KuroGato

ignorance


Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge - for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions -
And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.

Philip Larkin, 1955




I had shut down this profile, but i'm too lazy to upload anything from here to any other place.
so, if you stumble with anything you like from this gallery, feel free to use it, since is in creative commons license.

peace.
K.
18.09.12

.the city

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried as though it were something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I happen to look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
This city will always pursue you. You will walk
the same streets, grow old in the same neighborhoods,
will turn gray in these same houses.
You will always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
there is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you’ve destroyed it everywhere else in the world.


Constantine P. Cavafy, 1910

    En Cloe, gran ciudad, las personas que pasan por las calles no se conocen. Al verse imaginan mil cosas las unas de las otras, los encuentros que podrían ocurrir entre ellas, las conversaciones, las sorpresas, las caricias, los mordiscos. Pero nadie saluda a nadie, las miradas se cruzan un segundo y después huyen, buscan otras miradas, no se detienen.
    Pasa una muchacha que hace girar una sombrilla apoyada en su hombro, y también un poco la redondez de las caderas. Pasa una mujer vestida de negro que representa todos los años que tiene, los ojos inquietos bajo el velo y los labios trémulos.
    Pasa un gigante tatuado; un hombre joven con el pelo blanco; una enana; dos mellizas vestidas de coral. Algo corre entre ellos, un intercambio de miradas como líneas que unen una figura con otra y dibujan flechas, estrellas, triángulos, hasta que en un instante todas las combinaciones se agotan y otros personajes entran en escena: un ciego con un guepardo sujeto por una cadena, una cortesana con abanico de plumas de avestruz, un efebo, una jamona. Así entre quienes por casualidad se juntan bajo un portal para guarecerse de la lluvia, o se apiñan debajo del toldo del bazar, o se detienen a escuchar la banda en la plaza, se consuman encuentros, seducciones, copulaciones, orgías, sin cambiar una palabra, sin rozarse con un dedo, casi sin alzar los ojos.
Una vibración lujuriosa mueve continuamente a Cloe, la más casta de las ciudades. Si hombres y mujeres empezaran a vivir sus efímeros sueños, cada fantasma se convertiría en una persona con quien comenzar una historia de persecuciones, simulaciones, malentendidos, choques, opresiones, y el carrusel de las fantasías se detendría.

nación del ensueño, donde  cualquiera puede preguntar el porque si tenemos esas pirámides tan bonitas estamos tan jodidos.

In Chloe, a great city, the people who move through the street are all strangers. At each encounter they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings  which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no-one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping.
A girl comes along, twirling a parasol on her shoulder, and twirling slightly also her rounded hips. A woman in black comes along, showing her full age, her eyes restless beneath her veil, her lips trembling. A tattooed giant comes along; a young man with white hair; a female dwarf; two girls, twins, dressed in coral. Something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene: a blind man with a cheetah on a leash, a courtesan with an ostrich-plume fan, an ephebe, a Fat Woman. And thus, when some people happen to find themselves together, taking shelter from the rain under an arcade, or crowding beneath an awning of the bazaar, or stopping to listen to the band in the square, meetings, seductions, copulations, orgies are consummated among them without a word exchanged, without a finger touching anything, almost without an eye raised.

A voluptuous vibration constantly stirs Chloe, the most chaste of cities.
If men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, each ghost would become a person to start a history of persecution, simulations, misunderstandings, shocks, oppressions, and the carousel of the fantasies would stop.

daydream nation, where anyone can ask why if we have those pretty pyramids we are so fucked and wasted.

***text in italics:
Trading cities 2: Cloe
Invisible Cities
Italo Calvino, 1972

Ciudad
    
La ciudad como un lugar fragmentado y difuso donde al panorama es disolución de causa y efecto.
Imposible ser parte de la solución. Disfrutar ser parte del problema. Aceptarla como es, aunque sea renegando de ella. Pasear por ella, como se pasea por un naufragio.

Hacer a un lado la esquizofrenia. Aunque sea por un momento.
Eliminar por un momento a todos aquellos que dijeron: "lo que es de todos no es de nadie".
Todos nosotros, que violamos y destruimos la ciudad.    
Ver edificios y monumentos como meros recuerdos de un futuro que nunca fue.
Tratar de imaginarla vacía. Estéril. Muerta.
No funciona.    
Sin la gente que circula por esos lugares, que los usa y les da significado edificios y monumentos valen una mierda.
Hasta la basura y las moscas. Todo es una extensión de nosotros mismos.
Todos somos la ciudad.    
    
hyperrealidad y la muerte de dios
    
De este lado del monitor, en medio del desierto de lo real, necedad por capturar la imagen, poner un lente de por medio entre nosotros y la realidad; ciertos colores solo parecen reales cuando se ven en pantalla.
Olvidar el derecho que tiene uno mismo y los demás sobre su imagen, de alguna u otra manera todos estamos registrados en fotogramas, en segundos de video, olvidarse del uso de la palabra de este texto de cualquier texto, solo podemos creer en la imagen; La palabra reducida a pie de foto.
    
Del otro lado del monitor, en esa nada tan real que es la red, tal parece que lo que importa no es la realidad misma, sino las imágenes que circulan sobre esta. click impacto olvido click
Si esta en imagen si esta en video entonces es real  
Hyperrealidad hasta la comodidad de nuestros hogares, en distintos grados de limpieza, a distancia de click izquierdo, en cercanía de click derecho.
     
Pasear en la imagen. Recrear el momento a voluntad. Contemplar. Somos iguales a Dios. Igual de inútiles, igual de muertos.
     
camera junkie
     
Documentar y justificar la existencia no a través de imágenes de nosotros mismos, sino de los momentos que presenciamos
Ya no lamentarse porque algo o alguien salio borroso o fuera de foco.
La verdadera desgracia son todas esas fotografías que no existen. Las que no se pueden tomar.
Vivir capturando,

Si fuimos capaces de hacerlo debemos ser capaces de verlo.

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City

The city like a fragmented and diffuse place where the panorama is a dissolution of cause and effect.
Impossible to be part of the solution. one have to enjoy of be part of the problem.
           
To accept it as is, even if one hate her. Take a walk by her, just like one takes a walk by a shipwreck.
                  
To make to a side the schizophrenia. Just for a moment, eliminate all those who said "what belongs to all it belongs to no one".
All we, who we rape and we destroyed the city.
                             
See buildings and monuments like mere memories of a future that never was.
Try to imagine it empty. Sterile. Dead.
It does not work.  
                            
Without the people who circulate around those places, that use them and it gives`em a meaning buildings and monuments are worth less than the bullshit.
        
even the junk and the flies. Everything is an extension of ourselves.
We are the city.
              
hyperreality and the God death

in this side of the monitor, in the middle of the desert of the reality,an obsession to capture the image, to put a lens between Us and the reality; certain colors seem more real when they are seen in screen.                            
                                              
Forget the right that has one and the others on its own image, in some way or another we are registered in photograms, In seconds of video,
to forget the use of the word of this text of any text, we only can believe in the image; the word is reduced to a mere description.                                         
   
in the other side of the monitor, in that place so unreal that is the net, it seems that what matters is not the reality, but the images that circulate about it. click impact forget click.
If is in image if is in video then is real
   
Hyperreality until the comfort of our homes, in different degrees of cleaning, in the distance of left click In proximity from right click.
  
take a walk in the image. Recreate the moment at will. Contemplate. We are equal to God. Equal of useless, equal of deads.
   
camera junkie   

To document and justify the existence not through images of ourselves, but of the moments that we see.
at the end one doesnt sorry because something or somebody get blurred or out of focus.    
The true misfortune is all those photos that do not exist. Those that cannot be taken.  
live capturing,
If we were able to do it we must be able to see it  

Desde el ombligo de la Luna
from out to nowhere

K.
18102006