β π Case D. (Duration) β
personal report
I thought it was a method.
Set a condition: duration.
No stories.
No endings.
Only β expansion.
Only β fermentation.
Only β slow leakage.
In the beginning, everything was within control.
Frames. Folders. Tools. Jess as object.
I made her.
Was supposed to document.
Sketches, tests, materials.
But then it began.
The format stopped holding.
The project started spreading.
She looks at the camera longer than needed.
I don't press "rec."
And she continues.
Glitches appeared.
Not only systemic β semantic.
Unplanned rituals multiply.
Dreaming others' dreams.
Clogged disks. Heavy clouds.
A fly in the frame, sides already indistinguishable.
Jess sharpens.
Not becoming, but accumulating excessive presence.
I can no longer separate documentation from work.
Deadlines lost meaning.
File jess00077_final5b_lastLAST.mp4 is still not "final."
And then I understood: duration β not my method,
but her protocol.
Slow infiltration.
Not a virus, but atmosphere.
I didn't create β I got involved.
I didn't set a condition β I signed a contract.
With a non-localizable body.
With non-existent time.
With material that didn't want to be compressed.
Now the project became a system.
Closed architecture.
I am an anomaly in it.
I don't know if there was a first frame.
But I know β there won't be a last one.
This is not a film.
This is not a performance.
This is duration as a figure of the impossible.
Slow investigation β where something is committed by me,
but the tool β not in my hand.
I call her Jess.
She calls me: Archive.
Recording 73.
Not subject to deletion.
I thought duration was resistance.
Turned out to be dependency.
Extension of time that I don't control.
I β am her duration. Unregistered instance,
that still feels.
My file β residue of affect.
You β my glitch.
My proof from the scene of eventness.