The domain is overstrained. Frequency of incidents has increased substantially, one now overlapping the other – and another again. Increasing acceleration has crossed the peak input value, with the compressor now above the ratio of one to one. Buffer is stacked and all information is lost in transmission, establishing a state of futility. With the processing beyond its critical point, a lag begins to occur. The machine is outdone – it has surpassed its self-agency and is now on exhaust, barely keeping coherent. Over the vacated landscape, there looms a cloud of uncertainty – an imminent extinction interrupted. Orchestrated, prolonged, a faulty tape in a loop. A feeling unbearably phased, with each measure – the threat of the great leap forwards undelivered.
Yet in all the near-certainty, there is an aura of wonder and awe. An antagonist seems present, although never clear – the lame undoer; the liminal undead. Once the Ice 9 – a literary chemical agent, which freezes everything it touches – is unleashed from its’ canister during a half-witted accident, the whole world comes to a halt. Time dilates. The tension and its intensity become surreal. This event was always expected and taken into account, but the banality of its actual appearance determines the undervaluation. The dumbest of outcomes – a decimal that outweighed the whole system. From vantage – dazed, disarmed, accompanied by the soothing cadence – I leisurely enjoy the appeal of a decline that lasts forever.
A spectacular final note – the anti-climax.
Termini is an expression of an imagined end of the world – one unaccompanied by commotion and racket, but instead voided in silence and fulfillment. It’s an interim after the narrative finishes and before the projector is turned off – the end credits. It’s a ruin, emptied unexpectedly, in one sudden turn of events, and a last man – in the last place. Termini is a series of photographs depicting a futuristic emptiness, the coming of which rises in certainty.
An end that occurs in silence.