No todo es entretenimiento. No todo Internet es vacilón. No todo Internet es capitalismo. Internet es el nuevo estado, aunque los estados no quieran verlo. Hay algo en lo cosmopolita que ya existía antes de Internet. Quizás el cine nos lo enseñó. O las olimpiadas. O algo en esos momentos Coca Cola. Fucking Don; fucking a.
I’m just a poor boy/though my story’s seldom told,… here I go again. I am just that other continuation of Paul Simon’s mind. It might be a job to be done by the best kind of Bots. But still, under the tyrany of the machines, some humans will like to do the job already been perfectly delivered by the machines, yet this fuck was still stuck on fucking past. Could you believe that? The fucking past? Common, give me a break.
Today I literally used the phrase: «I fucking rule this town». I think I complemented: I’m at the top of the fucking pyramyd. You better fucking believe it. I don’t just shoot my amunition for no reason. You are going to know when you have steped over my line. Only, as a man, I can only speak as an individual: me. But altogether, I am part of something that is happening as we speak/read. And that is still a pretty amazing act that connects us. Like books.
Books. Simple. I knew I had to make books. I just fill them out with ink. With my own right hand. Sometimes I use my left. Never a good result has come from that performance. Yet, as a performance is quite brilliant. I have filled up nine theaters in my own transformed city, who assisted to these nine functions when every one of the political parties that present in the city, or at least the ones I believe are worth aknowledge, and for the first time in my 18 years in this city, I finally will like to solve the riddle…
You throw a joke like that at a tumultous crowd in my town and anything can happen. You just need to fill in that tumultuos suposition. What the judges of the supreme court are doing in order to take into effect the due process of the law. The very rule that is supposed to deliver our freedom, all of the sudden turns into itself. It already fucking did. Ten years ago. When capitalism collapsed. You do remember. Why are you looking at me like that despise?
Fair question. Imagine if looks could kill. That’s what the judeges, all men… or is there a woman and I just haven’t noticed…
Oh, man. He is macho, too.
Suddenly the macho count really started to take the really really really good ones.
And women start to get worried. It’s a trap… yells the insolent one.
But not all woman have this insolent trait. It’s just the ones that have it that are sublime at it. General standard. A more than a friend in High School told me, when she had got close enough to talk to the mexican dude who really didn’t speak English very much, but he really did pull some tricks on the ultimate battlefield: life. Just regular chilling life. Another hot day under the AC. Hoops in that turf. I could organize a tournament for senior basketball players. A new sort of social consciousness. The artistic performance at KAS. Occupying that private space. Make sense of it all. Again. Just to connect. Just to praise our privilege, and put in collectively on the table. Here it is. Read it.
You know, I was the dude who couldn’t write a note, but still got his notebook out and took notes, and exams. There were no quizzes in KAS. I don’t think there were quizzes in CDS either. I have a couple of education brands to put on the box were we enlarge our chest to show how much we did study. Because study is a pleasure for knowledge taken into the spiritual form of paying attention and exploring new boundaries on the library of topics. The challenges. That thing that worries Robert Redford. That shit that George Clooney explores to denounce in each of his cutting edge films que produces. Keychin, keychin,…
The great whites. You must be open to praise them. You must see where highest white is pointing his erected out of control penis. That’s power. Not love. Not fair sex. Unfair violent macho out of control, and you know what: he doesn’t give a shit, because when you are a celebrity you can grab them by pussy and there ain’t shit the can do to a man of kind. I have seen this great whites all my life. And I gather there are two kinds: the assholes and the dickheads. There you have it. There is no other choice. There is no other explanation. If you are going to take a blow at somebody you are only left with one choice: the fucking higher one in command.
Yet, nowadays, this person would argue that this is unfair to him. His freedom of being a dick. It was just something I said, and nevertheless mean. And I can choose among words. And sometimes it makes sense and all. And people read. They just keep reading. They don’t know where they are. As if literature catches up faster in this new town of mine. New Barcino.
I feel like a cheat. And I want to let that slip right at the begging of the show. I am just here making and excuse. I could just go up in stage and make a performance where I take the night and built it into something special. I am a performer. I know that. But I can really take time and space at times. And I have done it. I used to be that person. In many diferent ways. That’s what I did. I was filling time with purpose. Only I wasn’t getting a reward. I didn’t know how to create it. I didn’t even know how to write a novel. I was just a broken toy who thought he could still score the ultimate gol. It’s not in vane my name is Golman.
I came here for this: futbolart is bigger than Mohammed Ali.
Somehow you started talking to that other religion first. So I went back to my Karachi Knights. I am knight. I am a fighter. Only, I am costarican. And we do things differently there. And we play futbolart from early on in life. Pure life.
Un cómico español expande los límites del humor. Pero el humor no tiene límites. Pero nosotros sí. Y es en ese performance de esta noche. Este momento Jorge Ponce sale a pantalla y presenta uno viajes por las Españas. Y nos lleva ahí. Con la tecnología que ya existe. Googlemaps. La manera en la que hemos recorrido todos los rincones de la ciudad. Todos los trucos del librillo de los que en esto se eternizan.
Vamos a crear un mundo nuevo.
Un mundo ya no tiene sentido. De la misma manera que El Mundo, como medio de comunicación, ya no tiene sentido. De la misma manera que Playground, como medio online «molón», ya no tiene sentido para los milenials, al botar a la calle a más de la mitad de la plantilla. ERE Playground. La intrahistoria. Medios que caen. Que vienen de la cima. OK diario. Periodismo. Ferreras. Iglesias. Florentino. Villarejo. El ciudadano Tejero. El ciudadano Puigdemont. Historia nacional multiversal.
Yo soy artista pero también todo lo demás. También soy agente. También soy clandestino. También soy de afuera. También soy desgraciado. También soy perjudicado. También soy precario. También soy afortunado. También soy facha. También soy libre.
Evaristo. Otra vez la polla. Hay que darle la vuelta al sistema. Es lo propone la resistencia. Claramente algo más que un programa de bajo presupuesto. Es una resistencia real afincada en Madrid. Y que comulga con esta realidad urbana que se ríe de sí misma. Y de todo. El humor milenial conecta con el director: premilenial. Ricardo Castella: el inventor de David Broncano y de la Resistencia. Un show. Quizás sea eso lo que hay que hacer. O algo más fácil. Ir ahí. Hacer el performance en directo. Buscar el show definitivo. La nueva sección del programa. La ventanilla. Cortinilla. Entrada y salida. El sonido en directo. Las erecciones de los yayos. 9 minutos para llegara a la erección. Cambian los tiempos. Hay que ir a otra velocidad. Reducir nuestra obsesión por la inmediatez. Darnos tiempo para llegar a diferentes conclusiones. Démosle a eso. Esa es la propuesta de esta nueva sociedad emergente: la sociedad supercuidadora.
Quizás sean sociedades supercuidadoras.
Potencial, partido, intensidad: la resistencia. Movistar. Canal cero. Un concepto de televisión que manda sobre el resto. Tele vieja. Showbisnes italiano. La televisión pública catalana como generador de cierto tipo de contenidos. La libertad de españoles. La Nueva España. New Spain. Ticataluña.
Yo me debo asumir más allá de lo que aquí empieza. Este cuerpo ya empezó a moverse. Aquí algo se escapa. Debemos renunciar a algo. Dejamos algo detrás. Y nos planteamos no volver. La irreversible decisión de dejar lo que tenemos. La pérdida. Extravios. Las antípodas.
De ahí vengo. No me avergüenza haber estado ahí. Es mi cruz. Mi infierto está aquí en la tierra. Ha sido este. Y lo que han sufrido mis seres queridos. Mi familia. Nos mantenemos en pie. A duras penas. Como un superviviente de un desastre natural. Un desastre social. Nos afecta a la cabeza de la misma manera. Todos recibimos los mismos inputs de lo que respresenta la realidad. Nos fiamos de los medios que nos dan la información. O del filtro de algunos internautas que nos dicen las cosas como son. Sin sus sesgos habituales. Como las televisiones públicas. Los periodistas que se ven frente al espejo. Y nos lo dan todo un día más. En ese chiringuito: tanto si es público, como privado. Un trabajo más. Pero la derecha opina que puede ser que la cultra no tenga ni lugar. Que no es necesario gestionarla, y que menos en manos de uno de esos. Los directores del teatro nacional. La danza. La cultura filarmónica. La cultura del Liceu. Barcelona llena teatros de ópera y los nuevos salones de stand comedy.
Me voy. Pronto me encontraré.