Personal Politics Of Freedom / To The Unknown
In a present world of frontiers and walls, of permanent divisions in categories, races, nations, and colors. My only possible state of being as a political act and creative motor is to dissolve any imaginary border or separation. And this, in the largest sense as possible.
When we define something as black or white, we’re excluding the possibility of it being grey. While if we define something as grey, it can be almost white and almost black, depending on the mood which we look at it from.
Creating is issued out of a fermented flow of conscious and not-so-conscious ideas and forms, images and sounds, own experiences and imagined situations, lights and shadows which can’t risk being tamed. In the vulnerability of a new born idea, I give it the freedom of just being, without defining it.
Defining one’s creative action is only possible with a word that embraces and includes its possible contrary.
For keeping playfulness as a state of mind,
as a state of being,
as the creative state.
Being a child that trusts its instinct as a way of stretching the universe and its multiple possibilities.
As a way of reacting and flowing with the outside input that reaches our bodies.
To leaving no time to thinking and judging.
To loving what is done because of its own sake.
To loving deeply anything that distills its own essence, because it is only there where we can connect to the deepest reason of its existence.
To the blimblamblooming of stories that start and that might not and probably won’t have an end.
To the undefined and mysterious.
An ode to the unknown and its invisible limits.
To the annihilating expression of poetry being done and redone and destroyed and created again.
To the mental fluid of unconnected facts and tones, words and smells, tears and dawns.
For every word is a free speech, for every step is the beginning of a dance.
For ideas are kept deep in our blood, all we gotta do is shake our body a little bit and wake them up.
For any dance is possible if the enjoyment is there, and thus is this rush of feeling that builds ways and paths and highways that we roam with our thoughts as any idea blooms out of our fingers as we write.