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The sphinx aura of the xxth century

the mythological figures

the depicted recumbent lion with a human head

the thrilling unaesthetics of a poker-faced boredom and all the

aesthetics of car accidents… do you see the tragic beauty of

the portrait of marylin monroe after her suicide,

it is the winter season, in the Madness and Civilization

and one can see the gangster funerals, and fragile

mrs kennedy after jfk’s assassination

duchamp enigma haunts me – he

who renounced art to play chess instead,

the eternal sphinx looks perfectly,

it is hard to tell whether I am in a voyeuristic amnesia

or simply lost in a narcissist unconsciousness,

in this ship of fools

no one has an explanation,

and your beauty is crystallised

in the genealogy of a ghost three with two hundred years

and I don’t remember the eternal fear

this is this “just now” bottom of the tulip

we are just reviving something that is ancient,

but still transcending the birth of the

new projected light

in this whole L’Ordre des Choses

in this whole of organic and mechanical technolog,

this late cult of the sun

 
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