The Unstable Hour

I.1. The hour of total possibility

From the cellular instability to the human gatherings, the transitory character of the matter manifests itself implacably at the core of things. Its compulsory fate is the sign of the infinite cycles of dismantling and uprisings. From the lights of the day and from the shedding of the animals’ skin to the marches in debacle of societies and civilizations, that is it, all the time. What is left for us is the perception of the phenomena, which causes the variations on how we feel the temperature. In aspiring to the earthly balm, we stand at the mercy of the species’ will and cling to security, conservatism, the air conditioner and every anesthetic that disguises life. Nonetheless, even in the most boring decades or afternoons, as on a Thursday at 3 o’clock, a threshold-condition might break out, which can move us to the point of the unbinding of time itself. The absolute moment, the total instant, which we must call the unstable hour. The state of presence, the ultra-now. That’s when the essence of intention, the primary gesture that does not say anything apart from its very capacity to speak. That’s when we take note of the vital pulsation, which opens up, decisively, the enigma of experience. The ascent that gives rise to the paroxysm, the tension-limit that makes the eruption of the Demiurge recognizable. The time when everything can be.


I.2. The individual on the edge, the capital situation

There is only life at the limit, under radical ecstasy. When what is eccentric to the flesh is felt through excess; taken wholly by an emergence capable of bringing the ethereal thrill to surface, mobilizing everything to its extreme potential. Any other speed that does not make the transformation point come into sight, is only an anodyne simulation of the substance that nurtures the phenomenon at its most primitive character. The combustion in the accesses and insurgencies fills the lungs, runs through the joints, goes up the spine, hits the head. Libidinal pinnacle that commands sensitive visceral alterations, blood perfusions, hormonal and digestive secretions’ liberations. The abysmal élan that outrages, defines the path, shuffles the game, cuts heads off, overthrows empires and fuses metals together. It’s in the creak of craving, on the sweat that drips from the temple, in the sound of the trumpets leading the vanguards. It’s on the sharp knife that carves the cheese with precision, on the wrist deflected at a chin, on the breathing that thrusts the asceticism and the intercourses, at the onset of friendships and enmities, in the big arrangements and landslides. In the throat of the first cockerel that wakes up, in the outbreak of someone who ascends, in the rhapsody of the crowd taking over the streets. When the flowing energy reaches a certain degree of heating, and the encounter, the friction, is such that any structure is at risk of collapsing, of falling apart. It is what can burst forth at any time, anywhere.


I.3. Trances at the end of the world

At the contingency of the hour, the apocalypse makes a turn. The signs of time are not few nor bland. In the colossus affixed to daily life, information is created, enlarged, jostled in an incessant multitude whose juxtaposition feverishly outflows, liquid and gasping at the four corners of the world. The accumulation of techniques, the infinite stacking up, the ongoing miseries… The algorithms, like the lead, enigmatic, solid or fluid, floating above us all. Between the soil’s deep perforation and sidereal speculation, the macabre appearance of large-scale disasters at their most terrible renderings, and likewise, the new bodies that forge in the fury of desires, which now, more than ever, but as always, take their rightful place on the surface. What was once only heard as a sultry sound, now bites the common language in the jugular. Mysticism manifests itself at every piece of the sidewalk, even at the dawn of the codes and gadgets that allow the uncountable exchanges, in microseconds, of so many commodities, ideas and values in evermore abstract terms. Legs, arms, prostheses, surgeries, hormone administration and all the while facing the white, blinding light of the exoeconomy. All the best drugs and all kinds of services. Ambiguities crack piercingly, in a hurried metallic chiaroscuro. Under the aesthetic of the acceleration that involves us, the most radical trances must burn. As in the end of a vertiginous sprint that has just consumed all of our power: the sight is off and the chest blazes while we are still shaken by inertia. Suddenly, in a most spontaneous movement, the neck jolts backwards only so we contemplate, eyes to the fullest, above.

Germano Dushá