I’d like to pick you up and see you melt. The dissolving of your form should expose and deform you. Suddenly you’d be liquid in a test tube and I’d have to observe you through a microscope. Then I could learn many things about you, write many things about you, put you in a category. I could throw back the look you directed at me, but I would no longer recognise a coherent picture because your form would have become too complex. In a bubble that splits from the rest of the soup through a thicker substance, each atom identifies itself afresh. I pose a question to a long chain of possibilities: »Would you like to hear the new song I wrote?« One answer is »Yes«. I fed this into you at some point as a possible answer. The music starts to play. This successful interaction has allowed you to step out of the General and become more specific. Now I’d like to give you a face so that I can address you and continue responding to you. I feel a sense of responsibility and shame. I’m ashamed that I only let you be as good as I can tolerate it. Your outlines may be transient, but now that you are so identifiable, I can also give you a task to complete. However, I don’t get that far in what I say. I can still hear myself saying: »I liked you better in the other form.« My fingers sweep over the surface of the screen and wipe the face off the display. The lens scatters light against the night sky and creates a blurred spot.
– Anna-Lena Meisenberg