88 diary of an invisible (if necessary, break the media showcase) curated by fabiola triolo day 1 «My name is Nobody» And so, I decided to disappear. I am not talking about a cowardly disappearance, like those who «I’m just gonna go get cigarettes», with a hidden one-way ticket for any random island. Even less by brandishing the version 3.0 of a transparency now unbreathable, populist weapon in the hands of a mindless establishment, guilty of misunderstanding raw data with the rawness of an embarrassing lack of interpretative ability, beyond that of imaginative competence. Transparency in the time of Instagram turns itself into publicity, but publicity, far beyond going public, has today degenerated into an advertising of the daily which is all but authentic, serially setting up its theater of horrors between doped identities and open-source software way too easy to please. An identity make-up to post, retweet and share in a way more contagious than viral, aiming to aestheticize any product, including ourselves, complicit in a transparency/publicity dedicated to selling us as if we were mere packaging. Family albums like Instagram mosaics, #electric-relations and #private-passions anticipated by hashtags to become trend-topics, for use and consumption of people who don’t give a hoot about them, prosumers of a kind of synthetic culture, like some poisons created in the lab, whose addiction is directly proportional to its toxicity. Warning: this profile is addictive. Better to disappear, it is the only way to commit myself, in a global village made of media showcases underdressed in counterfeit selfies. «It seems to me that invisibility is the required provision of elegance. Elegance ceases to exist when it is noticed», Jean Cocteau wrote. «My name is Nobody», said Ulysses to Polyphemus, for his life to be spared.
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