CUIDADO, IS SOFT


Till the term subculture made sense in our society we’ve pursued others by appearance, but we cannot trust that any longer. Appearance has been banalized, sold; definitely capitalized. I cannot find solidarity anymore in all the cowboy outfits I find on the streets. Why? Why are there so many cowboy aesthetic elements around me? Or I could ask about any other pre-established movement’s aesthetic, such as goth, indie, skate… and innumerable more. You can dress and undress as many times as you want, all eclectic, the sea is full of lost melting waste. When does it matter? When subversion has been also absorbed by the trend making machine of fashion.

OJOS QUE NO VEN CORAZÓN QUE NO SIENTE

I don’t believe in community anymore, they took my community away, and as many more I would be able to create. So that, what do I have left? I’m breathing inside my membrane, it absorbs and extends in all directions, protecting and hiding me, or that’s what I’m trying.

OJOS QUE NO VEN CORAZÓN QUE NO SIENTE

Fashion is now established upon the rush, appropriation and striking pillars, they feel indestructible over there. But the cliff is huge. It’s just they put too many pillows underneath so they cannot see the fall. Subculture movements treats have been and keep on being exploited by the absurdity of consumerism industry. So that, I don’t want to belong, there’s no sense in creating new boundaries, promising associations that will lead us far away. The only way to run away is staying here, I belong here and now and I decide not to participate, so to reveal myself to this vortex of escaping and appropriation, creation and destruction, liberator and prisoner, believers and priest.

OJOS QUE NO VEN CORAZÓN QUE NO SIENTE

We are all living beings, we are fluid energy in constant transformation, it’s impossible to grasp, if you try to, you’ll tear it apart. I can feel the heaviness of the stretching down, you are hearing it too, sharp as the stones of the highest cliff, but don’t want to listen.

OJOS QUE NO VEN CORAZÓN QUE NO SIENTE

Balance is completely broken, you’ve pulled too much, restricted too much, hidden too much, taken too much, overwhelming material world. There’s no more time for contemplation. We wave into a transient flood, always new but stasis, when something disappears, we’ll quickly replace it, a bit newer in fabulous appearance, deeply old inside. But matter never disappears, when we believe its evaporated, it’s still in the vortex with us turning without possible stop. Scrap means unappealing, desire of new is beating faster and faster. And if in the end we don’t need it, we will burn it.

OJOS QUE NO VEN CORAZÓN QUE NO SIENTE


Our time is continuous, there’s no gap between live and work or care. We’re floating as dandelion’s wishes, revolving for a better fate. I observe the pre-determinate pattern of moves, many can follow it, but we’re craving to escape. I even believe we’re already gone, not too far, we’re still here but creating a parallel landscape. We’ve cracked the membrane of routine… from the ignorance of power, I don’t reproduce its games and traps, I’m looking for the absent, flying invisible, making me so free.