The Embassy of Anaphoria promotes the understanding and activities of all its people. As an island of exiles, it welcome all foriegners as it citizenry, as a sanctuary of the marginalized, the obsolete, the exiled and the extinct.
If one insist on a "where" of Anaphoria Island, Anaphoria could be 180 degrees from where one is or is right here in front of us. It rejects to prematurely limit its 'territory' to normative dimensions.
Some of the more friendly and sympathetic have found Anaphoria a metaphorical place, even a metaphor for the "real" world. We accept only it is too restless to ever to be confused with a utopia. It lacks that utopian isolation that characterise them.
The less sympathetic find it a fabrication, yet their own borders and territories while shared, are just as much man-made and rarely question of their validity. Even when overlaid over the veneer of geographical features, this should not distract us from their falsehood.
Its concerns are nevertheless horizontal. A horizon that widens to reveal this visionary geography in opposition to an ascent of a linear time based progressionism which is regardless, now somewhat uncertain.
Anaphoria attempts to position itself to accommodate that which might be outside the conceits of scientism, materialism, or prevailing philosophical fashions. Instead Anaphoria is made of the perservering elements among the globally disintegrating remnants of culturual remains. These alchemical extracts from the cargo cults of our overheated urban centres overflowing with its overcooked goulash, a prima material that rises larger as the world sinks.
We do not foresee nor certainly do not desire some bland homogeneous consolidation in the future or a splittering segregation based on narrow perspectives. We envision a multidimensional commune that celebrates the turbulence inherent in the meeting of those culturally unrepeatable characteristics found outstanding and often yet unfortunately limited within each cultural imagination. It is both the well and its hearth is made of these afterglows.
the stream
Of Ocean sleeps around those foamless isles
When the young moon is westering as now.
-Shelley
