TODAS LAS PALABRAS PROVIENEN DEL DESEO

Hoy les traigo un fragmento de mi reciente actuación en el Palacio de Quintanar de Segovia: LA PALABRA EXPANDIDA, evento comisariado por Margarita Aizpuru. A disfrutar, habitantes.

LUNA LLENA / FULL MOON

Foto/Photo: Max Nitrofoska
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MIMISME / MYSELF

 
Foto/Photo: Mimisme / Myself
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CONTRATADO

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GRAFFITI-MAKING MACHINES (I)

 
Image: Max Nitrofoska
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MODEL BARAKA-3000

It was designed to fill dead walls with phrases no one dared to say. It didn't need paint: it used debris, rust, cable residue, fragments of old billboards. The BARAKA-3000 left no signature. It was its way of saying that art has no owner, only impulse. Occasionally, it managed to slip through the cracks of sealed districts, leaving a misshapen heart traced upon the dome of some tower. It made mistakes. It repeated itself. It spat out nonsense letters. But when the sunlight hit it sideways, the whole city seemed written by its hand.

©Nitrofoska

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MÁQUINAS PARA CREAR GRAFITIS (I)

MODELO BARAKA-3000

Fue diseñada para llenar muros muertos con frases que nadie se atrevía a decir. No necesitaba pintura: usaba residuos, óxido, saliva de cable, trozos de anuncios antiguos. La BARAKA-3000 no firmaba. Era su forma de decir que el arte no tiene dueño, es impulso. A veces lograba colarse por las rendijas de los barrios sellados y dejaba un corazón mal trazado en la cúpula de alguna torre. Cometía fallos. Se repetía. Escupía letras sin sentido. Pero cuando el sol le daba de lado, toda la ciudad parecía escrita por ella. 

©Nitrofoska

Imagen: Max Nitrofoska

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ATARDECER / SUNSET

 
Foto/Photo: Tino Rovira
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DÍA DE PLAYA / BEACH DAY

NO PERROS NO BICIS NO NADAR

Foto/Photo: Desconocidx / Unknown
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¡HAZ ALGO!: DE LIBRO A FANZINE PUNK

➡️Puedes comprar ¡Haz algo! en este ENLACE

UNIDAD 14 / UNIT 14

Imagen/Image: Max Nitrofoska

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AMOR SALVAJE / WILD LOVE

Foto/Photo: Ivan Troyanovsky
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EXPERIENCIAS DE EDICIÓN

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SUCESOS HUMANOIDES / HUMANOID EVENTS #57

I just missed the train of a lifetime... again. 

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UNIDAD 11 / UNIT 11

Imagen/Image: Max Nitrofoska

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THE STANDARD GOD

Hello, dwellers. Today I bring you the final story from my book RADICAL INDEFINIDO. Actually, it’s not even a story; it’s a closing note to the book, a brief reflection. I also bring you the magnificent illustration created by the advanced organism Martín Sampedro for this tale.

Enjoy this summer Sunday.

Image: Martín Sampedro
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THE STANDARD GOD

It was by chance. I didn't want to reach Andlösgråt, I didn't want to see it, to be certain that it existed. But I saw it. And ever since, everything in my circuits has changed. Information takes time to traverse the bioneurons and reach its destination, the ethical ions continuously churn, exuding a nauseating vapor that prevents me from concentrating, from thinking, from performing the simplest activity with the slightest precision or joy.

Yes, it was by chance. My interplanetary ship was traversing Alpha Centauri in search of the mythical ALF (Askatasuna Libertaris Felizidanka) when a loud noise in the side thrusters alerted me, forcing me to reduce speed. I soon verified that something serious was happening, something I couldn't repair on the fly. I threw myself over the quantum maps looking for some zero-gravity oasis that would allow me to land, and it was then, in that uncertain and confusing moment, when I read «Andlösgråt». I had never heard of that planetoide before, but the harsh, insistent hum of the thruster left me no room to inquire about my new destination. I set the coordinates on the sidereal quadrant and engaged emergency navigation. A slow, uniform flight cadence, interrupted only by the hoarse blasts of the broken thruster, accompanied my descent.

My old Thompson Space Pilgrim interplanetary ship landed smoothly, without incident despite the breakdown weighing me down. Upon stepping out of the cabin, right before my ocular circuits, I saw an enormous, colossal metal creature. It was a Standard God of forged metal. A God traversing what looked like a secondary road on the planetoid Andlösgråt. Thousands of humanoid creatures, connected to the God through steel cables and tubes, followed it in silence under the rain. Each and every humanoid marched illuminated by a flame rising from their heads, like obscure saints receiving a revelation, or abyssal miners in search of the ultimate truth. The massive Standard God had a sad face, deeply sad, perhaps due to the lack of independence and self-esteem displayed by its followers. It didn't utter a word, didn't tell its parishioners what was right or wrong; it merely limited itself, like any self-respecting God, to remaining silent—observing, studying, learning, to eventually enhance its contribution to a better Universe.

Yet the humanoid creatures refused to let go. They begged for instructions, norms, rules, manuals, recipes, training, guidance, order, analysis, imagination, precepts, catastrophes, and celebrations too—though not overly loud, just modest enough not to dislodge the framed pictures in the hallway.

The rain would not stop. At the base of my old ship, a wide puddle began to form, iridescent with the fuel dripping from the accumulator. The warm, relentless tears welling from the Standard God merged with the rain. That was how the God managed to disguise its disappointment and grief over Humanity. Rain, rain on the face.

Because humanoids do not get wet. Some even carry umbrella devices. Others acquire a boat to navigate through the weeping, both their own and others'. Navigators of the absurd, of the cosmic mirage.

Suddenly, amid the deluge, I heard a song. A song I wrote light-years ago in the place where I was born, in Humanoid City. Where my circuits were assembled.

Five hundred and twelve days of endless rain,

walking among the drops,

mud clinging to my feet,

waiting for the flood

you promised me the other day.

Umbrellas unfold,

heads tightly covered,

they almost poke my eye out,

I still have one left to watch

a deaf, one-eyed old man vomit,

he looks a damn lot like me.

Five hundred and twelve days of endless rain

and that's how it goes,

that's how it goes.

After the song, the Standard God of forged metal looked in my direction and sighed. I believe it also stuck its tongue out at me.

© Max Nitrofoska

You can buy RADICAL INDEFINIDO at this LINK

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