Mark Zuckerberg and his virtual avatar in the Metaverse First of all, I want to admit that Facebook is already winning 1:0 against other large-scale VR developers only because it introduced a new discourse into the consciousness of humanity, which is called “Metaverse.” Even the very fact that I am writing on the topic, and you are reading, suggests that it lives. And now the question is whether other ecosystems will be able to oppose anything.

On the bed of a night stop The eyeless special pioneer sleeps, Tattoo sticker It translates to you. The Baptist's head is in the mouth of the praying mantis, Alien symbiosis, Shards shine in your pupils Stars not yet born. The male screams, not because he is weak, Trying to drown myself in a shallow pond: “How infuriating you are, women, I’m also waiting for the prince!” Male harem dances, An evening of pleasant discoveries, On a scattering of disco helmet Reflection of laser threads.

Summer, forest and smoke, Freedom flies like a coin, Only for her alone (or for them alone) You fill the organ, sung in poems, You will never be theirs, But you will still be warmed by them. Let me complete the legend, To press you to the pile, Leave only your mouth and eyes, To bite, to scream And see if you hit the target Giant albino rabbit tunnel, Eyelashes glow like a rainbow, Nature will destroy the bridge someday, Explosion of the toy graveyard, Torturing me with memories.

Only Judas smile He can resurrect his friend. We will take into account all the old mistakes, To make new ones. Extraterrestrial item Priceless Gives off light Testosterone universe. Vertical streets of megacities Speed ​​up the neon run From pole to pole The devil only killed ten people. Icebergs falling from the sky Collapse the apartment Woven into Ephebe's locks All the things of the world.

Before the winter exam Extremely assembled With a stony face. Picked up to the castle Origin Key Tanks on the march They go according to opinion And humanity turns into mincemeat. Clutch Genes are broken And, with painful zeal, Where time is strangled Sparks are trying Carve from smooth stones, Don't let up. Billions depend on thousands And hundreds from one. You won't leave the cage Sizes, you don’t dare send a letter.

Sage riding on a broom Flies away laughing from the powerless templars, Their law is blind From the lovers' fern. A frenzy of empty threats He lies back with flying spittle From under white hair Black mouth. The sorcerer's party is inflated From treacherous oaths, Only police They know what they are doing. Apsara lips They dig into the flesh of discord, The exarch steals voices, Helmsman of the silent choir, With the transparent eyes of a thief.

Careless microbe Watches the flight of dust particles, It's best to look through a telescope From the swamp. On the holiday of apartheid The Northerner is no longer invited, Cerberschnauzer Aida portends Let's bark Chromegeddon. Youkai will circle that place with coal Where did the sorceress lock the truth? The cow roars: “I died! She died! Whiskey and hell. Third and first, lips tied tightly, They are silent In the voice of your best friend.

My house is in a thick veil The ship is moored waiting for the commander, His body is covered in wine. Improvise in the heavenly book. He thought about the Sun, the Moon, And everyone else just wanted peace. My house sprouted without a seed, In an inner escape, Without clan and without tribe, Without alpha and omega. Buying a single-shot bottle to kill time, You don't think about spending the night.

We need to go to the store in time to buy soma, See the Sun by closing your eyes. Princes of Sodom They give a midday shot in one gulp. Forest elf backbiting With the ginger taste of spring, You are my monster You are my treasure Telling dreams before a fairy tale. A black blot on the pupil in the white Hisses from the bitter solution, A drop of ink in milk.

Here is a description of twenty-one post-pandemic art worlds. Read about each of them, decide which ones are outdated and should go into the compost and, depending on the number of art worlds you choose, find out your type of art-maker. Text from issue 121 of e-flux magazine, published in October 2021. Translation by Sergei Ogurtsov, edited by Nikita Safonov. Hito Steyerl is a filmmaker, artist, writer and inventor of documentary essays.

Once sent beyond the zero kilometer, Sneaking in a tunnel made of nickel silver A man without a thought And the height of a thief. digital ogre, Digests words into numbers, Leaving a bloody trail Where does glass grass grow?

Seven mortal planets Notes of the days of the week, Billions of years The songs of creation were sung. But the sun is tired And it shone white The last force has fallen Finding a body. The holy fool's sermons at the end of the day, A sticky spindle. The brownie, ringing his bells, Threw the light out the window The virtue of unbelief. Slow dancing under your bedroom window Ivory trees With black spikes.