Language needs a head no more, The robots will be the spokespersons.
Last voice tests, a series of vibrations that shape reality and words immediately fade out.
With a unique timbre, with a single refusal, in jerks and a block to make the air vibrate, shattering the language. As if the robots were going to drool over what one day we would have to tell them. They empty our chaotic language like an old oyster.
In the courtyard of their observatory ,cross tirelessly, solitary animals, stray birds, primitive exoduses and android sentries.
Nietzsche said “no one can build you the bridge on which you, and only you, must cross the river of life,” That impossible search for the voice is, in the end, about being yourself. It’s self-honesty. And in those moments that the artistic voice shows its face, it’s hard to imagine what was so difficult about finding it. But it is difficult getting there. The way we hear our speaking voice, reverberating in our own skull, is not the way we sound to others. We never get a chance to meet ourselves the way others have. It’s the same with the artistic voice. It’s something you feel in the dark.