We were always looking up, always into the inverted depths above our heads, always into the sky’s amplified vastness for order. We looked to the light and fantasized about its source, imagining it as tangible, imagining our own weightlessness. We believed in a tangible beyond, an all-encompassing enclosure, the whole of our universe cupped in the lullaby music of the cosmic spheres. Trusting this construction, we derived a simple security, a confidence from the physical hierarchy of the heavens. And we did not doubt our simple instinct to ascend and defy our own earthy weight in pursuit of those heights. They were the sublime architectures of our dreams.
And so we manufactured our own ascent, as we became more and more equipped, penetrating the upper depths with our materiality rather than our minds or souls. We draw our aspirations out of dreams and into a technological reality. And as we build our scaffolding, the structures of science usurp the structures of a simple faith in the unknown. And as we expand, everything expands: the more we discover, the less we understand. The less we have to trust in, the truths we come upon no longer weighty, warm and finite, but cold and ever fleeting, ever expanding, ever alienating. We looked up and trusted, with a patient satisfaction in a capsuling dome of light. Now we look up and any notion of truth shoots away from us, through the vagueness of light, then beyond, into infinite depths of darkness. It is without limitation, and limitlessness is chaos. We cannot trust the chaos.
At one time, Utopia reigned above us, looming as the final rung of a ladder. But now we know that the world is image and image alone, and what is not the chaos of rapid expansion and impenetrable depths is merely surface. All we have is the fractured image of that ascending ladder. The rocky monumental structures of the spiritual are shattered by the implosive binaries of empty surfaces and swallowing depths. We know so much, we know we cannot know. We look for order, for guidance, for the imposition of structure on this torturous knowledge of chaos. Multiple utopias come at us in the second dimension, on sheets of paper, as blueprints. But the black lines of words and diagrams, it is soon revealed, cannot tame the chaos of the blank page they are drawn on. Pulling these utopias into our own dimension of ruthless spatial inflation, the chaos of blankness, of the empty space signifying all of what is not known that surrounds their manifesto constructions, materializes around us, and, uncontained, is released into our air, swarming about us, obscuring our vision. We look up and our utopias, our Paradise, dissolve into the vastness.
You can read a copy below: