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Bruno Jacobs



Scars


 

Information-society and mass culture fall upon us. This new trade, this avalanche of words and images having become exchange-value and therefor hailed, makes claims at being an offer equatable with some kind of freedom and equality, and at being approximately identical with knowledge and above all with experience and empathy.


Still, the daily paper is best read between the lines, and the apple tastes more than the still-life. An overflow of information makes us suspect that something else is kept back. Does not the new phenomenon rather express a restless need for mastering, that most likely represents a proportional fear? What threatening gaps, what abyss, are spasmodically attempted to fill out? Life continues anyway with all its misunderstandings, its coincidences, its superstitions, its rumours, its oblivion, its unexpected openings, its puzzling signs and its scars.


In the last time, a gang of only seemingly peculiar composition - academics, cultural debaters, a priest and a board member of the national bank - have appeared in media with a conversation about the future. Their conclusions are striking and gloomy - not surprising. Itīs typical that what ought to lead to a devastating critique stops at a mere lame establishing of facts. Instead of refusal, anger, defiance, instigation and revolt: tame and impotent "information".


In the face of the vibrating noise-massage that makes the molecules of the spirit loosen at the joints, we rather stress the words that arenīt uttered, the scream , silence, or the cracks of existence: in that respect this little journal is a compromise.


Surrealism remains a specific attitude of the spirit, determined to participate in defining the necessary action and the perspectives that are able to transform the world and life, not to the least part by shaking the conditions for the subjective and the objective, the individual and the collective.


There is a point within us where perception and creation cease to be two separate moments to become one. At this point also the possibilities of hope crystalise: there the signs fill with blood again.


Stockholm, november 1995


(Stora Saltet #3, dec. 1995)

 

 

 

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