where does the owl fly? the Hegelian owl of Minerva had not so much a destination as a time: it spread its wings at dusk, seeing the completion of wisdom in a blackened hindsight. This owl signifies a theory that always arrives too late, when the form of the world it describes is already passing: a funeral pall, shrouding dead matter to show the form of its departed spirit.

our owl similarly flies at night, but at a time ‘before the stars had fled the sky’, a moment of dirt-filled dancing tongues. It is an emblem not of wisdom completed in its nostalgic decay, but of an illegible origin, born of gesture and soil. Its time is inseparable from its arrival at the cedar bough. Is is here that we percieve the valley of the shadow as pharmakon:

"The pharmakon is the movement, the locus, the play: (the production of) difference (...) It keeps itself forever in reserve, in an undecided shadow and vigil, even though it has no fundamental profundity nor ultimate locality. We will watch it infinitely promise and endlessly vanish through concealed doorways that shine like mirrors and open onto a labyrinth.
- J.D, Dissemination

to inhabit the valley of the shadow is to affirm-differently, creating a new mode of subjectivity that disregards teleological and providential striving away from death: a sovereign indifference to the machine that generates the boundaries between human/inhuman, pure/diseased, living/dead. This return to earth is also a breaking-through: a formulation that defies reduction to either chthonic atavism or a leap into purified transcendence. There is no way beyond the earth - but the burrow, implicating itself into the darkness of the earth's matter breaks further: this breaking is both rupture and folding of the subject, a subject born of frictions rather than dialectics.

the forest unfolds from its own rotting layers. It is by following its poisoned traces that a way toward fullness is discovered. This fullness may not be that of simple pure divinity, but it is nevertheless unconditional and absolute in its twisting, polluted creativity. These woodland paths lead to no clearing of being, but are the passageways of a sovereign growth, a sovereign decomposition.

~~

with @runurunulnnnn + @caulis.9 @simon.saarinen + @iidajonsson_ @cedric_esturillo + @jeanbaptistejanisset + @floryanvarennes @gerard_carson @divulsion @funw_wworld + @100.element @nihiliste_hydraulique @vxaexi + @nxntrnt @__tegdirb__ @5phemerephotogene @persefon6 @unaligned_temple_warrior @dr3amysphere + @ligesindet @greedy_rigor + @hood.winkler text w. fragments by S. Shakespeare (ed. N. Masciandaro) and halo curated by underground flower (torre alain)