Tuesday, 2 February 2010

A personal message to Mr. Clarence Mitchell...


Joana Morais said...

sing-a-long: «Vicious
you want me to hit you with a stick
But all I've got is a guitar pick
huh, baby, you're so vicious

When I watch you come
baby, I just want to run far away
You're not the kind of person around I
want to stay

When I see you walking down the street
I step on your hands and I mangle your feet
You're not the kind of person that I want to meet

Oh, baby, you're so vicious
you're just so vicious»

Doughnut said...

I wonder what someone like Pessoa would have thought of modern day (and probably lesser) visionaries like Reed? Pioneers of an aesthetic that had really been evolving for centuries (so probably not pioneers in the strictest sense of the word at all) but 'spacemen' nonetheless – men who have wrestled free of their own (or prescribed) natural orbit.

Freedom of expression. Freedom of sexual expression. But sometimes (just sometimes) such movements also provide exactly the right intellectual and political pretext for just having deviant (perhaps even cruel) personalities. For monsters, for want of a better word.

Pessoa argued that all men fall roughly into three categories: those who create art, those who love art and the mob. The brute.

I don't know about you, but I occasionally fall under each of the three - but it's which of the three we act under the most than defines who we are as people. Not words - but deeds, not aesthetics but actions.

Taking a walk on the wild side is easy enough, true genius lies elsewhere. In creativity. In creation. Do we give equal merit to those who burn books as to those who write them? Do we give equal merit to the wind and sand that slowly erode the sphinx as we do to the people that built it?

Man doesn't do anything in the name of art, god or politics, he does it for himself and for whatever selfish gains the act quantifies at the time.

Vicious indeed. And word and thought also, yes?