Φανταστείτε έναν κόσμο δίχως καθρέφτες. Πόσες φορές κοιτάζεσαι στον καθρέφτη; Τουλάχιστον 2 φορές τη μέρα. Είναι παντού, είναι στο μπάνιο, είναι στο δωμάτιο, στο δρόμο, στα μαγαζιά. Δεν μπορείς να ξεφύγεις από την όψη. Σε κοιτάς να σε αναγνωρίσεις. Δεν σε αναγνωρίζεις. Ποτέ. Είμαι όμορφος; Δεν ξέρω. Πώς θα μάθω; Κοιτάξου πάλι. Ξανά. Ύστερα υπάρχει το διαδίκτυο., Βλέπουμε εμάς όχι στο τώρα, σε μια στιγμή που έχουμε ζήσει. Και συναντά το ένα πρόσωπο μας το άλλο ξανά και το παρελθόν υπάρχει γραμμένο, δημόσιο, και συγκρίνεται κια σκιάζει το πραγματικό πρόσωπο της σάρκας. Και βλεπόμαστε ξανά και ξανά και άλλες φωτογραφίες να αναγνωρίσουμε τον εαυτό μας. Θα συμβεί δεν μπορεί. Κοιτάξου ξανά. Μήπως δεν αντέχουμε την επαφή με το εγώ μας? Κινηγάμε να ταυτιστούμε με την εικόνα. Εγώ είμαι εγώ? Ποιός είμαι εγώ? Πως θα ήταν άραγε η ζωή αν ήταν αδύνατο ν'αντικρύσουμε το εγώ; θα γνωρίζαμε αν ήμασταν αποκρουστικοί θα ξέραμε ποτέ γιατι ελκύουμε εκείνον ή τον άλλον; Ξέρουμε τώρα; Are we too self aware to be ourselves? Too distructed by our reflection to be more than a picture. A picture liked, adored. A Dorian Gray μες στη μανία μας να είμαστε ευτυχισμένοι. Κοιτάξου στον καθρέφτη. ΤΩΡΑ φωνάζει το πρόσωπο. Η περιέργεια που οξύνεται απ' την ικανοποίηση της. Παρατηρήσου! Κοιτάξου ξανα. ξανά. Όχι έτσι γύρησε από τη άλλη. Ξανά. Ξανά. Ποιος είμαι;
Imagine a world without mirrors. How many times do you look at yourself in the mirror? At least 2. They are everywhere. In the bathroom, in your room, in the streets, the shops, the cafes. You can't runaway from the reflection. You look again trying to recognise you. You don't. Ever. Am I beautiful? I don't know. How will I know? Look again. And then, there is the internet. We look at us not in the present, in a moment we've already experienced. And that face of ours meets the other again and the past is there enscripted, public and is compairing itself, it's overshadowing the real face, of flesh. And we look at our pictures again to recognise ourselves. It will happen. Surely. Look again. Is it that we can't handle this cotinuous contact with our ego? We are struggling to identify ourselves with the image. Am I me? Who is me? How whould life be if it were impossible to face ones self? Would we know if we were disfigured or why are we found attractive or attracted? Do we know now? Are we too self aware to be ourselves? Too distructed by our reflection to be more than a picture. A picture liked, adored. A Dorian Gray drunk by its mania to be happy, to self-actualise. Look at yourself in the mirror. NOW. Its the "face" shouting. The curiocity is accentuated by its satisfaction. Observe yourself! Look at yourself again. Again. Not like this, turn around. Again. Again. Who am I?
Imagine a world without mirrors. How many times do you look at yourself in the mirror? At least 2. They are everywhere. In the bathroom, in your room, in the streets, the shops, the cafes. You can't runaway from the reflection. You look again trying to recognise you. You don't. Ever. Am I beautiful? I don't know. How will I know? Look again. And then, there is the internet. We look at us not in the present, in a moment we've already experienced. And that face of ours meets the other again and the past is there enscripted, public and is compairing itself, it's overshadowing the real face, of flesh. And we look at our pictures again to recognise ourselves. It will happen. Surely. Look again. Is it that we can't handle this cotinuous contact with our ego? We are struggling to identify ourselves with the image. Am I me? Who is me? How whould life be if it were impossible to face ones self? Would we know if we were disfigured or why are we found attractive or attracted? Do we know now? Are we too self aware to be ourselves? Too distructed by our reflection to be more than a picture. A picture liked, adored. A Dorian Gray drunk by its mania to be happy, to self-actualise. Look at yourself in the mirror. NOW. Its the "face" shouting. The curiocity is accentuated by its satisfaction. Observe yourself! Look at yourself again. Again. Not like this, turn around. Again. Again. Who am I?
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