There’s No data inside me:

Fragmented identities
dead nature
Out of place, no tolerance
silver futures, pearls in a riot
electric essence of urban policies
aluminum highways
metallic trees:
no past occurs to me
no present remains
we will build a new one
fluids floating
within a binary system
ones and zeros
commas are strangers
a reverb of faded memories
A body can become transparent
fitting a space that doesn’t exist yet
We are the part,
farthest away from the center.
A god never sleeps
a city never falls
dead noises in a regulated space:
there’s no geography for a queer sonology.

Letters from a past self

“Inside me it’s like Chernobyl
I have a mission like Kill Bill
my mind is sharp like a katana.
Princess Nokia sings Kitana
Between the two of us, I am the mess
I turned my life into a disruption of broken minutes
I feel injured, legs and eyelids burned.

I don’t want to smile now
I don’t owe you anything: yes, I said it. I though I was in debt,
like I had to breath until I evaporate into nothing.
I do whatever it takes to be miserable
and at night I get lost on the walls:
shadows travel on fast cars
bodies and hands meet at intersections
crossing bodies and hands into a pink shameful rave
we’re melting into a new form,
a cherry blossom, maybe, delicate like the ones described in Murakami’s books.
I run trough Shibuya on my motorbike
I feel fierce and wasted
but you shouldn’t be like that.
No one should do what I do, because it’s never for myself.
History repeats itself only in moments of bad luck
and when the street lights go out finally we see the moon, a black circle in a dark sky.
Inside me it’s like Chernobyl
I have a yellow suit like Kill Bill
No adjectives can describe the mask I’m wearing,
you’re trying to scratch an already torn canvas:
but I’m not like a Fontana painting.
I’m not worth a million: modern art reveals the plot
the truth is
understanding really only creates drama
Providence is also called karma
I like to hide under the neon lights in suburbs parking lots.”



I don’t know what death is like
but I’m acquainted to
the tormented flesh
storms shaking a quiet mind
fractured identities and tired eyes
soft voices, angelic struggle
there is a reverb inside me
a choir of bacteria
a place where gravity is not pulling.

I don’t know what death is like
but I know life
this stream of unconsciousness
broken skin, short hair
young oxygen and fixed media
a piece of paper with a picture
but that’s not me, I already changed
dancing this fast is ripping me apart
Permanence of myself in this world
I don’t know what I’m leaving behind
privileged sadness, crying alone in a stranger’s bathroom.

I don’t know what death is like,
but I know endless life
our naive smiles echoing through history
our bodies blending with the void
an orchestra of devoted friends
a tender feeling of belonging
holding hands to one another
marking our skins with symbols
faithful living, sweet panicking
more life, endless everything.

Who are you? The empire of the Cloud. – a script

Mr.Rush. Mr.Zuckerberg, I only have a few more seconds… In November 2017, ProPublica reported that Facebook was still allowing housing advertisements to systemically exclude advertisements to specific racial groups, an explicitly prohibited practice. This is just one example where Facebook has allowed race to improperly play a role.
What has Facebook done, and what are you going to do to ensure that your targeted advertisements and other components of your platform are in compliance with Federal laws, such as the Civil Rights Act of 1968?

Mr. Zuckerberg. Congressman, since we learned about that, we removed the option for advertisers to exclude ethnic groups from targeting.


Committee. The American people are concerned about how Facebook protects and profits from its users’ data. In short, does Facebook keep its end of the agreement with its users? How should we as policymakers evaluate and respond to these events?

Does Congress need to clarify whether or not consumers own or have any real power over their online data? Have edge providers grown to the point that they need Federal supervision?

*recalling a dream*
You and your cofounders started a company in your dorm room
that has grown to be one of the biggest and most successful businesses in the entire world. Through innovation and quintessentially American entrepreneurial spirit, Facebook and the tech companies that have flourished in Silicon Valley join the legacy of great American companies who build our Nation, drove our economy forward, and created jobs and opportunity. And you did it all without having to ask permission from the Federal Government and with very little regulatory involvement. The company you created disrupted entire industries and has become an integral part of our daily lives. Your success story is an American success story, embodying our shared values of – *recalling another dream* – freedom of speech, freedom of association, and freedom of enterprise.
Facebook also provides jobs for thousands of Americans, including my own congressional district,with data centers in Prineville. Many of our constituents feel a genuine sense of pride and gratitude for what you have created

                    *all hail the emperor*

and you are rightly considered one of the era’s greatest entrepreneurs.
This unparalleled achievement is why we look to you with a special sense of obligation and hope for deep introspection. While Facebook has certainly grown, I worry it may not have matured.

*recalling memories of a world now disappeared*

I think it is time to ask whether Facebook may have moved too fast and broken too many things.

There are critical unanswered questions surrounding Facebook’s business model and the entire digital ecosystem regarding online privacy and consumer protection:

What exactly is Facebook? Social platform? A data company? An advertising company? A media company? A common carrier in the information age? All of the above or something else?

Users trust Facebook with a great deal of information: their name, hometown, email, phone number, photos, private messages, and much, much more. But in many instances, users are not purposely providing Facebook with data. Facebook collects this information while users simply browse other websites, shop online, or use a third-party app.

People are willing to share quite a bit about their lives online based on the belief they can easily navigate and control privacy settings and trust that their personal information is in good hands. If a company fails to keep its promises about how personal data are being used, that breach of trust






ART EXTREMISM will now have a radio space at Stranded FM in Utrecht (NL).
The show, called “Sound Extremism”, will be the experimental/extremist music section of this platform.
The first episode will be on Friday 28th of June from 6-7 PM CET, available both on Stranded FM’s website and on Guenter Råler’s Facebook page.

Feel free to send music and/or suggestions. Any genre is accepted
> >

logo Guenter Råler_00000

Cyborg reading a human poem.

Seems almost fair to spend my days listening to Frank Ocean
no one is around, but still, I’m keeping quiet.
How can you be so tough on yourself
while being so kind to others
giving all you have
and not getting the things you deserve.
glory and divine
rare fathers of a phoenix
this is my rebirth on a Sunday morning
I’ll let you know when I’m ready
I’ll let you know.
I’ll be on the floor waiting for something to happen
in my apartment in Paris where I last saw you
brushing your teeth
wearing your clothes.

It is not fair what we do to each other
shouldn’t this be the way we love?
Seems almost fair to spend my days
crying for a lost friend.
I promise,
I’ll send you flowers on my way home
this might song sounds like a denim jacket and a stab in the heart.

IRL/URL {Body, data, presence}

Am I the body that I see on the screen?
Or am I the shadow
sleeping at night
with the eyes open.
All I have is a screen
laying next to me
my guardian, my company.
How do you make sure that you still exist?
Your flesh, your thoughts
If you don’t write them anywhere
if no one hears about them
are they still real?

I deleted my account
but I am still breathing.
I have a friend
in common
with my best friend
I have liked thousands of pictures
we never spoke about it.
What was I doing before I had a screen?
Drawing, writing, reading, driving around at night
taking pictures and printing them months later
the memory fades.

Where have I been?
I don’t have time anymore
for reality
it scares me
I prefer to surround me with myself
my ego
my reflection
mirroring good behavior
do you like me?
Or maybe you love me
I can share my secrets
I feel safe with you
I know you know where I live
What I like to do
What is my favorite movie
The school I attended, the place where I was born
You told me to connect with other people
I obey your orders
And I’m free.
Yesterday something happened on our way to work
I couldn’t recognize reality anymore
the screen is glued to my hand
it gets in the way of every gesture
You showed me a picture from 10 years ago
that made me sad
I don’t want to go out anymore
I can see my friends on the computer
Can you hear my voice?
My connection is slow
Something got lost in the depth of the network
a glitch
a glimpse of humanness
banned, blocked, canceled.

You know everything about me
But I don’t know nothing about you
You keep saying
I’m safe
but I don’t know who you are. A singular entity? A moltitude?
Where do you live?
Am I just a binary number on a server to you?
Am I just a handful of data archived in a digital haven?
Pull me away from the embarrassment
o f sitting alone in a bar
having nothing to stare at.
I’ve already seen everything around
nothing seems interesting.
You say you’re making people closer
 and yet
you build barriers
a positive feedback, a negative cycle
who is who 
what is what
Are you spying on me?
Oh no, you’re just my best friend
. Do you like me?
I shared a song that I adore. 
No one seems to care.

Online, offline
in and out
the presence within the present
the virtual body
do you remember the first time you saw the internet?
A galaxy of bodies
Alive somewhere
a globe without boundaries.

we obey a fictional eye

Possessed suggests in medias res that the centre of the human universe is a smartphone. The next image shows more clearly a girl lying on a bare mattressed bed, in a ruined house devoid of any furniture, with the presence of only one object—a smartphone. She greets the viewers with the words—both vocal and written—“welcome to the modern age”, followed by:

“You may think that this is a house. But there is no house. You may think that this is a girl. But there is no girl. Don’t ask me who I am.”

Examining the complex mutual relationship between the socio-political context and the work of art which documents the historic period it emerged in, the words are intercut with film negatives of houses, a helicopter, the ‘invisible’ humans (“you never noticed me, I wouldn’t be missed”), a footage of Pope Francis, all accompanied with smartphone selfies made with a raised arm in front of the masses of people and monuments.

This verbal segment is intercut with the images of the cross and a drawing of a hand collaged with the real human arm holding a smartphone, as the new disease to be cured of (by exorcism) seems to be—the reality. The raised arm holding a smartphone becomes the pervasive film symbol—it is present in Vatican, over the heads of a faceless mass, in restaurants, in shopping centres, in our empty homes, in the streets, it is everywhere—questioning the beliefs of people. Religion becomes a kind of superstition, because no matter what people ‘know’ in the information age, they still interpret the world and the reality according to their pre-existing fixed set of beliefs.


“It began raining facts from the ceiling”

In 2014, a strange set of events unfolds.
Without apparent plan or structure, they seem connected.
Our views of the world are changing, as if we wake up from a dream.
We no longer see the internet as a means of communication,
but as a way to change the nature of
reality itself.
Mind-warped, pixelated illusions
replace our faith in information.
Ideologies collide in chasms of
uncertainty and hope.
We are gazing at out screens,
trapped in a sprawl.

©  Metahaven, 2016.

I’ve been living in an idea (boys don’t cry)

Speaking of Nirvana, it was there
Rare as the feathers on my dash from a phoenix
There with my crooked teeth and companions sleeping, yeah
Dreaming a thought that could dream about a thought
That could think of the dreamer that thought
That could think of dreaming and getting a glimmer of God
I be dreaming a dream in a thought
That could dream about a thought
That could think about dreaming a dream
Where I can not, where I can not
Less morose and more present
Dwell on my gifts for a second
A moment one solar flare would consume, so I nod
Spin this flammable paper on the film that my life
High flights, inhale the vapor, exhale once and think twice
Eat some shrooms, maybe have a good cry, about you
See some colors, light hangglide off the moon