The art of navigating the screen is a pataphysical exercise. It’s a like dancing about architecture, as Frank reminds us. It can be done, but by suspending disbelief and descending into digital dreams, where the water does not bathe you, nor the wind dries you, but having lived them, YOU KNOW that you will bathe in that water and you will dwell in that wind that, as in the subterranean ocean furrowed by Professor Lidenbrock’s raft with Axel and Hans, is inside your memory. Travelling is a mental fact, it is not putting one foot in front of the other.
You can’t be a tourist by accident, the mere expression makes me pull a gun out of the holster.
The places of the journey: memories. That sun, that wind, that scent, that sound. Life, without the playbak of memory is like the hamster’s merry-go-round: pure senselessness. But I know a lot of people appreciate it.
And here I decided to bring out from the ocean of memory my Mount Analog, created by my Circe, Mexi, That with tricks of scientific magic, scenotechnics and mnemotechnics, has materialized a small port, inhabited by me, and by those like me do not pose the problem of bathing without getting wet.
It arises in a cyberspace, a kind of consensual delirium that the newbie, poor animule vagule blandule, persist in calling by the name that humans give to the earth behind the screen, Second Life.
Here we want to experience the art of on-screen navigation. We will take the wind and move into the vast Blacke Sea, populated by countless islands, atolls, archipelagos, emerged from the ocean from as many memories formalized in concrete dreams, as Valerian well knows, turning around the Cité des mille planètes, which almost him is life.
We will study hulls, appreciate its intangible robustness, or de-enchant its non-existent weaknesses. We will change and build the skins that give their shape, to create new liveries, and new colors. We will form a large catalogue of synthetic sail, where you can decide which wood to go the sea, and a pilot book, to give the sailors a guide in their wandering.
To complete the work, I gave one name to the land, and another to the enterprise: without a name does not exist. NEW NEMO MARINA, is the name I gave to the port, and takes back the one that sunk like Atlantis in the digital ocean a few weeks ago (the Bald Elves, who were the actual owners to whom I paid the rent, have given up), and SARAH ANN SAILING is that sailing club inspired by the eponymous crypto island, Sarah Ann Island, discovered in 1858 and never seen again , located just north of the equator, about 175° W.
A search for it in 1932 by German astronomers was unsuccessful. In 1937, the United States Pacific Fleet attempted to reach the island, with the intention of establishing an observatory for the solar eclipse on June 8, 1937, but this was also unsuccessful. The island, discovered 15 years earlier, was nowhere to be found. Sarah Ann was removed from the naval maps.
A name that is no one and an island that is not found. What better way to start an adventure in an intangible world? For those who can read the wind and the flight of seagulls will find me in Borge/161/216/22
This text has been translated from Italian to English by Q translate, If you do not understand what I wrote, you know who is to blame.
Original version (Italian)
