In a recent interview, Nick Cave said that the “suffering” of the people would gradually be optimized and will soon be simply quite “retro”. “Remember when they are used to Suffer?” This also encouraged me in my faith that I have to get myself clearly if I don’t want to lose the connection.
Suffering was yesterday, from now on it’s about products.
I would like to be more superficial. This whole deepness and the whole philosophical blah, it is simply no longer up to date.
What brings me to it is that even friend: inside, who usually feel that I live in a bladder out of intellectual claim, suddenly softened the membrane and let them see features that I would never have expected.
It went at the time when I was still living in Berlin, when I tapped my own trap, in the middle of my own permanent fire of the profoundness and the always significant importance of all things I discussed and discussed with my environment and discussed again.
Fame – and then?
A nice day on the Tempelhofer Feld, when I went for a walk with my friend and we had just dealt in Oscar Wildesche, why a person who wants to separate always collects the reasons for it long in advance, how a rodent for winter, or when exactly the belief in true beauty has been lost, to what extent Virginia Woolf has anarchic approach, and the masculine has been smelled. What mysticism hides behind the flawless look of Italian young people came, I no longer know how, on the topic of “fame”. And N. said he was just really horny, famous. I, still in the mode, entrenched my resistance to this statement behind clever questions: What would be so desirable? How would fame be able to nourish NS soul?
His answer was: IT PROCHABLY WOLDNIT. But it would be pretty fucking awesome!
I lowered my head, stepped a few pebes in the bush and thought it couldn’t have been. N. will be with the true, the real one, the deeper Answer around the corner. But no. N. only went away with me and had long since switched to a detailed description of the maximum twenty -year -old male models, whose company he would then enjoy regularly and of which he seemed to be expected to be no further than that they were sitting for biting and showing a certain courtesy.
Wisdom with Wienern (and Buddha)
There are delays and delays. My late reaction to my nailing that day came around yesterday. That means well and like three years later.
Again and again I have to think of Vienna if it wants to be too profound in me. The Viennese laugh at you. “What are always so stamped, please go.”
I don’t know where they take. But they do it and somehow. This Viennese attitude gives me an additional ass on this matter: it is time that you slowly become sensible and stop ruming over everything and buying things instead and please keep your face.
According to the old Buddhist wisdom The energy always follows attention So I would like to consciously deal with exactly the nonsense with which the rest of the world also deals every day. And I have already made myself a plan that I only need to work through to finally become superficial.
Surface training 1-3
First I do an influencer competence training. You learn to talk about one thing for five minutes without really saying anything about it. A hand cream, for example. Ingredients, shit, but “the vibe is simply unbeatable”.
Then follows the challenge “Small-Talk”. Talk to five people without ever leaving the subject areas fashion, weather and favorite coffee. If a person accidentally start talking about feelings, it is important to reclaim cappuccino foam immediately.
And finally, if you accidentally find yourself again in a little more lifted circles, which occurs with me here and there, prepare yourself against it by exchanging your own intellect for a punch. Something like: “This is a totally postmodern narrative, my dear.”
No, this is not an arrogant finte, I want to change, really, I’m almost completely motivated!
Poetry and transcendence
Alternatively, I will slip into the Spiri-Emo-Nirvana at some point. Simply because you have been eating in there for over twenty years. And that’s not just embarrassing when others have to watch you. But also, as I said, no longer connectable.
The only stupid thing is that once you have seen things, felt and understood, the product concept as the “goal of everything” shoots all poetics.
poetry must Feel, feel, feel, be overwhelmed and then react to this opaque world like a wild animal. Wonderful, let yourself be disturbed, leave the good old ground and drive into the higher sphere of transcendence, from which we finally understand that we are all souls (yes, also you!), Which do our best at the earth school, in order to consistently blown up everything that is to be bubbled. While we are even ready in search of true connection to talk to strangers with “potential friend: inside” about Mallorca trips and shellack nails, just to feel a pale hint of what it means could, To belong somewhere.
Comfortable senselessness
“In a demoralized world, art that is only spit out as a product of machines and simply reduces the annoying, suffering artist, at some point to people,” said Nick Cave and let his long arms in the air to write a large circle like a conductor.
That is certainly true. And in Nick’s voice there was a concern when he spoke these words. Only, I can understand it, life, which only accumulates products, seems much, much lighter, more pleasant from the outside. It seems much less tedious than the design that has to look at things under the skirt all the time in order to fathom everything, only to know nothing in the end …
I have no idea what exactly my “morality” commands me as an artist, according to Nick Cave in these times. But one thing I know: The longer this man lives and gives concerts and desperately in life and then permeable things in interviews tells all of this, the better he likes it. And the more seriously the whole question of the meaning of art, poetry and depth.
Nietzsche or Gucci
Perhaps the goal is to become a Trojan horse. Outside Gucci, inside Nietzsche. But according to my observation, this is just a pseudo-complex Instagram design in practice, in which Gucci wins at some point because Nietzsche scratches too much in the throat in the long run.
I hereby conclude my considerations for the time being, because now I have to go, first to the pedicure and then to a seminar on the creation of the “Ecriture automatique” by the surrealists of the eighteen hundred and more years.