Isn’t it now guaranteed that “paradise” is accessible during our lifetime? Haven’t you read, heard, or seen this somewhere yet? I have. Consequently, without thinking, I fully embraced this perspective. Happy winners reach absolute bliss. (Sad winners aren't kept in the record.) Participating is easy. Usually, eligible folks start to learn the rules at a very young age. Hence, players are considered natural-born players, which could somehow raise the question of awareness. Anyway, this is not our concern, and, as you most probably know, “Paradise on Earth” is acclaimed worldwide. Amongst many other things, it can be considered the best multiplayer game. Its uncountable beautiful, colourful, and seductive interfaces are mesmerising. So, if you are lucky enough to be categorised as a “developed or emerging world citizen” you can play! So I played. It passively got me moving quickly to exhaustion. Nonetheless, my interest has been triggered and I am now trying to understand – certainly because I ended up being a bitter, paltry player – how this peculiar “game” affects us. Through my both visual and conceptual research, I have consistently tried to encounter contemporary thinkers and observers, people nurturing curiosity, awareness, and attention. Some led me to older eras. Nevertheless, old or young, dead or alive, all had noticed concerning effects on our affects. Then, the research took different turns and happened to be much more painful than the “game” itself. The beginning of it was still very much overwhelmed, subjugated and infused by Paradise on Earth’s aesthetic. Stealing, using it, to maybe possess, or at least get a hold of it, was vain, yet it fulfilled a selfish pleasure that allowed me to magnify the obscenity of Paradise. Flamboyant textures and colours imposed themselves naturally. Thereupon, the grubby aspect of Paradise unexpectedly started to sweat when colliding with my observation, obsession and presentiment. The moment “clotted bodies” were noticed and felt, the whole process revolved. Chemically, there is no easier solution to dissolve colours than by blending them all together. They then turn black. I hoped for it to be a deep and dull one. Nevertheless, I have enjoyed every shade of it. When relevant and possible, I imposed myself to privilege words over images. Nauseated, this process somehow eased my pain, only to realise that I was still trapped, with my hands battling to find tangibility. Paradise on Earth’s ubiquity constantly reminds us of our failures. Up to today it is still haunting. I kept repeating to myself “things that have no head nor tail” as my body started to crumble. All the way along, repetition happened to be an organ of torture as much as salvation. 

 ​

​

Please kindly follow the tree structure of this interface. It will remain the same all the way through the 3 parts. The best way would be to respect the chronological order: 1, 2, 3.

Thank you.

 ​

​

​