Trying to remodulate my blunt status as a mammal, I wandered through the woods with "Transform" on my headphones.
Turning iron into gold is stuff for amateurs, but I still believe that a good philosopher's stone is forged by mixing contrasts.
Eyes on the natural world and ears on the artificial one.
And the brain as a cauldron.
Lush birches cradled by the chatter of integrated circuits.
Tufts of grass gathered in an assembly exchanging opinions using binary language.
Microsound puzzle pieces with murderous precision mark notches on the poor weeping willow trunks.
A techno reduced to Morse code pacing the steps of rather cute ducklings.
Deaf drones in the background shade a couple of primroses surrounded by thorns.
And then glitch, glitch, glitch, glitch, glitch and more glitch.
Glitch as if it were raining, glitch like the beneficial effluvium of that humidity so necessary for the development of mushrooms (poisonous and not, of the feet and not).
Glitch amoral, reflecting in the dilated pupils of a frog while it eagerly watches a dragonfly in flight.
Glitch atonal like the small axe blows of a woodpecker while it seeks what would be its daily bread.
Glitch temperamental as they writhe, beat, exhaust, reproduce, divert, implant, encapsulate, offend, smile at each other, overlap, whirl, tenderize, ping-pong around.
And they wrap and nurture my steps in the woods.
I'm still a mammal, but for an hour, I was less of one.
Search for nothing.
Search for nothing through contrasts.
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