In which Naranjo is a place and other things

Tuesday, 02 January, Year 10 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

No, seriously, there's a town here called Naranjo. There's also a Banano somewhere, I'm pretty sure. Here :


The problem with "modern conveniences" such as you know, electricity, is that in order to be convenient at all (which means -- so that you can afford them in the first place) they have to impose a significant visual cost on the environment, such that I can't take a picture of the god damned church without the fecal droppings of modernity insinuating themselves in the shot one way or another. This then necessarily drives the perception of futility -- why bother make a church that looks like anything other than a brutalisti pile of crap when you won't be able to enjoy it as anything but turd stew anyway ?

The necessary answer is, of course, "let the many suffer pain, hunger and premature death for the enjoyment of the few, the very precious few, teh band of brothers", but it might take a while. In that interim, we continue as best we can :




But let's move away from this ancient curse, this opium for the masses. Let's win the war on drugs [for the masses], and instead live in an utopia of the future! Here's how it goes :


The explanation under the empty, cubic foot sized church-replacement fashioned out of cardboard and whatever else was cheaply available reads "Biblioteca libreii, libros para intercambiar". I think we well understand each other.

Meanwhile, here's how modern poverty looks :



As the expression goes,

Knowing you was my fate, leaving you behind is my pleasure...

This isn't "good" or in any case promising, pregnant, productive poverty -- such as in, say, the modern Japanese. The sad patterns in the specific forms of insufficiency, of barren lack of perspective, of uncapitalized hopelessness aren't going to be repeated, with fractal, Riemann insistence into overpowering artwork that washes over the world. There's no and there's going to be no manga repeating the ridiculous wooden footwear for the ondulated sheet, for the spurious razor wire, for the little packaging material "houses" huddled precariously on a hillside. A land that nobody loved, because the local ruminants don't usually achieve the cognitive development required to develop a capacity for loving anything -- and if they do they immediately fly off. A land of helium, so to speak.


I suspect we understand each other, so let's move on.




  1. No, there's no such thing as "futurism", sorry. []
  2. Free as in freedom, not as in beer, amirite ? []
Category: La pas prin lume
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