If a journalist, she dyes her hair blue would not be more credible than before, and her 'provocation ' should be contextualized within her careerpath as such her culture. If many journalists, they are dyed blue hair, we would have certainly a classic example, but just an example of stupidity or banality. The difference that makes just a simple style, " the style", is "credibility".
Classical, in art or aesthetics concepts or in daily life, is a cultural attitude consistent in attributing an exemplary value (and not changeable) to a frame that becomes recognizable in that tradition. The Classic shows a tendency to a universal concept by a form of ideal beauty and for this a stereotype of that beauty. But what about when classic is imposed?
Lately I keep reading reviews of famous scientists (among their neighbours) about unknown scents made by strangers in the living room of their home! The term "classic", which is more used, to my ears sounds like: imitation, copy, unoriginal.
A perfume is a classic one only after acquiring its own meanings, certainly not a priori because it looks like a walk in the past. But these critics are the same scientists that have invented the perfumery awards, those contests in which you participate not for your value, but if you pay! A “classic” event this fact.
The lobby of perfumery give speaking rights to legions of morons who earlier spoke only in the pub after a glass of wine, without hurting anyone except the bartender, get paid to listen to them.
A perfume is a unique work of intellectual meanings and also feelings of its creator, when it smells like something else is hopefully at least it is a reinterpretation of the past and not a "Classic"!
The Gothic was a cultural phenomenon of great magnitude, having replaced the categories of nice and enjoyable with the previous negative categories of taste, those ones of ugly and unpleasant. But it was implied that, in Gothic aspiration towards the divine, a new aesthetic form should born, not entirely comprensible to man, otherwise would that divine form have value?
Yes, I know! Anyone would want to hear me talking about perfumes! Well I'll talk about perfumes only after I removed the prosciutto slices that critics connived with distributors put on your eyes, and under your nose!
By now, let me tell you a story. My classic one or maybe my Gothic one!
Changing the jacket pockets, or changing jacket moving things to new jacket pocket. If I had mud under my shoes it withers under the couch where I sit. I don't understand why the gate of the dog area is always broken. By drinking a coffee in the bar and greets me the former neighbour who owes me twenty euros. I open the pan, the next dinner, good currency for all its 12 euros. Tomorrow I will spend just as much. If I make a trip would be cheap now, I cannot spend or maybe I don't want! I shout thoughts and others see my hair slowly, what?
There are those who spend time to dribble. Between a mountain to climb and the name of a poet drugged by his selfishness.
I cut the cigars for tomorrow so I don't sweat in that old reception with the jacket, while cutting them.
Maybe I need to take a step back or maybe next. Someone smiles at times, even those I love.
And we live in places. Now I drunk with wine and thoughts! Someone stuffing the agenda of things to do and not what he wants to do. I am so.
Ogma gets bored of human food, let’s hope I had the thoughts of my dog! Here is the dried mud, then it’s time for Ogma to pee.
Now I take off my shoes, and stockings, I have bruises for days, still there to remind me that I no longer 20 years old.
I would like to make love. Or just love someone.
I surrendered not to be understood. I'm not sure whether I’m using the other people or vice versa.
How many rings I gave?
Why Erebus is silent? What war he is starting?
Moroccan Arabic or slippers. Istanbul recalls Genoa, which now I love again or maybe I love it.
Someone pours a little tea, is it from Russia? With cinnamon and a bit of luck, but I like it. Real estate agencies in Milan and Moscow too, bodies of dead Saints chased by Saints ignorant.
Pio pio pio (as birds). Proteins for tomorrow, like crumbs for the birds. The tea mug bottom in a pot flooded by detergent and chopped onions.
Water for Ogma, my beard to be redone and underwear on the heater to dry.
How many breaths you give people, words in the wind if the wind breathes and air feeds. Advertising, mind idiot that thinks, what do you think?
What could you have done? Create and kill would still be proud masterpieces, now you just have this little time to mend or elide everything. The absurd problems on which I practiced, no one is more terrible of facing myself what I can, what I want, what I want. Let us not be pathetic! The sin and the human attributes, ultimately are the same thing.
And only committing sin you live with fullness and bustle. Then you may also fall in love! Then you might even die!
I am a pity, pity no one has understood. Remove repentance from the eyes of those I love and I'll stop being a fault.
