Finisterra maailmanloppu the end of the world
It is in repeat, in repetition that is not changed, pattern that is not questioned.
A constant need for something, to be something with that something gained, that needs to be named.
What happens, what will I make happen in this idea of constant, a moment that is moving, a movement of individuals of constant, making moves to make a change that does not eventually end up changing much, or anything. The end of the world and a world is when worlds of mine and yours come to an end as they were, as we obviously have learned to know them and as we have lived them, in them. To live a world and to end a world as it is a possession and is many worlds simultaneously, ours. World is an it and them, an I, a persona. Worlds as minds and bodies, a body which we penetrate violently without reaching the world we wanted. Because we do not understand our hostility and our constant needs are not matched, strangeness of our own which is an obvious part of the world, the unknown. We escape it, because we are afraid of it. We try to possess and destroy strangeness of that other, but never of our own. We just silence it, the it in us, hide it to nonexistence and solitude.