“Mais non pas de rire comme il est banal de rire, s’en apercevant d’une supériorité que l’on a sur celui dont on rit, mais de rire d’un rire définitif. On ne peut pas rire du monde comme d’une réalité devant laquelle, au contraire, on sent sa petitesse et, par consequent, le rire dans les conditions nietzschéennes est un rire tragique.” – Georges Bataille.
Examining my own soi-disant myth. A jeune homme lost in his own time. On entre dans le labyrinthe de l’impossible, and get in tune with the necessity of a grand Orphean gesture.
Meanwhile I have these thoughts coming into play in my head: the further disintegration of Filipino bourgeois consciousness...
... the timeless appeal of Patrick Dewaere...
writers at Philippine publications who can’t differentiate modernism from postmodernism (The Philippines’ best-selling fashion magazine Preview is home to one)...
... Mediocrity and nullity being very trendy these days...
my lack of enthusiasm pour le cinéma de Brillante Mendoza et Pepe Diokno aussi...
... Considering Andy Warhol as an artist to be seen with great critical distance but many from my generation seem to fondly cite him as the artist they love...
Democracy not working so well with the word "taste"...
... How Manille is a receptacle for musical has-beens...
Engaging in a silly discourse whether fashion is art...
... And having the currency of words, the currency of a language working against me through this writing.
Et alors, there seems to be a lot of thoughts playing in my mind for now but that's typical of me. Demain could be another battle. Perhaps it would be a battle for more conneries or of a single sensible cause but then again my thoughts can only go so far.
Lunettes: Tom Ford, chemise: Lanvin, veste: Louis Féraud, ceinture: Duchini, chaussures bateau: Sebago.
Photo: Portia Placino.
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