An event, a story, touches you deeply, defines who you are, shakes you too your very core, your secret self, your fears, and dreams, your flaws, digitised and copied a million times.

It’s no longer yours. Our secret selves, the strange rhythms of our subconscious, hidden from ourselves, etched into a hard drive somewhere in Greenland. Your dreams flow through the stratosphere, and with that familiar vibration, flows into my life through a hand held device. Every half thought thought, every half said remark is absorbed by the stratosphere.

An intangible mystery of the mind vibrating in my hand. Downloaded straight from heaven. We roam free through this digital playground but we are consumed and logged by the faceless, omnipresent machine, herded and branded like cattle with ruthless efficiency.

Every adventure starts with a Wifi connection. But where do we go ? Does it matter? Where is our narrative drive? Anywhere to distract us from our planned obsolescence.

Our secret selves travelling through the circuitry of a million microprocessors which work tirelessly; calculating, multiplying, utterly indifferent to their incomprehensible creators. And on the surface, we, the lazy, proud and lustful bags of inadequate flesh and incomprehensible emotions, clumsily search for a connection.

Binary Love. Algorithm Blues. A convulsive love, burning and whirring like an overheating hard drive, corrupting your senses.

If we could only find a connection, to embolden us in the face of this avalanche of digital detritus, to help us hack through the jungle to find ourselves, to find each other, smashing the avatar within an avatar within an avatar, to find you in your purest data form, a glorious algorithm of incomprehensible beauty. Share you drive with me, let our data streams merge, and what ever you do, never log off.

Crédits

Production : Le Fresnoy, Studio national des arts contemporains