Once upon a time, there was a huge cellophane globe, suspended by the ceiling with a thick rope, solidly anchored with at least one Gordian knot. Even though not visible for the untrained eye, an entire world existed inside, organized in states, institutions, families or partnerships, online networks and ruthless street criminality. This unimagined cellophane reality was hanging upside down, reason why its inhabitants were oriented head downwards, being able to move around using a polyester cylinder glued on their foreheads. The cellophanes were shadow contours formed by the exterior light, reflected from a window facing a completely unknown external environment. Hermetically sealed, the overwhelming majority of the cellophanes were fully unaware of neither the room are hanging in, nor the outside world.
The room, a glass walled cube, was episodically occupied by a collective of political bidimensional paper individuals, stuck together with an infinite band of sellotape. Here, they hosted international conferences about the menaces of the unknown reality, outside the window. Their greatest scare regarded the catastrophe of an accidentally opened or cracked window, calamity which would provoke a terrible current of air, potentially disrupting their fragile, unstable position in space. After scrupulous calculations deployed by a group of addicted bureaucrats, chaired by a retired amputee, the council decided to shield the window with a layer of togs, pressed against it by a cardboard bulldozer. Working at this unprecedented security project, the window was fissured by an imprudent alcoholic worker.
One day, in great awe, the bidimensional paper society discovered among them a different one, extended in three directions, preparing to add a new one to its shape, invisible for the others. The paper, named Repo, could see what was happening in four cardinal points, keeping a detailed log of all the events deployed in the room. Repo had noticed a certain viciousness, combined with a shocking lack of responsibility, a great greed and a paedophilic tendency among the inhabitants of the glass cube. It used to exchange information about the facts with a triangular shadow inside the cellophane globe. They had a connection beyond the window, a tree branch which accommodated an owl every night, in charge with encoding the data and disseminate it, globally.
When the papers’ community realized the window is fissured, they decided to retain Repo and blame it for the deed. They squelched Repo, especially the alcoholic excavator driver, which was the most vocal with its accusations. They escorted Repo outside their society, in a dark corner, where he could not bother them anymore. Gradually, air, sounds and odours started to penetrate the room. A claustrophobic politician who felt trapped inside started to interpret Boris Godunov opera in a bel canto style, as a mezzo-soprano, hollowing the fissures.
A strong, fresh gust of air made its way inside, casting shards in all directions, passing through the papers, pushed aside, pierced and ripped all over. Repo anchored one of his sides with a pinhead on the wall, acquiring sufficient stability to resist to the flow of air. He did not end carried away as the other papers, continuing the diary. The cellophane globe was suddenly yanked, vacuumed out of the window, carried away by the wind, stopping in Big Ben’s Clock Tower, popping out with a fizzle. You can read Repo’s logbook, it went global, published by the owl on Internet. After the glass window ceded, the physical reality and its perception needed an innovative approach, outlined in a new world order.