I was no longer me, I was with no memory, I was someone else and yet, it was on this account that I became properly myself. Those no-memories, those nurturing memories, I might name them after the title Primitivism Mirage, or after what I am. What I have become. Maybe you are watching now. Or maybe you are plugged-in, thinking that you are watching the show. Just one more moment, not all spaces are similar or equal, It is a sideway glance, a journey to a tragic realization. A superpositioned entity, which exist in itself, as reality exists in itself, as a virtual space exists in itself.

Speculating on the content of the self-enclosed act of communication exchanges (running to and from) that we have generated between ‘ourselves’ and the ‘primitive’, we can speculate the locus where Western thought has collapsed upon itself. The source of myself as a subject in a culture dedicated to the mastery of a mirage. Speculating on this mirage will undoubtedly one day come to be seen as the latest, open beta-version cycle of an old myth. Well, that journey started again, within the aphotic end of the savage night, pluggingin again, into the very bedrock of the psychophysical data-continuity of the cybertragic four-dimensional human. Accessing the web, sending emails across the planet, constructing simulations, having affinity with artificial intelligences and that feeling that I have built -only as an intellectual bricoleur can do- a new space teaming with the reconstructed myths that have shaped the collective human race for millennia, again and again.