Flaws within the communication channels of our sociabilities, micro-art-worlds, more often are being soaked in noises biased by the abject in its extreme distortions due to the silent and swallowed expressions and polemics of the being. The negation of knowledge as the negation of power that hallucinates a better but annulled life must end on the basic conditions of future nostalgia, of what is usually called real, which is in fact nothing else but a culturally sanctioned and linguistically strengthened meal - that ought to be a hallucination, even if it should feed on reality, that named it as such. Warhol communicates in order to forget the abominations of the ubiquitous camp, whose extreme progression is nazism, the camp is nazi.

There is no turning back. Finally, the infinite internet.. alerts the slogan of the Vip mobile company. Finally infinite we could create a neologism: engadgetment. Copywriting it, indeed, our sociability denies the transformation of its context.

I am quoting my father, who talked about building materials, out of context this is a quote about materiality and naive organic reasoning: materials are not tolerated mutually, the stronger is always peeling of from the weaker. The implications of this spontaneous passage from the statement are multiple, especially vivid in those implicating the apparatus of the regime itself, let's call it as a modus of cause and effect through sequences in the post- possibilities, thus vomitus ergo sum [2] due to art, I walk like a zombie now quietly into the night... the post- possibilities are the places where devils ate our ego. 

If you are able to live worse with the passions, then you can also live even better with the virtues; because evil is a flaw of the self that doesn’t stop even in sleep. There is still no end to the man who had fun with naming and backstaging essentializations. He simply inhumanized himself, inhaled by ineffective and linguistically worn-out matrices, of collective enlightenment; with a sense for the non-sensical posturing that demonstrates the post-possibilities in the local art, artistry and other reduced forms of creative practice; to address and distress the pathways of the arche- characteristics, with an ellipse that connects those paleo- historical evocations, and thus, an arche- scream and the paleo- fiction emerge.

The arche- scream doesn’t resonate outside, but cracks out, absorbs into the cracks and breaks into them, so one could think and say that it itself is a crack, of perhaps some possible, far-fetched and even indefinable departure on the fossil surface. Being characterized as such in this probable space of the paleo-fiction, not close to our viral phantasms, but of a much slower and distant dynamics. With these two arche- elements, spatial and linguistic in intersection of species, Tamara’s un-scream, or in-scream of the gallery space functions on a conspiratorial plane, and that is of a plateau full of people arrested in their directions, doubts, intentions and at each other related as already self-oriented:

I am a dinosaur to my existential crisis

The crisis is immanent. The monological-dialogical feedback loop from the record, impulsively from affectation, omissions the almost gradational distortion, as a disability, but performed in spite of and also in favor of it.

Images that follow this set, but are not: here in the language of the text; in the register of the language from the work’s record; its sonic application; ethereal, seem as solid examples of the local actuality, contextualized towards the exterior of the art system, which when in use, within the artworld, cycles from the complex effect to the personal fixation [3] in a certain repetition; looping, if viewed from below.  

In its infertile, loaded and untriggered state, the arche- of the scream is mute and it implodes, a specific kind of black-hole of the psyche, the semi-psychotic, etc.

It associates avatars as compensatory replicas due to time, but in fact to the necessity of the very sociability in which it is wordly all about. The world of these association avatars, merging layers of various nostalgia and sentiments towards the missed, lost and missing, the layers of sapient being, hence of a paleo- fiction; a case of the sentiment in a mimetic form:

you where born for a future that never was; never meant to happen. I am paraphrasing, again: you are born for the inexistent of the future; or, the world you were raised to survive no longer exists. [4]

Whose emptied spaces of memory slots, after a history of plastic traumas and anarchist gesturality in positions suffixed with the anti- autistic epiphanies and mental catatonia; which in future become podiums for a chain of exchanging avatars, agents or larval mutations of shallow differences in action.

you will wish you were an extinct species with rather the same intellect but a radically different configuration.

The Sapient dinosauroid 

- that one species survived the event of the mass extinction of the Paleogene - [5]

as the premise of a thought experiment by a paleontologist and vertebrate fossil curator Dale Russell begins. During the study, the author noticed that a lizard with narrow claws has a ratio of brain to body mass for an approximate measure to be able to cognize - the encephalization rate is six times higher than any further discovered. In addition, this species has three semi-manipulative fingers for grasping and holding, binocular vision, endothermic metabolism, vision of blood heat. By adopting the notion of evolutionary contingency by Stephen Jay Gould in his thought experiment, Russell hypothesized an evolutionary flow for this species, a hypothetically outlived K-pg extinction, [6] that would result in a dinosauroid, a lizard encephalization like ours, upright position, metabolism and cognition - of a possible name Troodon-Sapiens. The very misfortune of this sapiense-creature is its distinct physical awkwardness, equal but other than the notion of self, the anomalous mimicry of the human body. Although the imagination of such hypothetical additions is usually too far away and terrifying for grasping. Following further selected verses: 

on the city margins the scenes of reality are emerging 

The private thoughts are swarming beyond the reach, outside the city and the house at the end of that city. In the marginal zones, evil is the imaginary caries of the self, like of the teeth. Once bitten, they are open to the logic of pure bite dynamics of biting and of being bitten.

One slowly becomes disintegrating inside and later ends up on the duty for dismissal of the state, which recruits in containers, trucks and transports across borders as a third category of organic waste; the body parts; organs, always someone's if not ours or of our familiars, they stagger fused in anti-promethean mash-up, through European Union countries, since our homeland alone doesn’t have the logistics for de-solution of these toxic categorized wastes. The pay-offs for this service is done with petty behind-the-scenes additional micro-taxes, added at the expense of the citizen, which has become a borderline concept, as an organ, an unfortunate part of the organism, being canceled, it finds itself twice outside. Symbolically and not plastically. Outside the domestic environment, the body as a habitus, outside its function, outside the country at the end and the pastoral care of its homeland. The title of an article concluded with the following director's statement: I was punished for being forced to live this reality and in this reality. It is a private thought, but since it’s on a front-cover, it’s also a public one. This silent and impotent statement demonstrates the echo- effect of the ideological resentment: private thoughts which are modelled on a public language.

It is more and more certain that there is no difference; when it is set as the regular mode, an ultra-stroke onto one's own body. It’s a political implication, a picture, so to speak. The body, as a biopolitical hyper-object, suffers a shower of projectiles into its unconsciousness. Missiles are missleading, as are hyperobjects. This is how the occupation and possession of devils happens, and it is not just a fair fiction, since it’s of a real possibility of witnessing the decline through the life streams of other people. The matrix of poverty implies that, an endless decay through someone's life, a heavenly wormhole, emptiness due to which and in the middle of which, in the middle of someone else:

hey, I'm in the midst of someone's cruelty

Our anticipation of possible performances can be horribly exaggerated with expectations from the outcomes themselves, it is a kind of eventful mental trivia, unconscious bestiality, dark brulesque or similar. Being in the middle of someone's cruelty is likewise absorbing the movie narration; as gluttonous escapism in automated bio-rhythm of the body-imagery mechanics: moisture drops for irritated dried eyes, wide-open by force of metal instruments for the aggressive eradication by means of deracinated affects, as in the case of a psychopathic delinquent Alex, an arche- protagonist from A Clockwork Orange, his hungry eyes full of tears for that pictorial-machinery procedure to stop. It’s a peircing metaphor, a Lacanian thriller, as the name for an exotic pro bono cocktail.

The power of fiction becomes fictitious, because fiction decomposes reality, which is something from the effects of the crack, it sucks up arche- prefixes: vacuuming the carpet of some home, it is a mild enjoyment of ecology - yet-to-come. To think of ecology within art, not as a means and a theme, but as a reduction, a prospect of reductive procedures, primarily of the volume of production. Art lovers are necrophiliac towards arts life, furthermore, practitioners are lively towards the liveliness of arts necrophilia towards its own mortality. The death-drive of the gallery space, a window through which the art corpus feeds the death-drive of individuals and renders visible the pink factory glass. The space, as stated in the poem, can also be colored by betrayal, again a kind of hyper-object, an epic arche- figure: 

launch a projectile upon me and you launched an inhibited enemy. The moment of blazing the face of imaginary enemy, as well as special tensions, is aroused by the interest in the unpleasant, especially in provoking its situatedness.

Supposedly it is a quote. And if there were no citations, crows would drain our brains, and spiders would overgrid the sky. Artificially, the gallery space betrays us.

An overgrid of the future and utopia of art may be its evolution into a fossil artifact; as an upgrade of the ground zero, its compressed historical data, for the future anthropology, so to speak, of the epicenters of power. The forms of our disciplines are already beginning their transfiguration, like the one in fiction, in which the ultimate goal of human is to become a plasmatic aggregate configuration of molecules, close to us in the effect of op-art surface and striped space of the sight and that of the arche- practice as a child who is misbehaved or badly treated, is consequently as betrayed, a child who betrays back. A cloud of ego deluded into egalitarianism that has broken down like a broken toy, with all the range and achievements,

my artistic practice betrays me. 

Said the acephalus mouth of the gallery space, in a triple manner - a scar-wound-crack; the acephalus mouth of the show are headless spreading mouth of envy. What is implied here and what is explicit in the arche-scream

This is not easy to connote, interpretations always fire blank bullets into contexts, back through, they fall through-what-which locally and ultimately succeeds in them, rotating towards the question: where is the actual event? Because there were no witnesses, that could even hear; or either be present, and there is all of the chance that there will never be, because no one has anyhow heard the true scream yet.


With a specific eco- turn, coming out of the larval subjectivity, using the effects of ambient tensions and realizing pastiche art of the gallery agency and its narrative powerless representations.

Programs of desubjectification or dissolution are in the service of the collective, which, as it turns out, paradoxically, denies the change of the context by its sociability. As a chastity belt, a prosthetic limb, device that fixes the spine as the epicenter of rotational loop behaviors.

You think this could be an unconnected addition to mechanisms that seek to contaminate beliefs in extinction cancellation ceremonies of the capital-induced fiction from the other side, as to get the ultimate figure (“”.“”of the centro-centricity; the ceno-cene of a metametric prosthesis summarized in the spinal that is catastrophically unfolding.

It made me feel very uncomfortable. The atmosphere of decay, of the tragic failure attached to today's art, ultimately locks in your throat. [7]

Houellebecq's reaction to one obscure video work by Paul McCarthy, the video was a kind of theater with the artist's reproductive organ and his obsession with the penis, the writer finds not as shocking, but as depressing, as precise for difference, towards reality.

Such performative environments can be traced back to the fact that nothing stands outside of mediated representations and social constructions ?! McCarthy is a mockery artist, who exaggerates this conglomerate by performing a degraded, absurd and compulsive order. 

Descriptions that an artist today, outside the realm of the artworld, can be seen as a notorious demonstrator, destroyer of taboos, are simply not possible; due to inflation of drastic gestures, shocking procedures and other desublimated challenges.

But here we have one quiet example that takes McCarthy himself over his edges. Tamara, therefore, organized the sign of the arche- scream according to a poetic script, dramatized or unboxing poem from which randomized files from high and low culture as images are alternated in almost strobe flickering effect with the projection of anime, animal manga characters, film grimacing snipped frames, traces of childwise evocations, paintings with well-known topoi and the universal precisely by this certain arche- within the gallery paleo- fiction.

And just as the key concepts of McCarthy's discourse are: culture, fear and dreams, so they are present as well in 

everything that we created and is there to destroy

It is a sentiment that gives the impression of being a borderline, divided, simultaneously sharing the state of a tragically indistinguishable from its comic form; as in the sketches that Lynch inserts with the standups of a dark fable stage about rabbit and horse headed figures without interlinks in their spoken words, a sketch inserted with the aim of usurping the narration even deeper.

-to take a step back and complete the thought, how instead of McCarthy's scandalizing and therapeutical, Tamara invokes the paleo- lustration of order and material constructability of the artistic, the paradoxical arche- figure as an inner characteristic decoded by a contemptuous inability to be in the midst of an environment, a world of someone's cruelty, natural and plastic disasters; fatalities to which a roaring recital finally crashes; arche- echo of the psychodynamic dinosauroid - sapiens, as a mask and a total metaphor; that un-scream is a very sinister and dangerous figure; crashed sideways into the rhizomes of gallery walls due to someone's repulsion and shock of the species, neutralized and naturalized by the processes of medialization. Clear in the image of a man from the inside-of-state looking along at the TV screen, the news about quantities in world, mediated bodies, again thereabouts a puppet theater and the dinner follows; all of this implies the work:

through the surplus sediments within the communication channels of our sociabilities, biased to the abject in its extreme distortions due to the mute nature, swallowed expressions and polemics of beings.

[1] The text opens with speculative tactics in determining: the possibility of moderate and quasi-affect, the weak one to articulate its own status of weakness - the artistic means - the language of succession. By example of the exhibition: Sve što smo stvorili postoji da uništi (Everything we have created exists to destroy) by Tamara Spalajković
- Green colored quotes are of Tamara’s song, the essential element of the work.
[2] I vomit, therefore I am; 
[3] identity politics in chain of cultural politics;
[4] Mark Fisher, K-punk; 
[5] From the Troodontidae family.
[6] Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event.

[7] Artforum, November 2000.
Darko Vukić

Manuel DeLanda-Raw Nerves: A Lacanian Thriller (1980) backgroung