MIME

MCB-DV-6959

<otto>

<OTTO> is a vacuum: the only place where to stay.

To wait. To eye. To lift the head. To look at the airplanes. To point a finger at them. To burst up on a worldwide broadcast. This is not a storyline. Not to have a pronounceable word, to avoid the bewildered look of my cat.

<OTTO> is a vacuum, now, a suspension of the world, to avoid watching, I know everything inside out by now, we are at the climax of the cruel representation of the world that welcomes its own indecent representation. It is just a number: eight; it is also a word meaning a number. We cannot help thinking of the end: the aim.

- I buy it, allright.

- The whole or one third?

- The half of it.

- The half of one third or the half of the whole?

- If you see it that way, it's up to you I go and get a coffee.

- Wait.

- The wind dies, you die, we all die

- That is?

- Ninety.

- Ninety for one third.

- Ok just because it's you.

- Just because it's me.

a still scene.

The presence, to show oneself; the obscenity of such an act, the pornography of the look of the one involved, the traced paths, the components of the outcome, they all feed those little, unutterable miracles occurring through accidental coincidences. Only in the appalling vision of an idea the truths of a miraculous poetry can hide. The creation itself suggests the idea of the crime; criminals with their schemeless acts are the true artists and, on the empty stage in the floating of evidences that disclose the traces of improbable acts, a concept is built. To look at a body operatingly playing itself is the result of such an effort, and we think that marvel would happen if such a deed were inverted to mercilence essence.