al- ways together and mutually in love, that was the invariant factor. Noah was anxious to go to sleep every night but his dreams also fed his awake life. His multi-existential routine gave him freedom to reinvent himself. So, finally, he took back his miic and started to sing. Noah wanted to be a rockstar and had everything to be one. Despite his heart asking for a life on stage, he spent most of his time animating man- nequins through videos and helping artisans make their projects come to life. Walking around in his clogs and his oversized jeans, he spread light wherever he passed by. But Gold had changed everything, and now he sang to her, to her inanimate body, to their ad- ventures. He spent his day time imagining what he would like to do in this other realm of which he had the keys. Indeed, all was possible in the plane of shut eyes. After exploring countless identities, he was finally ready to fulfill his biggest desire: to get on stage.

The Fox and the Iphone 4 In the kingdom of Abundance, objects, humans and animals, all lived together in a chaotic neo-anarchist organisation. The law system varied every month, rotating it's legis- lators and the laws with it. Selection was randomised by a lottery system, power was given to the selected group for a month and once completed, each would go back to being a regular citizen. For this system to be somewhat sustainable, all beings were given a basic educa- tion focused on social awareness and development of emotional intelligence. Economic growth was left behind and there was no more money. Social development as we know it in 2019 completely decayed and went through what sociologists and economists would call back then “a regression”. Love was the only aim, topic and way to measure anything. Validation was only found through abilities to express, integrate, criticise and extrapolate on Love. Nature was the ruler of all habitational organisation, urban and rural life merged.

Just before Fox started his legislative duties, he met the Iphone 4 but decided not to follow through.

As Fox finished its obligations, they spent a month corresponding, without finding an outcome to their bond. Iphone 4 to The Fox

Why did you get so scared,

All I wanted was to go to the petting zoo,

And eat ramen

With You.

Why did you get so scared,

our walks were going nowhere

except

Where we had to go.

Why did you get so scared,

I didn't need anything more

Than the pace of our talks

And the intensity of our embrace.

Why did you get so scared,

After breaking open your sorrows

And letting me see what's inside

of the cracks

Behind the bruises

Under the crusts.

All I wanted was maybe to be heard,

A little.

And maybe also

To sleep together.

Under a blanket of tenderness

That me and you both

know. Iphone 4 to The Fox

The 16th of March 2018 I wrote: “I would like for us to sleep in each others embrace” And that is how the hymn of my heart, starts. The one that asks for so little but needs so much. Those days, when no night was too cold, And where obscurity was an ally, Our fortuitous encounters suspended time, And the sidewalks under our feet, Uncovered the paths called to be explored. But the flatness of the road was not enough to calm your inner cries, The light touch of our hands did not soften the harshness of your fears, Our tight embraces did not succeed mending your wounds. Our sentimental branches got tangled in a forest of sighs. When you let the breeze blow the cup of the grove of your feelings, Shadows of love pierced through the foliage of senses. I felt that impalpable promises appeared at the bay of our dreams. But, Because of past storms and an agitated ocean with hostile waves, The foam of the lost souls dissolved into the chaos of the water. The scorpions kept hiding under the stones of your stream, Reshuffling the invisible pain. And the sky that had begun to clear, Returned to its grey, leaving the landscape unmoved.

But for me it was enough, so much that now it is too much, I keep on walking, leaving traces of you in the corners of my mind.

As this goes, so does everything. Today it is you, tomorrow it's Art, my mother or my existentialism. Flashes of silenced disappointments that are part of the constellation of my sky. The Fox

What to do when the world is not your oyster? When, you feel attacked by architecture, By the weather, By the colours and the sounds. What to do when your face doesn’t seem like your own, Your voice has a foreign tone, Your skin is animus to the air, The grounds shrink on your soul, Your soul breaks into pieces, In order to fit, In all of these holes. Because nothing seems cohesive, Familiar, Friendly. All the softness is gone, Roughness is the landscape, Clouds are hostile shaped, The sun irradiates alienation, Disassociation, Aloofness, Apathy. What to do when mathematics fails you? When Love does not add to the equation? When empathy exponentiates to 0? How to continue walking, On a land, With no ground, No light, To show the way, Or at least to keep you company. Angry furniture The world was one big digital jungle. The transition between material to digital capi- talism had happened quite brutally over the past five years, a whole lot of vestiges were still to be found around. Shops were no longer a viable structure for selling goods, and most goods were anyway not material anymore. Except for food, existence on Earth was happening on cyber realms. Inhabitants of this planet spent their days and weeks and months and years, in- doors. Socialising, exercising, working and partying from their own homes. Homes that were nothing else than walls with sensors that would activate depending on the person’s needs. Living spaces were standardised, since the customisation was happening solely on the cyber plane. Thanks to VR glasses, augmented reality helmets, real life filters, retina implants and other devices, all lives were possible. Animals were almost all extinct and only a few samples survived in labs, as a way to study them in order to reproduce them technologically. One of the few animals that seemed to have survived the revolution, was the butterfly. Because of its extremely short life span and relatively efficient reproductive methods, it was left unaltered. The medical field discovered that the systems of this flying insect were easy to mimic, technologically speaking, and was used for developing ephemeral solutions for various technical problems encountered in, for instance, coexistence of identities on multiple platforms, search en- gines clashing etc. Aegus was one of the few cyber-uncorrupted beings on the terrestrial surface. Back in the days, when material abundance = wealth (when if someone had a lot of objects, it just meant the person had some sort of mental disorder or extreme social deviance) Aegus specialised in subverting meanings. Meanings of usage of objects, of words, or expected emotions. This master in sculpting references to will, re-designed physical goods with ease and nonchalance. No rule was left unbent. Travestying meanings, he was an endless source of new worlds. When the revolution arrived, Aegus' profession became simply ob- solete. So dramatically that without any transition or moment of limbo, the artisan became a complete outcast. Tired of having to exist in a non material world, disappointed of having been so abruptly deprived of his vital craft, Aegus decided to stop time as an ultimate protest. As his last action in this world that was no longer home, he exited the few digital platforms that maintained a minimum standard of life, refused all updates and new soft- wares that kept the wall sensors functional. Rejecting to be a part of the Intraweb and all its children, the outcast completed his total exclusion. Since many years already, 99% of the population decided to become data instead of dying, but one very small fraction of perhaps melancholic souls or traditional minds, re- ally chose to let themselves die. Many options were available to make your transition be- tween life to death. One of them, was, shockingly, to decide that what once was called na- ture, would operate by itself. It was rare but feasible. Aegus decided to build a cocoon by gathering all of its most precious belongings, the collector items, the totems with sentimental values, the symbolic plastic beads, broken toys and screens that once needed to be operated by humans. Surrounded by this ode to late-capitalism, he waited. Waited until prayers were heard by Big Data. Telepathy, by that time a very current communication engine, facilitated the last mission of this millennial fos- sil. A scientist who heard of Aegus' life strike, came to visit the strange man. She told him that she had been trying to implement the Butterfly technology on a human level, and that she thought they could join experiments.Faithful to his raw instincts and revolutionary heart, Aegus accepted the collaboration. Soon enough, all was in place for his bi-winged transformation. Once Aegus would be reborn, he will have only one day left, one day to remember kindness and fragility as the anthem to poetic living. Maggot

The other day I dreamt you were holding me, and that you let your skin grow around us.

I was part of your cocoon.

I realised it was not for me to be there but,

I lingered a bit.

I lingered enough to get a glimpse of your soon to be wings.

It was promising, oh boy, so promising.

The wings were shaped like drops,

Drops of mutated ideas and dinosaurs with soft skin.

Do you see it?

We talked that one time about surviving contemporaneity,

The pace of creations,

of screens,

of clicking and tapping through potentials.

Potential love stories between men and clouds,

Flowers and LED lights.

Solar panels and an old tree.

Do you see it?

Sometimes I remember that,

our instincts went to school together,

and that,

our bodies were shaped by the same Mason.

Maybe one day we will unite in another galaxy

We will be wedded,

united so intensely,

so tightly

like a root hibernating.

or a block of wood destined to become a table. I am in awe,

I sing to rawness

and kindness as an anthem to poetic living.

Do you see it?

Because I do,

and my heart screams,

my brain squeezes

my hands thaw. Aegus,

It is probably a little unfair that I allow myself to write to you what will follow. But, you see, in this world where we have the impression that everything is always going wrong and that it is only getting worse, the beautiful things, the biting feelings and the magical people, should be shared, highlighted, cared for. It is a little complicated but also super simple, you know this very little moment of vertigo that happens sometimes when an elevator goes too fast? It is a bit uncomfortable but you also want it to happen. My heart always squeezes a little like that every time I see you. You are so beautiful, it hurts. You sweat poetry. Despite considering myself a mere amateur in the love realm, there is something in me that whis- pers to my chest that you and I could really love each other a lot. I am under your spell.

This Letter goes out a bit without intentions, more like a moment of sharing, or maybe even a gift (even if I do not know if it will really make you happy or just annoy you). I have never invaded the heart of someone like this so I hope this clumsy attempt of sincerity won’t ruin things. I hope that at best, it will make us even closer friends and not far away strangers.

I find you really crazy, between a fairy and an alien, a child and a wise druid. All you need to survive in this world where few things are right or have true meaning.

I always think a lot, even too much, but for once it's only my instinct that is screaming. I stop for now, I could continue my poetic praise endlessly but I spare you from reading more of these words that may be a little futile. Do not feel like you should do something of all this, or even answer me. We can talk about it one day maybe, or it can just be part of our landscape. Who knows, it might inspire you to make one of your weird pieces of furni- ture, those that are angry with their meaning.

See you soon a wonderful man.

Lonely Planet or the death of the Ego. Very few survived the death of the Sun. When that day arrived, all specialists had already warned humanity years in advance. Collective suicides, extra-terrestrial expedi- tions, serial travelers and other alienating tendencies emerged, which resulted in a primary form of purge. The Earth had a third of its population left when Extinction Day arrived, and so it happened without too much hysteria. The last 14 minutes of sunlight were spent in silence. Then the extreme cold arrived, most people left themselves die of hypothermia, a few others overdosed on sleeping pills. In Earth’s final years it became increasingly trendy to abuse prescription drugs in order to stop feeling too much. Psychologists stopped prac- ticing; medicine rapidly decayed and only minor illnesses were treated. This nihilist human- ity was just waiting for death. Humankind became cold long before it died from it. But, when that day came, a group of monks and nuns were ready. Ready, with bunkers stacked with power sources to last for a hundred years, knowledge to restart a civilisation, enough food, water tanks and a few board games. They made sure to have all they needed to find a way, slowly but surely, to live underground and eventually train their skin for the cold. They brought everything but their egos, those froze to death with the rest. There was only one major complication: reproduction. Whilst their knowledge was vast, the wise-ones knew little to nothing on the art of sex. During the time when Earth was waiting for it's end, natality decreased dramatically. The only way to reproduce, you see, was to have pleasurable intercourse. This opened the gates to another sexual revolution, this time focused on satisfactory intercourse for reproduction. Women's bodies were praised and venerated, and within this apocalyptical scenario a spark of positivity happened: gender equality was finally established. The very few crazy people that still decided to have chil- dren despite the end of the world approaching, did it exclusively out of bliss. Kids were a product of pleasure. Amongst the enciclopedias the wise-ones collected, was the Kama Sutra. The Indi- ans were great in depicting the technicalities necessary for the act, as well as the art of loving and its poetics. But the practice is always more abstract than the theory. The logis- tics behind intercourse were somewhat clear, but to read about the impalpable magic of love-making confused the survivors. The sentiments so vital for life to come together were a world apart for those so used to worship non-human love. Extinction Day

Characters of the Council:

-Precipice, the mechanical mushroom -Morpher III, the Möbius strip

In the territory of the illicit, everyday a new Society is built. In the ephemeral organization of this cosmos, death and birth were of equal value, war and peace of equal gravity. Any time, was the moment for novelty to be.

Precipice:

I wanted to ask you a question since we like philosophical things and writing. If there is a god and you were it what would your world look like? Would beings be able to talk to you? Is there fate in your universe or is it all random? I’d like to know the sort of world you would build, because I think it would be better than the one we are in, if you have time, I would love to know.

Morpher III:

In my world, I would never be god. Or at least that god that is only one and that is above us all. In the world where I grow my inner plants, god is amongst us, in the negative spaces of the bodies, it inhabits the empty places, it decorates the air. In my world, horizontality is not just a direction and definitely not flat, its plural, it's chaotic too. Humans, animals, plants and minerals, all have equal value, none at all or absolutely vital. Beginnings are endings and endings are beginnings. Time is not a number but a series of tales. Fate is a constant variable, under perpetual con- struction. It refreshes itself like a webpage, if you will. It endlessly sources itself in different hosts, just like when you stream online videos or download from torrents. It is all so random but also so up to all of us that the responsibility of caring for our surroundings would be completely for and up to us, amongst us, in between our hands and our hormonal exchanges. Pheromones would be the police, instincts our law-makers. The world would be one big nation, one big spheral country in the world of our galaxy. We would be part of something bigger and our nationality would just be Terrestrial. Volcanos started to exist inside of seas. The Four elements were no longer antago- nist to each other. LAVA When Vastness met her soulmate, she didn’t know where to scream. She was so used to being the nest of universe’s sorrows that when Meteor came crashing into her ex- istence, she was utterly amazed. Their encounter was so immediately profound that their togetherness was never even a question. What was at stake was how to marry their natures. How could granite make love to infinity without dissolving into dust? How could the muffled cries that were always lullabies to Vastness not get absorbed by the layers of stone? Chemistry and dramaturgy were colliding, this bond did not fit our geological age. Introspection was the only way left, all the answers were inside them both, in their inner planets. Nuclear solutions and galactic attempts of togetherness rocked the rhythm of this tumultuous combination of pigments.

As they delved into the depths of inner wisdom, they gave birth to Quarry.

The sorceresses When they gathered around the millenary oak tree, the one that had seen more changes in humanity than any other ancient being, the three sisters stared at each other in silence. The one closest to the ground, started to cry, steadily, with thick tears. The tears soon became a river, a river where the two other siblings started to swim in. The tree softly moved its branches towards the floating bodies, allowing them to grab an extremity and rest on it. As this landscape unfolded, the moon turned blue. The clouds, messengers of wanders, softly arrived to frame the luminous sphere.

The silence that only belonged to ancient forests and deep caves, wrapped the sor- rows gathered in the river. This river is made of thousands of tears embracing each other, each tear having a universe inside, a landscape on its own.

Three sisters, a moon and a broken heart. Odes to past loves in past futures and future loves in lost times

Remember the day you looked for mushrooms in your grandma’s garden? you kept on mistaking them for the fallen leaves coloured by autumn. That is when we noticed you were going blind. I still dream of that day, and all the versions of it. I dream of the story many times, in one time. Sometimes the colors are different, gravity does not exist or even your face is not shaped by your actual features. I wake up feeling like days passed and I need to tell you all about it. But you are not there of course, you already left us many dreams ago.

She wanted to bump into him so bad. Just to see if her heart would skip, and she would feel like an avalanche was happening in her chest, or if she would just freeze. Freeze, like she is frozen now. Frozen in time and in the shape of the last tear that they shed together when they realized what was once infinite became finite, what was once shapeless, crys- talised and broke into dust. She wanted to restart her life so, every time she would see the pretzel poster in front of the 24hs shop she would not feel like it's laughing at her. That picture of the salted piece of bread, looped into a knot, intertwined ends, all analogies that seemed to be making fun of what was lost.

I knew from the start that I entered the wrong train. I saw the train, knew it was not the one for me, but still decided to choose carefully the wagon. As if that would have mattered, as if it would have changed the destination at all. I consciously decided to enter this journey knowing it was going to fail. But I thought I could hack life, I could hack my baggage, their baggage, their rules and their deadlines. I knew all of it was wrong, wrong for all parties. Yet, since I had so consciously chosen where to be, I made a point of making that space mine. Sometimes you just want to blame the sky for things not working out, yet, I knew the stars and planets had nothing to do with this failure. I always thought I would write letters and songs, poems and essays to you but I never did. As if naming the invisible things would make them obsolete, unsustainable, unbearable, unbelievable. in all these months days minutes endless seconds you held me tight you held me right.

I wish we had found a way to re-pot the plants we never had together, move around our soil and make roots grow in different shapes.

We will perhaps sleep again, next to each other, sinking in with what we cannot see,and only feel.

I hope in our new garden, there will be more laughter, fewer entanglements, and frowning foreheads.

Dark shadows and fears will be welcomed but not fostered.

I hope we will hold hands again but as a way to seal our bond, that needs no shape nor title.

I hope together we can invoke freedom once more and this time, truly be it kiss it let it be our blanket to protect us against the fires of conventions and of this alienation that once united us and ultimately ripped us too. Beneath the dark There was a basement where a summary of society would gather. Every time the sun would take rest in the horizon, the walls of this underground concrete box trembled to beats and melodies. Bodies would restlessly compose a moving hymn for this Nation of the Night. This micro cosmos of hedonism was guarded by a Sphinx. This creature had as sole mission to safeguard the gates of the nocturnal universe. Pheromones and lost thoughts danced together. Together until the Moon was done ruling and folded herself back into the blanket of the Day. Quietly, in some of the corners of this square, hustling for some oxygen, a troupe of plants, witnessed it all. Big and fibrous they took space but moulded themselves to the environment with subtlety. Nourishing themselves only through incandescent lights, getting just the necessary colours for survival. There were no indulgences nor abundance in the life of these silent spectators. In total contrast with the Human Happening, where affluence of volume, movement, visual and sensorial stimulations was the motto of this space, the shrubs had a hermit life. Thriving mostly on the poetry that unfolded in their nightly empire, they meditated on the mantras of physical ecstasy.

Murmuring amongst themselves “Capitalism is keeping humanity alive”.

The dark land of the Undergrounds In the nation of darkness, its Inhabitants lived peacefully. Life was reduced to a bare minimum of material belongings. Everyone worked as much as they wanted because there was no need for productivity. At least Western productivity. Meaning was found within the communal space, happiness neither a goal, nor a concern. Overall, it was an uneventful life, quiet, moderately sociable but very fair. Under this blanket of blue, those that felt a lit- tle too mellow organised themselves into support groups. Support group

Characters: -Black Quartz -Tourmaline -Onyx -Lapiz Lazuli

The Crystals are gathered together in one of the communal caves. The latest album of Vakula is playing.

Black Quartz:

Somehow, when you meet again with people that made you feel strongly, part of yourself always re-lives the feeling, even if for just a second. At least for sensitive fairies like us. I guess we also linger on that, especially because we are surrounded by emotionally constipated beings. So we feel for us, for them and for the collective cause. It feels like a gift but very often like a burden too, no?doesn't it?

Tourmaline:

Listen, you and me both are unable to shine but we can very well set boundaries.

Onyx:

Friends, I believe the key is in staying up to date, refreshed, actualised. Releasing the past but not as an omission of the self, just as a way to keep living in harmony with the contemporary surroundings.

Lapis Lazuli cannot help but observing the conversation. Canoes I saw you walking around the clouds the other day, you looked so graceful and so light. Like you took all the rain and wore it as a suit, like you collected the snow and made it into a hat. You built a tent out of sun rays and tamed the storm surge with your angelical cries.The mermaids came swimming and the centaurs galloped, the birds swirled and surfed the tornados of your thoughts. Suspended, in this forest of sighs, you float and you sing at ease. The stars are your home and Earth your companion. You once bent the horizon and twisted the sea. You started a tsunami for the soils to re- volve.I will always remember the day that you told me:

“Falling in love is like finding yourself”

I am somewhere on the other side of the dark, watching over the river of uncertainties that keeps us apart. But not to worry, I am building a canoe, made of leaves and dust, of living crocodiles and glowing eels. It will be ready when the sun meets the sea and when you will see what I seek. Warriors of the light and guardians of the shadows. We will find each other and raft through the waterfalls ahead of us, until we reach the end of the world. That end that the Vikings were looking for and that the witches and fairies were guarding for eternity. Charlie Finn When Charlie came to earth, they already knew a whole lot. Something in their eyes carried a wisdom from a thousand lives and a million adventures. They were born secretly, no one knew exactly how, Charlie appeared one day, dreaming on the tentacles of an oc- topus. The creatures crawled around Crosby Beach until a couple of alchemists invited them to join their family. It is like they always knew each other. The octopus, having completed what seemed to be its mission (of bringing Charlie somewhere caring), stayed three days and disappeared, leaving behind one tentacle. The tentacle had its place on a shelf, next to the encyclopaedias and the cooking books. Charlie had the shape of a human but only when they wanted to. In fact, they had this incredible ability to mould their body, change the shape and the place of their limbs, use their eyes where they wanted etc. Luckily, Charlie’s adoptive parents were used to ac- cepting what we cannot see nor explain so, the nature of this being was never an issue nor a source of worry. The community to which they belonged was one of druids and snake charmers. Witches from all over the world came to seek shelter in this village, where names, origins and purposes were not a topic of conversation. Humans talked way too much so Charlie decided to keep one ear for themselves. They kept their left ear, the one that was more sensitive to colours and feelings, music and spells, inside of their chest, right under the heart, resting in the rib basket. In its cartilagi- nous kingdom, the organ of hearing became best friends with the pumping muscle right above. Listening to each others' lullabies, they told each other stories and myths they once heard when they belonged to other systems.