Lines of Flight is a site of transition. It is an unstable stratum, on which you, the reader, may pause.
You will encounter thoughts, images, texts, and sounds produced by other people. These people also stand, fleetingly, some place. They, too, pause, look, and think. They experiment with conjunctions, initiate intensities, engage in impossibilities, risk incomprehensibility. That is to say, they create and pursue lines of flight. Some of these people are sober, even ascetic, employing precision and care. Some are drunk, disposed to excess and drawn to the esoteric glow of dreams or the fumes of revolution.
All are passionate.
A line of flight is a tangible trace of desire. It is the thick vapor of the human desire machine thrust into motion. To where does it lead? We can’t know. A line of flight resists the encoded pathways of social norms. It may glide with a gentle flow. It may flash with a violent strike. In either case, a line of flight transgresses what already is. To follow one is to be an exile, a nomad, a pilgrim, a tramp. Often, its nascent spirits are brewed in darkness and ordeal. To trace such a line is, as Gilles Deleuze says, “to follow the witch’s flight.”
But that does not mean you will be alone. Each of our lines intersects with those of other people. Every conversation packs a potential force of flight. So does every casting of eyes on an image, intoning of a poem, absorption of rhythm, or thinking through an idea. This collective traversing of lines of flight gives birth, at every instant, to the constantly mutating dynamism that is our world. It is true that patterns freeze and that fields become toxic with stagnation. Authorities seize territories. Institutions build concrete walls. When habit and convention dominate our lives, it is time to explode the codes, personal and social, that would block us, and take flight.
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Image: Gerhard Richter (German; contemporary). Oil on paper. Untitled 1985.
My Gravatar image (above and below) by Elena Drozdova, 2014.