Fuck You Art People ! ! !

This will be an entry about anger.

Here in this lovely city, and most of the country (with specific mutations from land to land), art is well buried down the craphole. Lapidated with snobism and irresponsability.

I say fuck you all, with your money and your edgy hair-dos and your 100 dollar torn pants. Fuck your influencial parents. Fuck the bullshit you sell as something beautiful and pure.

Yes, they are scum, kind reader. They dance about this city, which they think its some kind of eighteenth century Paris, with their ambar sunglases, talking about how art is simple and raw, only to show work with no sense of aesthetics and feeling.

They gather around some parts of the city, every part has its kind. For instance, we have the ones populating this place which name translates ironicaly to "The Countess". They gather in small circles, in which this agravated reporter has infiltrated to the core, to drink and live a life that's fashionable. Sexual liberty in the most aberrating of prostitution of definitions, I mean, sexual freedom is one of the best gifts civilization has left in the passing of times, but these worms live in a sexual liberation- slavery. Fucking each other while they really hate one another. No peace and love here, just pretention and hate.
Sex is fashionable. So everything they do is permeated by cheap ass sex. By all means, a close- up photo of an open vagina, with simply bad lightning and worse post- production, is NOT ART. As visualy shocking as it may be, as visualy encouraging, or pretty or trendy. I'm sorry, its's just a vagina in bad light. Its no Araki, its no Witkin. Its just surehanded publicity. Because thats their photography, just for publicity, it may be for a clothes store, or a model, or for oneself, but it's just that, its cheap publicity. Its not a document, its not beautiful.

My favorite definition of art is : "Art is what makes you proud to be human."
Well, I see their pseudo video- art, and their disguised pornography and Im not only ashamed to be human, Im ashamed to share the same piece of land with these impostors.

Music, for instance, I belive its just a capsule of feelings in other language rather than words. But these people are so grey and dead inside that the music they make is just that, empty.

So fuck you all!!!, you prostitutes and unwanted childes. Go back to yourselves, to your Macs and to your Miro's dots, go choke in your Warhol fallacy, there are some people here that are not that stupid to buy your shit.

And we pity you.

Some of us can and will be saved.

The Line Between the Devil and the Rich

In my last blog I scarcely define what this place we live in is about, this huge behemoth of asphalt and steel known as Mexico City, the great forgotten empire that it is.
Today I embark on the son of trade and commerce, the sold called activity of "working" in this abysmal hellhole.

There are places in the world where you can live an easy and confortable life out af some table-waiting job, or maybe you could start your own record store with fine music for the masses and live an a-rated life travelling the world and doing what you love.
In this case we are far from there, very far.

First the richest person in the world is mexican (obviously descending from lebanese heritage), he lives in a land with 54 million people living in poverty, and by poverty I mean less than 4 dollars a day. This shitty misery of money for enslavering jobs, such as sanding all day in the cruel sun lifting rocks for housing, or washing cars for people who can spare some coins, just to name a few.

Then you have the fiftythousandtwentyfourhundredandtwentythree layers in oure middle class spectrum. Ranging from people who travel the world on pleasure or business, and people who read, buy, study, protest, reflect, create, all the way to ignorant fools who eslave themselves in the way of making money.

When you find yourself alone and trying to make a life out of yourself in this scenario, first you will only embark on the role out of need for money, so your smartest choice will be starting there. But no, we are dreamers and we are stubborn, we want to follow our needs and dreams. So we hop into the ship of destiny and sail away.
Some go into academy, schools and universities that ensure capacitation for one day finding that job that wont kill you out of sadness or stress. You will be on that ship many years, so you can enjoy the ride.
Some people go to a diferent port. The dive into the ocean of working directly. There you find yourself looking for this dream job, you know it wont be easy nor fast. You must work yourself into that place where you arent suffocated. You come across every kind of mutant and bizarre situation just to fulfill your pockets and your mind.
Odds say eventualy youll make it to the top and be just fine. But just maybe you will be stuck in the middle and you will be so damn miserable.

Then the high floors, the richest people. You can find them if you know where to look. They are scared of you and your poor pockets. They percieve you as an animal in need. So they will use you, they will use that necesity to thicken the line between you two. They will control you and your loved ones.
And they will be happy, they will never tell their children how the money really got in, their children would find it for themselves once they are trained right.


So no matter how accomodated you are in this great city, you would be presented with choices and ships and checks.

The poor always go forward, the rich always grow stronger, and the middle are just that, caught and suffocated there into a slow an painful death.

When the city bites back

I choose English as the language of this ranting because of the idea of pemanence that defines the internet as a bestial and historical library. Full of useless "opinions" like what follows.

Trying to report what my eyes see every day and most importantly how these events i see affect my mind, I decided to play cybernetical journalist, so welcome to day one, year zero. This is it.



I try to examine everything.
Living in Mexico City, traveling through Mexico City, working and eating and sleeping and smelling and walking and whatever, gives you a sense of observation as well as a sense of isolation. Emotional isolation, you go past dirt infested beautiful buildings jaded by the horrendous shinny brown-golden edifications. Then you got the smoke, the toxic gases you see when you drive through the bridges in the south. All clad in a grey slimey mixture of death and disease.

Millions of people go about in this great mess of cars and streets. Its incredible how everyone gets their money, Most of them working shitty jobs, some not even by jobs. You see wererodents everywere, in almost every avenue intersection. Some of them play with fire for coin, some lay in glass, some just demand money to buy food.

The feeding of the city is as feral as its inhabitants, almost on every street you can find sidewalk stands of fat. They are composed by a chopped log where they slice the pig and cow, metal structure, some have seating some are standing service, a very sharp and big knife and some adequately dressed butcher boiling an animal in a pool of oily fat. Some corn tortilla and chile with tomato and youre on your way. It taste good but it doesnt ring right.

I can continue about the city forever, and i will, as a frame of reference, but let me narrow down a little more, first person view.

You can see propaganda on tv about how your car is your friend. I belive the same, its your steed, your faithful companion and witness. Mine is hurt because of the cheap ass pavement our fine polititians buy, so I blew two tires in less than a ten hour span. I've been travelling through the veins of public transportation for a while now. Everyday flowing from my hills down into the chaos of cars and then down the tunnel system with the steel hollow snake. Then I emerge, after two hours or so, into the very heart and core of the city.
After walking for ten minutes I arrive at my destination, a street full of bridal shops and wood storage. Sidewalks invaded by a fan of comerce ranging from popcorn stands to wristwatch blankets with a "rolodex" for few copper.

I've must have crossed tens of thousands of people in my way there.
I trust my instinct when I say every single one of them have troubles in their souls and minds that make going about such a burden, they also have things that drive them forward, but I can boldly say that no one is truly and absolutely at an ease.
We all are troubled as we go about in this city. You can sense it and smell it, its what fuels it with life, its what you see.
People travelling through everykind of adversity and then practically walking from side to side one of the biggest cities on earth to lie down in a bed with a family or a dog or a lover or a hater.

Everyone lives forward despite the landscape. The landscape, I belive, is defined by the components, you can feel it and taste it everywhere. Its all covered in a thin layer of grey dust.