A concrete, dadaist generated essay on identity politics. But maybe thats a bit too much? It’s also a comma.

A work for the exhibition ‘Kill the Curator’. 

 


On Identity.                                       We are suffering form the unstable ground that we are on. We are made to handle this. Shaken up, weakened we can by decades. Our motion shows now how uncertain identity globalisation. The more we look into in secure mirrors. This threatens us to why we yelled the least, not to how we are able to get, and causing important corners. Is this, at most, not an appropriation-like time. Feel brave only looking needs no problem, no irretrievability of cultural sin. That, or just being lucky that we feel our own burden, to outlive feeling a body. Our countries are the reason roots are magnified. We keep ourselves, whilst something of it is not ‘eigen’. Chronically it is never interesting to go bigger, missen after the problem to directly psyche lives, supportive of cultural grounds. Taken as known to humans. we are against it. Once the problem, it is now safer to use protectionism, impersonating being and blending plenty. In this conflict we lost something. We are ourselves a mix of faces, because of a mirroring act.

 

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