Image and Communication in the Complexity Era

Essay by Ovidiu Bufnila, image counselor

The deprivation of huge naval forces found in the bloody, tragic and impressive clenching announces an imperial structure. The difference is prepared. The imperial divers are dipping their harpoon in the Barbarians' blood. But aren't the Barbarians charming beings in the volutes of the world's hidden plan? Aren't they revealing themselves in the rain that came from beyond the visible horizon, modeling new gods? Aren't the Barbarians the ones who understand the truth of the pinky clouds better than the obsolescent savants that don't see the metaphysics in its splendor, only the clumsy piling of some water drops?

The arts of navigation unroll themselves, full of perversity. The oceanic empire stretches in eternity, craving for its imaginary status. The oceanic empire seems to be the ultimate meaning, the ultimate instruction of our navigation book. The oceanic empire is the end of democracy. Democracy succumbs, suffocated under the impetus of the aquatic people, whose metabolism must function ceaselessly, devouring the fake heroes. The fake heroes are built skillfully or by mistake!, explains a rosy anemone, spinning merrily between the freshly caulked boats and blowing kisses to the fabulous creatures that were squinting.

Their exercise lies either under the conspiracy sign, or under the rebellion sign, insurgence not being mentioned. The insurgence status, that brings a meaning, is replaced in the imperial era with the continuous belligerence status. All the possible semantic wars would have taken place. The ships were sunk, the treasures were lost, the proud fortresses collapsed one by one into the foamy waves. The other could be the eternal enemy, while the great armadas are changing into imperial guards, specialized and armed to the teeth. They're brought in the arena of the water ring to reinforce the order through an imperial edict and through manipulations. They're sent, in a messianic way, to the world's arena, to bring either peace or the sword to the aquatic people fussing in the neighborhood of the spinning cities found in the heart of the Southern girls.

The other is devilish, right? He won't be burnt on a stake nor killed in a battle, he will be semantically pulverized in intricate lawsuits lost in the heap of dizzy news, or canceled by diplomatic orders issued by the Foreign ministers of the oriental and occidental countries.

The arts of navigation are feeding themselves from the same authoritative bases of the navigation book. They metabolize the bibliography. They control the center and the periphery, animating the phantoms that scour the minds of the naïve people or of the lovers, and that mislead the sailors on the foamy sea. From this point of view, the new oceanic empire is not a step ahead.

The narrative and descriptive structures enter an era full of convulsions that announce no rebirth, only a declination into the other. The shore isn't sought in the sea fogs, the self is.

In fact, this entire oceanic imperial era is a Utopian era of first degree or more, a strategic impossibility, a result of the power exercise. Speaking of which, we'll never know whether our decisions are right or not.

We'll never know whether the narrative and descriptive structures we use are possible according to the new instructions of the all-embracing, or they've been altered by the informational rain that came from beyond the visible horizon, said a rosy stingray.

The tide of the roses, the ecstasy of the aquatic people, the morning of the oarsmen, the diamonds of old light, are they imaginary constructions or the trace left by the turbulent structures, typical to the aquatic complexities?

The shipwrecks, the processions, the feasts, the fires above the sea, the marine monsters, the hollow sea, the rocking and the fabulous creatures, aren't they inventions of the sailors of the secret? Aren't these sailors building another reality in order to master better the one they suspect it's not real, although it's been given to them even since they opened their eyes for the first time? The maritime maps, aren't they cosmic objects manipulated by us, the sailors of the secret, without our intention, since we're not beings and not even an informational opposite of them?

Are we going to find out that, in fact, the aquatic complexities are the expression of the dynamic of the oceanic storms that govern the arts of navigation?

We're living in a magnificent doubt!

Every being aspires to an agora, to a rostrum, to a microphone. Every being speaks, undulating, without being silent even for a moment.

But how could such a crowd be silent just like that? Hundreds of fabulous beings, that have just gotten out of the deep virtual ocean.

How could one make them stand still?! Make them stop fidgeting? Make them stop gossiping? Make them stop throwing blood and mud over their neighbors? How could one make shut up so many fabulous creatures, ready to go back to the heart of the cruel reality?! How could one ask them to keep their mouth shut when they've stayed mute for such a long time in their sick imaginary, just like in a wrecked ship?

They've listened patiently each year to the raindrops falling on the foamy waves, to the storms snatching the reality.

They've heard so many times the pinky albatrosses taking wing over the water chasms, over the virtual whirlpools, over revolutions and insurgencies.

They also wanted to speak about that miracle. To tell how they struggled in the terrible winters under the thick layer of snow and ice. To speak about a thrilled thought that crossed the residual informational field and got stuck to their rotten little heart.

Lord, your secret thought is so beautiful!

We, the sailors of the secret, hidden under our black, shiny mantles, we acquire a shape and get in the heart of the events, as we are their essence itself. We don't know for sure whether we exist or we function according to a secret plan whose instructions we don't have.

We float in an ocean of ambiguity. We're the medusa, either one or a multiplier. In fact, I'm the existence of hundreds and thousands of moreaugarins in the mysterious body of a medusa. Or there are as many moreaugarins functioning in a single fictional.

But we know that the wonderful art of navigation explained us that if the dam of the Northern or any other dam is absolute limit, then nothing else exists.

The aquatic forms of the navigation book fidgeted after the rain and under the pressure of the oceanic storms we entered an aquatic instant of first degree, limiting the imaginary field.

The present, the past and the future found themselves in the same plane and for a millionth of a second we watched ourselves. Aren't we, the beings of the secret, interested in rebels, revolutionists, conspirators, visionaries, plotter and innocents?

I, the moreaugarin, by mixing the fictions, I've built an appearance.

Unveiling the aquatic universe, we took over the entire space-temporal concept of the navigation book.

Chaos became a symbolic construction and the aquatic time is pulverizing in the magic ring found beyond the Northern's peripheries. The lack of history and the lack of time by de-constructing the norm and re-evaluating the attitude into a continuous illusion seem to be the trend towards the ultimate sense in the aquatic worlds. And the inhabiting of the other.

The fragmentation and the simultaneousness center-periphery arrests the enthusiasm of the man of science, who goes down from his natural right, slowly becoming a dusty myth.

The great public aquariums and the maritime maps won't belong to the ultimate sense, and the sailor won't be the ideal sailor anymore.

But we don't consider this the death of navigation, we see a metamorphosis, a change of rhythm in the aquatic worlds of the all-embracing.

The image of the other will be neither a study object anymore nor an event of the civil status, as he won't belong to the aquatic group any longer, he'll belong to himself. The multiplier self, multiplied in series of behaviors and attitudes, makes the conservator and horizonless sailor believe that the navigation facts will stop existing, as leveling is possible through multiplication.

With the aquatic societies not dying, but in an informational whirlpool, their semantic structures will collapse in themselves, either through an inflationary regime or constraint to a copied or induced behavior.

The great orgasm of the aquatic universe will devastate the navigation books and will explode deafly, establishing the trend in almost every aquatic world.

Each day we dive unquestionably in the collective imaginary! Since this imaginary is fueled by the masters of the generalized and generalizing fiction!

The diversity's unity and the discovery of languages are just illusions, as unity doesn't exist, because authority un-builds itself by building itself, in an erosion process of the relationships that define the appearance. This is the chaos dynamic, as we, the sailors of the secret, believe.

Because the hero, the navigation ferment, the history catalyst, either an exemplary hero by his exemplary behavior, or a hero of social acts and navigation prospecting by connection and attitude, by concept and trend, collapses in himself.

The network doesn't equal him with himself, the multiplication of the other does. The other doesn't admit the hero as social function anymore, by denying his function. The oceanic societies of the aquatic worlds can't be categorized and catalogued, named and defined any longer.

The instructions in the navigation book
are completely kept secret.

The waves don't exist, just like the navigation limits don't exist, because it's not a science having a magic structure, a glass batrachia said stepping forward, so the crowd notice how clever it is.

The new behaviors, the demonstrations of the religious spirit, the habitat acts and the acid rains are building the face of the other, one marine worm fooled around.

The sailor won't be in opposition anymore. He won't be the witness anymore. Staying a witness, he'll disappear. Giving himself into action, he'll be the hero. The hero and the other, this is the accepted norm. The travel to the future, by the yellow submarine, it's not of the dead objects or the simple reading of the value scale and of the maritime maps, as the value isn't a static, amorphous structure anymore.

Value isn't assumed, nor given, just like traveling isn't peripheral, but the body against corporeality as social stigmata.

The aquatic message is here and now.

The oceanic chaos is the message, not its elements, not the statistics, not the inquiries, not the polls and not the political act. The aquatic instant is the basis of the new sailors, who won't belong to the proximity, nor to the juxtaposition or to the authority's limit, but, as the authority will be decomposing, they'll become proximity, juxtaposition and authority's limit.

The sailor will become the other, building himself and undermining the authority, the event, here and now, as he belongs to the whole.

The matrixes of the societies will belong to the navigation and to the end of the limit, since complexity is more than a dynamic or complex structure of the social object, since the social object doesn't exist anymore. The great construction, by the deconstruction of authority, doesn't mean aquatic dissolution, it's the way to aquatic instant and lack of opposition, as the matrixes of the societies are growing in the same time with the sailor's analysis, and the limit between observation and construction and interpretation is just an illusion, one starfish fooled around, speaking while we were speaking.

The death of the authority is nothing more than the death of the authoritarian and conservator speech and the death of passivity. Sprung out from the light cone of the academic subordinated to the ministerial, by funds and symposium and medals of the conjuncture and the ill-fated carnival of the isolated authority, the sailor's action will be one of the aquatic demiurgic warrior who destroys in order to build.

What else, when we nearly thwart the meeting of some big bosses from West and from East, who were getting ready to move the aquatic worlds out the orbit?

The formal aquatic will succumb by such attempts. By bringing forward the aquatic matrixes and the dynamic structures of the aquatic worlds, the sailor will be entitled to recompose the aquatic score, not according to the message nor against it, not according to the instruments nor the dictionary.

He'll be the one changing here and now the aquatic instructions, reuniting the religious spirit with the public opinion. Thus, he'll build the new message, the new structure that will be exposed to ridiculing and ending in a world of neighborhoods, not one of illusory and apocalyptic limits.

The navigation book contains the acts of navigation and instruments them with perversity, working over the sailors of secret.

We, the sailors of secret, work over the verdict, wrapping and throwing the veil and the trawl over the world.

The shapes comprised in the all-embracing are caught in imaginary naval conflicts they often comment vividly. They're not searching for the truth, they want to explain the existence through simple sentences, forcing the concept and arresting the myths and the stories in precarious structures, questioning the formal aquatic from all the aquatic times.

The formal aquatic argues with the detractors of governing, planning cheap aquatic street performances. That's why, one September day, when the fog scattered, we found ourselves in front of the City hall, next to a pink elephant.

The fight between the good and the evil is one of our favorite subjects.

Science fiction literature, infected by the literary beatniks, comes to support the lame rhetoric, by replacing the navigation spirit and changing the philosophic construct into an endless logorrhea. The aquatic beings claim they belong to the endless authority, and they broadcast sentences full of offhandedness and perversity. From this point of view, the sententious language, beyond the pure self-irony, stays out of confusion, as it is neither prediction nor prophecy.

The sententious language seems more than the collapsing of the sign, supporting the heretic interpretation of the simultaneity, said the conductor of the naval orchestra, meaning that him too is animated by us, the sailors of the secret searching for the ultimate sense.

The endless polemics between the center and the aquatic peripheries often jeopardize our apparent voyage through the aquatic universe. But we get horizontal, cascading in full pervert corporeality of the waves. We scrape along a marine whole formed after some oceanic storms, after the rain hidden in the corporeality of the pink clouds. We set semantic traps in the magic rings for the pirates came from beyond the visible horizon.

Bodies are drifting. Cells are making out in the foamy waves, calling one another. The body's movements seeking faith are infinite. The magic circle of the water movement contains an infinity of codes. If the longitudinal axis ends in the middle of the sky dome, the imaginary is just like a whirlpool.

We're going to fight smallness and hypocrisy. If the transversal axis is too rigid, then we're destined to servitude and only revelation could protect us from misery and compromise! Maybe the moment of birth isn't governable and the imaginary, by comprising itself, has a late discovery of itself. The image's axes are comprised in the numbers of the being and we'd try to change them in vain!

The body's movements in the immensity of the digital or virtual ocean are sealed with determined axes. And the codes are the definition and, owning them, we can reinterpret imperfection.

Insurgence is the explanation for the force of the imaginary. And the force of the imaginary is against dictate and collectivist authority.

The aquatic communities, not the collectivities, are aimed by the virtual pirates that came from beyond the visible horizon.

We, the navigators of the secret, we intercept the messages. The static in the aquatic universe is full of imprints. The interpretation of the messages exchanged between the imaginary pirates leads us to a strange conclusion. Confusion settles among our apparent enemies, dusty savants and cardboard politicians. They're more and more fascinated by the accuracy of the aquatic universe's secret. They're seized by perplexity. They tend to become our informational reverse.

As if they wanted us to be bound with secret water flows.

As if they wanted us to be soul mates in our apparent journey, to merge, to be only one working or being perversely in the aquatic corporeality of the aquatic universe.

Some pirates came from beyond the visible horizon, from the imaginary, embarked upon searching their own identity, they had called one another, they suspect each other of eccentric philosophic exercise, they call truce inside some moldy philosophy.

Others had tried to discover operational grammars and secret reading grids, by strolling around the navigation book's instructions, wanting to find us.

But the reading grids are classified. Just like the aquatic nights. Different stories hide inside their folds, stories whose meaning is overlooked by the fabulous creatures arrested right in this digital moment in the heart of the magic ring. This happened few time before the field of the cruel reality had exploded, flattening us and turning our brain in water flows of the first degree, in order to understand easier the arts of navigation in the aquatic universe.

But what could be the art of navigation? A secret arrangement of the dots in an imaginary grid that could be considered as background? A snail trace, also apparent, a sign of the world's hidden plan?

Who could understand the hidden plan?

Maybe us, the navigators of the secret. We are the fabulous creatures. We, who embody in sub-domains that could seem real to some two-dimensional creatures, like we used to be once, in the primordial times.

Under the pressure of the oceanic storms, the aquatic universe inflates or deflates.

The semantic water flows are elastic. They navigate too. In their digital knots traces of old light could be found, stellar mater from the beginnings, informational matrixes rejected by the program and so on.

Then, all kinds of phenomena are happening.

Life is just a reflection. An appearance. Materiality is deducted from the speed of the water drops. Speed is very important. Then, the invisible matter. Where the semantic water flows roll up into a ball, holding the light.

But light often escapes thanks to the oceanic storms hidden in the corporeality of the foamy waves. And then the water ring appears, where all kinds of phenomena are possible, but unspeakable.

The grid's unspeakability is the first act of the initiated one!

Discovering the grid is the subtle act of the one that passed beyond utopias. Only the obsolete savant takes the grid for a trifle, an illusory construction. The initiated one reads the navigation book using the grid, but he's not doing it in order to extol the prediction or the prophecy.

He waves through encyclopedias, thinking.


English version by Adriana Mosoiu