(…)

(silence)

Please, don’t

Please, I can’t be tempted to jump into the unknown like that. Choice, as a word, as a title, already leads to an abyssal feeling; as a title it is already a place where thoughts come to inhabit only to therein be dissolved, as Adorno would say. I’m scared of the dark. I’m scared of being dissolved. But since I don’t have the choice, do I get to choose between knowing and forgetting?

                                                                       Man=flesh/Woman=flesh - Candy

Untitled (Cinema Shadow),

Sobre a profecia apocalíptica Yanomami de que o céu e suas divindades caiam sobre a terra com o peso do fim

Diga a ela que eu volto amanhã  de manhã

Diga a ela que eu volto amanhã  de manhã

Diga a ela que eu volto amanhã  de manhã

Diga a ela que eu volto amanhã  de manhã

Something is happening to him[dc1] . He is alone in an isolated

house. Hallucinations, conversations with imaginary characters

and objects. The place has a blind spot: a room full of objects.

Tomorrow, vai ser bacana, bacana, bacana

not [F2] cinema[dc3] , maybe reality, not theatre, not installation, maybe fiction, not performance, unspecified.

Yellow-green green-yellow Mr. Sganzerla

Yellow-green green-yellow Mr. Sganzerla wow wow wow

Sobre a paralisia infantil

Sobre a delinquência juvenil

Que caia um javali de unhas pink descascadas e mega hair sobre a terra com o peso do fim

                                                                                                          Gala Chicken

Heap of Ironics,

“an egg is born in the fridge[dc4] ”[F5] . This isn’t a joke!

I say: in order to discuss this artist’s production, language has to be de-bureaucratized; the writer has to be free to devise criticism and criteria with inventive rigour.

No use to produce/reproduce

No names

No no

No yes

Refuse to resist

Social Elevator

Top floor

No walls

                                                                                                          Vivia 21

Man=flesh/Woman=flesh - Marra

I read this and it made me think of you,

I remember going to an old and respectable homeopathic doctor. My father took me when I was a child. I already wore an orthopedic hand in those times. The doctor touched it to measure my pulse rate. I was so intimidated that I did nothing to spare him from the equivocationmistake. The respectable doctor grabbed the plastic wrist tightly. After all, not at any moment did he find me dead. On the contrary, as he counted the supposed pulsations, he dictated out loud to his assistant the prescription that would cure me of all maladies.* 

*From the Diary of the Nobel Prize of Physics, 1960. Mario Bellatin, Flores, São Paulo: Cosac & Naify, 2009. Translation from the Spanish to Portuguese, Josely Vianna Baptista. From Portuguese to English Daniela Castro

                                                                                                                                                                                                        Man=flesh/Woman=flesh - Low

Man=flesh/Woman=flesh – Jello,

You’re gonna need me

You’re gonna help me

You’re gonna need me

I don’t know when

No need of a live spoon live but a rope and rolling papers, elbows and ears

That’s all that isit. Hiding a spoon she will be soon[dc6] 

                                                                                                          Cloud

Man=flesh/Woman=flesh - cow,

​

Eu sou uma fruta gogoia

Eu sou uma moça

Eu sou calunga de louça

Eu sou uma joia

Eu sou a chuva que moia

Que refresca bem

Eu sou o balanço do trem

Carreira de Troia

Eu sou a tiranaboia

Eu sou o Mar

Samba que eu ensaiar

Mestre não oia

                                                                                  Pheasants with food

Absurd,

Unimaginably was I driving down Marginal Tietê under a heavy grey sky at about 60 km/h sometimes 80km/h but never at 90km per hour because the speed limit is 90 and I wouldn’t risk getting a ticket but also because the traffic didn’t allow me; there were cars and trucks old and new since the government reduced the taxes on new purchased vehicles because that’s how they think they could solve the economy by encouraging people to keep buying stuff expensive stuff that they think they need but they are actually forced to think they need them without occurring to them (the government) that the very economic system they are trying to keep up with is the very economic system that is fucking up the lives of 98% of the world’s population, some people would say even 99% of the people in the planet. This highway that surrounds the city of São Paulo is probably the ugliest landscape there is in the world (which is under a certain economic system that fucks up people’s lives bla bla bla). Suddenly the radio program I was listening to kinda paying attention kinda don’t but nevertheless with a soundscape to the drive started playing Villa Lobos’ Amazonas – Bailado indígena brasileiro that he wrote in 1917-19.

Sonia Rubinsky was on the piano.

Suddenly it seemed like all the vehicles were static watching the landscape fly by. Have you ever felt this before? It lasts a few seconds. While in that trance it came to me that all of us and all the objects, capitalism, carnality, pléim, pléim, pléim the cruelty of colonization, Latin American literature, Chacrinha, antropofagia, a Bahia, a diferença (a onça, o tio), a Marginal Tietê, a inflação, pléim, pléim, pléim o ceviche com Pisco Sour, a economia militarizada estadounidense, o Ocidente, Molly Bloom,  a reforma linguística, plim, plim, plim,o Baile, o ouro flexível, o crescimento de 3% ao ano, pléim, pléim, pléim, a História, o Bar Restaurante, the experimental exercise of freedom, sense-perception, deadlines and dead ends, Gibraltar’s point, the endless reopening have lasted that split of a second in which I could listen to the whole Villa Lobos’ piano piece for ever. I could see contingency as an object displayed on a shelf.

I felt happy.

                                                         Naked Magician

Song,

Meu boi bonito,

Boi alegria,

Dá um adeus

Pra toda família!

Ôh…é bumba,

Folga meu boi!

                       Ôh…é bumba,

Folga meu boi!

Vôte vôte coandu!

Vôte vôte cuati!

Vôte vôte taiaçu!

Vôte vôte pacari!

Vôte vôte canguçu!

           Êh!...

Ball

Flexible gold,

In the future, energy won’t be generated by molecular friction but by intellectual synapses. This will be the institution of institutions: life powered by thought. Thought as life. Language as carnality. Man=flesh/Woman=flesh/life=flesh – knowledge. From now on, language shall never be used as a device for widening the circulation of information. Or, if it is, such as English, it will be known that such attitude pertains to the old world order, which came about by military violence and savage drive for expanding wealth.

Language will be the aesthetic scaffolding for thinking, intellectual phenomenology. Meat.

But anyway, getting to the point of your study on architectural constructions (or the architecture of power and its institutions). It charts:

Painting                                                  36,47               +0,11  

Portraiture                                              16.662,91        – 50, 67

Patronage                                                          97,98               +0,48

Collecting (private)                                24.954,94        +153,58

Collecting (public)                                 24,11               +0,07

Art catalogues (representation)              573,48             –1,17

Art catalogues (circulation)                    9.092,60          –132,50

Gold                                                       6.689,08          +3,82

                                        Man=flesh/Woman=flesh - Doped

[dc1]the Italics are an excerpt of the script of Cinema Shadow. I wouldn’t change it

[F2]sugerimos:

no cinema, maybe reality, no theatre, no installation, maybe fiction, no performance

OR:

Without cinema… etc!!!!

[dc3]This is how Laura describes cinema shadow

[dc4]This is a quote of a work by Laura Lima. Vivia 21 is a project she conducted in her studio with the artist Masares. It is supposed to not make sense. It does work, it just doesn’t make sense…

[F5]This doesn´t work please send a new proposal! Thank you

[dc6]It does work; it just doesn’t make much sense. She will be hiding a spoon soon, but inverted