Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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"Singularity" is an enactment of the moment of creation, when the intangible and unfathomable singularity becomes (here understood as an intransitive verb), when nothingness unfolds and transforms into a universe. But the poem is also about my position within this continously evolving cosmos, and my attitude towards the singularities that compose it. AnimationsThe gradient sphere embodies the condensed cosmos before its moment of unfolding. By clicking on this singularity, you will trigger first moments of becomingness and let the cosmos flow into existence.
11 2015  


A singularity
The space of an instant, the time of a movement, and the world comes to be and evolve infinitely.
The intangible phenomenon of human understanding looms up in front of me, like a modern monolith, the dark embodiment of a cosmic energy.
Like a Spring breeze scattering the pollens of time, the existence of the universe escapes my control, avoids my jolting and jerking verbal flights, and spreads out in a radiation from the first ages of all.
In this macroscopic ballet, I'm nothing: nothing that matters, nothing certain; I'm nothing: nothing that exists, nothings than can know; I'm nothing, for I'm embodied in a mass emancipated from the beauty of the pure, like a unique reef amidst an infinite number of quantic possibilities.
How can we know the complex beauty of a system with no origin? How can we touch the entangled fabric of a surface with no border? How can we think the unfathomable outpouring of spacetime? How can we vibrate in unison without knowing the other amplitude? How can we answer these questions without ground, without intention? How can we comprehend the object when the object comprises us?
Answers do not exist outside the field of their meaning, for recognizing the complexity of existence offers no alternative to it. If the human machines that transform the invisible in seen, the intangible in touched, the inscrutable in fathomed, the inaudible in heard, the unmeasurable in measure, they offer no respite except in oblivion: the ephemeral oversight-the space of an instant, the time of a movement of thought-of the impossible discovery of what was never covered.
How can we recognise that we're nothing that matters? How can we appreciate that we don't know it all? How can the machines that guide our knowledge lead us on the path to care and humility? How can we understand that we annihilate in reasoning? How can we understand that Man is impotent?
Of this dance of matter, I hope to emulate the creative energy. Of this life of the universe, I hope to imitate the perpetual movement towards the unknown. Of this universe I wish to descend,
of this universe I want to learn, and on this day of April when my stay at CERN is fresh in my mind, like the evening breeze,
my great hope is to finally meet the dark matter of the thoughts buried deep in the motifs of life.
The fabric of the All repeats itself through me, the traces of memory combine itself in one word: