In PROXIMITAS, the citizens have entrusted an algorithm to arrange life and space. The city is peirced by arteries developping specific urban characteristics. At each crossing, difference and commonness fertilize each other.

Circulating along the axis, one witnesses a seemingly infinite range of qualities. Engaging with them implies penetrating the city fabric ; a place of drifting.

There, Vicinities spill into each other in a saturation of meaning, allowing for the perpetual emergence of new notions devoid of defninitive understanding.

The absence of myth is also a myth: the coldest, the purest, the only true myth

You never desire someone or something, you always desire an aggregate. I mean, I don't desire a woman, I also desire a landscape that is enveloped in this woman.

The most complete flânerie, and thus the happiest, leads here again to the book, and in the book. For since centuries the ivy of wise leaves has atteched to the Seine's quays : Paris is the grand reading room of a library peirced by the Seine.

Un soir, t'en souvient-il? nous voguions en silence;

On n'entendait au loing, sur l'onde et sous les cieux,

Que le bruit des rameurs qui frappaient en cadence

Tes flots harmonieux

« There are official searchers, inquisitors. I have observed them carrying out their functions: they are always exhausted. They speak of a staircase without steps where they were almost killed. They speak of galleries and stairs with the local librarian. From time to time they will pick up the nearest book and leaf through its pages, in search of infamous words. Obviously, no one expects to discover anything. »

There is no desire that does not flow into a layout, to desire is to build a layout, a whole. Desire is always multiple because it is linked to transformation. It is the consequence of an aspiration, a movement. There is no movement without multiplicity, without plurality that reterritorializes.

“la flânerie” is the art of tactile perception, is letting one’s look glide on the passers-by, the cars, the buildings without taking the time to settle one’s look. It is the art of getting lost in the streets.

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

The bricoleur is, on the contrary, at the undistinct (and archaic) border between nature and culture. He belongs to the world within which he must buid - with what is at hand - his object. He lays out differently signs that are already therem without being able to dinstinguish as clerly as the ingeneer tool and matter. He is somekind of aesthete that enjoys the simple recombination that he operates.

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.