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A video projection on this torso (fragile ash body or armour?)

Between strength and breakage, holding on, becoming tarnished, doubting, going for it, continuing even when overwhelmed.
Between the passing of time, those who fade away, and the vanity of wanting to give meaning when it is simply there.
Between wanting to hold back and letting go.
Between obsolescence and poetry.
Between fear and fascination.

When I say "I am" (verb to be or verb to follow?)

By dint of being or having been Charlie, in Paris, on the terrace, in London, in Manchester, etc., and sometimes nothing because it is too far away, too repeated, too automatic.

This "ghost train", because we like to play at being scared, because by dint of being informed
in real time, what do we really experience, what is the danger to our empathy?

Are we more sensitive or too protected by our shell?