Henrique Vieira Ribeiro immerses in this porous perforation, and on the other side, distances are felt. Time shrinks, folds, replicates, stretches. Noted, the punctured dots exist, but disappear as scars, symptoms of their happening. Only what is presented in the distance exists, what is lived in a mediated way. Communication sometimes needs noises to know who it is. The apparatus, the electricity, the code. In the distance, I exist. I need a mountain to hear my echo. From a planet, to know who I am.
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The planet of Paul V. is a planet of improbability, as Niklas Luhmann states: it is so difficult to communicate. Saint Exupery needed a plane that would crash to explain the world to us. Paulo V. hides himself in the back of a room and puts out an antenna. It is only possible to communicate within this room, make friends, establish a network of distant points, exchange memories on the other side of the world. Note the mountains. Some antipodes know who I am: I do not.
João Paulo Queiroz