Current fiction is at an end.
Motion Picture
or
novels alike –
The Matrix
and
In the Mouth of Madness
and
Dark City
and
Falling Down
and
Fahrenheit 451
et cetera.
I have extracted out of
Schopenhauer
and
especially
Against the Grain
by
Huysmans
and
several other nineteenth century authors the best ideology I could come up with.
It entails angels
and
muses
and
goddess as a ghostly realm of perception – which isn’t entirely established yet.
I mean,
we are truth,
we make the truth as we go along,
but
they have made the truth into a crisis –
and
the subject to be central to kapitalism and communism is what is contested here. As in the Manifest that goes with it.
It is a caricature of beauty
to depict the absurdity of
twentieth century modernist thinkers.
I mean,
it should inspire artists
to make a pagan marketplace with sculptures into a gallery, as if that isn’t an absurd acquiescence to the modern era.
With it modernism
and
T.S. Eliot
and
Waiting for Godot
and
“nothing here remains, no future and no past”
from Slayer
and
many others to speak about when the end of arts comes to an end, it resumes art again.
As is only possibility.
The nothing here remains is as i said.
A philosophy that can’t actually work
is you still trying to prophet it;
it’s a paradox.
Possibly created out of the humility of the subject and the notion you can’t say anything about beauty.
But seriously.
Let’s not stop saying something about angels
and
muses
and
goddess just yet.
Let’s not continue this matrix
of squares
and
cubes everywhere
and
the little entertainment gothic at another place entirely known as kitsch.
—tristitia languorem
Flommist Tristitia Languorem eats tragedy. They have many names but it doesn’t change much the whole premise of the ideals. Antwerp, Belgium is where home is. It’s time for a fresh start. Copyright © 2021 Tristitia Languorem. Pictured: Kandinsky, Kleine Welten VI (detail), 1922.
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