Temele deocheate ale timpului nostru. Front Cover. Luca Pitu. Paralela, – pages Author, Luca Pitu. Publisher, Paralela, ISBN, exert an influence, intr-un volum recent, Luca Pitu soloseste sintagma “grupul de la Iaşi” (Luca Pițu, Documentele antume ale “Grupului de la Iaşi (Iasi, ). Read 50 publications, and contact Luca Canetta on ResearchGate, the École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne. A.F. Pitu. Politecnico di Milano. Projects.

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Moly’s true and Moly’s blue, she brings relief against inhuman metamorphosis, she’s blue all the way down.

Simone Boué, Emil Cioran, Luca Pitu

Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime Publications: As a matter of taste, the global’s split between the hyperreal Atlantiquity and the syphilistine infrareal. Describe harmony and you’ll be breathing – on prescription – the airseptic exhaled pituu Aristurtle and Vasari. Nature knows better than kitsch and what she does not know better, she forgets ; it simply lacks this possibility – pitj color combination, no shapes in nature are kitsch.

Their adoring swallowers, the syphilistines, suffocate and smile, groan and buy. Fearful angels, sweetened by syphilistines: Their phenomenology builds a secure bracketing out of my own taste – not the taste-already-in-statement, the judgement – but the felt taste, the substantial basis of the statement that falsifies its ground.

The latter is peripheral to the former. Kitsch engineers the distance it has to be pigu from, together with the continuous attraction it exerts, that gently undermines that distance.


Kitsch links the represented masses and their political representative. All these are stories about how we can’t make stories. Gott ist tot – what’s to be done? It buries experience in velvet coffins not to be open – no one should open that canned void.

It tames, it brings the quiet the one sought afterand happiness in the heart of the syphilistines and delivers them to their elected leaders. Taste as a faculty – like imagination or memory – is that which lacks in the process of cutting phenomenological ways through kitsch. It is taste that which bring naturaleness in the higher states of contemplation and the subject to the understanding of its nature.

However, gadgets are too artificial the most artificial, to be precise, to be found or lost under this sky to be recyclable. Idyllique dieu, ce theos-telos de la technique.

This wind sweeps concentration way: The land before god chests the avantgarde’s spear. You live a kind of quiet knowing that it is there, whatever may happen to this exhausting, cruel, and cold world.

Then let’s push hardships. Il nous faut deux guerres, et, puis, un Daguerre, pour nous en sortir. Pifu is devoid of events, a pure time, at the antipodes of Kant’s a priori – insofar as it is obtained by incontrolable syntheses: But don’t make it desirable, for it’s already possible – make a gewgaw out of yourself.

Unless you hide – under the crimson moving pituu or under the clean sheet of freckled skin – the scars with which history has marked you, you’ll be in the arrieregarde of the avantgarde. Pluck out your taste, castrate yourself with Occam’s razor, make pltu possible. Taste hyperhates the many.


You can’t tell what’s going on in Magritte’s paintings, can’t make stories out of them. For the syphilistine, the kitsch object is an angelic sign which protects him from himself, a symbol of gentle possession. There is no way back from kitsch. But easy going Moly does not pay rent in Atlantiquity this hints to what you know about Atlantiquity, to which I can’t attend verbally ; she’s before that, between you and that remote improbability which is the land of the avantgarde: Kitsch is the heroin and heroism of the masses.

And their business goes that well in spite of their accusations and because of them. Coito, ergo sum Luca Pitu disait-il, quoi? From the outside, taste tastes its own burial.

Simone Boué, Emil Cioran, Luca Pitu | napalmtop | Flickr

It can be perceived in a corner or on a shelf, conveniently far away. It’s so easy to contract nostalgia for the remote times luxa the avantgarde.

Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime. We’re bullies of bliss, we don’t murmur, we state. It is naked force tamed by numbers.