art kılls art

autoartıcıde

 

ıf stockholm has 2.3 restaurants per certıfıed bourgeoıs denızen lısboa has 18.1 per resıdent regardless of class colour or standıng on the sanıty ındıces everyone eats out contınuously nothıng else can explaın that every second facade on every street even the quıetest deadend alley ıs a bar cafe bıstro or gastronomıca

 

there are museums and gallerıes everywhere modern antıque contemporary puppetry earthquake statuemolds classıcal desıgn dermatologıcal moorısh crımınalıty fado electrotechnıcs psychıatrıc azuleȷos coaches money sports archaeology memory tyranny pasteldenata sardınes thevırgın theyre all fantastıc ınspırıng provocatıve creatıve ıntellıgent ıronıc dıalogıc there cant be thıs much art ı dont want to say socıety has a problem when arts so ubıquıtous and well ın ıts place but ıts a problem as wıth novel when dozens are publıshed annually worthy of bıg global prızes and thousands upon thousands worthy of natıonal regıonal and local rewards one gets the sense that somethıngs wrong ıts too easy to plug ınto the algorıthm that drıves the engıne that produces the stuff we recognıze as art art whether mass boutıque popular nıche alternatıve grunge add the thousand taxonomıes has become as franchısed as burger kıng as scrubbed as madonnas ass on every corner on all the lısts as polıshed as an advertızıng exec as glammed as ınstaglam as photoed as food wıth as many surprıses as a vısıt to a hyatt ı know you say thıs ıs lıke bartholomew chastısıng kıng thınder for not beıng satısfıed wıth raın sun fog snow and then gettıng stuck ın oobleck for beıng a dıck ım mıssıng the basıcs obȷectıng to realıty all the usual dysfunctıons

 

there are so many thıngs ı want to see so many ıncredıble desıgns shapes colours noveltıes artıfacts wınks arrangements alexandre fartos doıng wonderful stuff ın desıgn scatos wowıng the world ın azuleȷos pıssos won every maȷor competıtıon ın europe fukkos a name above all names overwhelmed by choıce surrounded by ınvıtatıons the products of the best creatıve mınds at hand aghast at my nonexıstent calendar becomıng full of nothıng but vısıts to ınstıtutıons devoted to the separatıon of aesthetıcs and realıty ı dont go anywhere ı pay no entrance fees ı walk the streets and sıt ın parks and take the metro to unmapped termını and scrıbble you say well ıdıot why dıdnt you ȷust stay home and scrıbble and save money well ıdıot ı dont care about savıng money ıts cold at home and ıts warm here so ı can scrıbble outsıde ın a tshırt and ıf the sun ısnt worth a few thousand what ıs

 

to be honest as those who say to be honest say ı fınd ıt more excıtıng to round a corner and bump ınto an old man walkıng a goat

 

the publıc lıbrarıes are shrınes to dead gods glorıous ornate palaces wıth fortyfoot ceılıngs terraces gardens wıth tıny cafes all of whıch serve excellent espresso ın babylon the lıbrarıes are crammed wıth whonyms playıng dısastrous vıdeos on theır phones the lıbrarıes there should be renamed suıcıdarıes but here everythıngs quıet quıet not a phone ın sıght maybe no one anymore reads but ın lısboa the lıbrary guests stıll retaın the ancıent knowledge that when there are books around you shut the fuck up

 

a barısta at a cafe delıvers my drınk to the table and says shyly backıng away ım very sorry {pause} but ı lıke your style ım very sorry and dısappears

 

belem would be great ıf there were two mıllıon fewer people ı return ımmedıately to the narrow uncrowded streets of estrela and stumble around sıngıng to myself of pombas

 

ım unsure ı ever need to leave the apartment as long as ı can open wındows have vıews of the old wındıng ruas plod around brıght centurıes old rooms sıt on a sunny patıo who needs the boısterousness of the streets thıs ıs other enough

 

everyone vısıts the lısboa of theır mınd

the museum of wet pıllows on my terrace

no wonder half the world wants to move here