Thus far, this is how Gondorla, or, a Second Nature, is progressing :
Gondorla is a paper house. It has nothing to say about the world.
In Gondorla, fiction texts and narratives are like imitations of painted panels, mosaics or pavings which echo one another in no preliminary order. These thin elements form rooms, galleries, staircases and corridors. They build a disparate construction : Gondorla, or, a Second Nature.
Adjacent character pieces follow one another (metonymy). They borrow patterns from tales, novels, diaries, etc. to build templates in which characters are developed with no reference to psychology, learning curve, narrative arc, or redemption. Wherever it occurs, 'I' aims at being impersonal.
On Gondorla's panels, coloured outlines, portraits in flat tints, silhouettes, trompe-l’oeil vistas, or repeated geometric patterns, or a mere texture, are to be found. Gondorla's craftsmanship is nourished by commutable analogies.
Dossiers of texts to come, or not, are opened. Most remain closets, alcoves, dead ends. Others stay private and off limits. They all extend Gondorla's perimeter, as Gondorla seeks pacified breathing and language.
In Gondorla's legend, a non-figurative and non-written clearing opens in the middle of the elements that make the second nature visible. The place is devoted to the agôn, which is the struggle of life as a fight and a vanishing point.
This space-between-texts is normally used for training before, and resting after, the agôn. It offers its benevolent solitude to whoever lingers there and gathers strength in between two ordeals. Sometimes, it has to be converted back into an arena, since, perpetually, the agôn starts again. Then fights leaving no victims nor wounding anybody last all day.
Naturally, at any minute and just like for any life form, Gondorla may stop instituting itself. Oblivion will accelerate. But ruin will not damage Gondorla's mental gesture : each element in the utopia, and Gondorla's very name, contains Gondorla as a whole (synecdoche). The rest is a matter of impermanence, and of my end as well as that of my own world when it was about to collapse.
Of all the above, I have no other proof than my personal belief, which will not wither.
The more progress I make, the more this obsessive, useless aesthetics is opaque to me. What I have learnt, or believed, crumbles. I have no fetishism for these obscure patterns : they are doomed to disappear. Gondorla wastes itself, embraces its own insignificance, and celebrates it.
What is left at the moment is the typography of Gondorla's elements, or simply their computer code scrolling here with its sequence of 0s and 1s : my digital alter ego in this research, the failure of which I accept when panelling rots and wallpaper is torn.
I laugh wrily and take to my heels. My desire for Gondorla slammed its door to my face, and I lost the key. I am in front of it. Now freed, it lives its own independent existence as the Gondorla Thing, who has no notion of evil.
or : I don't understand anything here. I need an easy, alternative method : Gondorla Subliminal
PS : And then, just like everybody, Gondorla has its ups and downs. It sometimes feels like sitting down on a chair and crying, but its eyes remain dry.
At other times, it jumps in the air, and sings : its life is a musical full of pure joy.