Manifesto Page #5

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Audience of f***ing

retrograde, f***ing idiots,

f***ing f***ing art dealers.

My madness

has not been reckoned with.

Truth never occurs

outside our own selves.

Life is but a system,

open to the rains

that fall at intervals.

Things have no conceivable

intrinsic value.

And the poetic parallels only

flourish in an inner dimension.

We seek truth, not in the

reality of appearances,

but in the reality of thought.

We must create.

Man no longer imitates.

He invents.

He adds to the

facts of the world.

Born in nature's breast, new

facts, born in his head...

A poem, a painting, a statue,

a steamer, a car, a plane...

We must create.

That's the sign of our times.

Impose aesthetic limits.

Create art from

one's own abilities.

Don't reincorporate old

values, but create anew.

The past, we are leaving

behind us as carrion.

The future, we leave

to the fortunetellers.

We take the present day.

No more retrospection.

No more futurism.

Everyone's silent open

mouths miraculously

illuminated by the vertiginous

light of the present.

Unique and

electronically sensitized

to the upwardly moving eye.

Forever renewed, yet

forever the same.

Let us honor the avant garde.

Let us love our

unparallelled century.

Our egotism is now supreme,

our confidence unswerving.

Swabbing In my

glorious isolation,

lam illuminated by the marvelous

incandescence of my

electrically charged nerves.

A great era has

begun, the spiritual awakening.

The increasing tendency

to regain lost balance.

The inevitable necessity

of spiritual plantings.

We are standing at the threshold

of one of the greatest epochs

that mankind has

ever experienced.

The epoch of great spirituality.

Art, literature, even exact

science are in various stages

of change in this new era.

They will all be overcome by it.

We are freeing ourselves

of the impediments

of memory, association,

nostalgia, legend, and myth.

We are creating images whose

reality is self-evident,

both sublime and beautiful.

Instead of making cathedrals

out of Christ, man, or life,

we are making them

out of ourselves,

out of our own feelings.

The sublime is now now

picturesque or amusing

for the sentimentalist,

or the romantic.

And the rich are boors,

without exception.

Oh yes, yes.

Good point.

I think it's time.

Ladies and gentlemen, long

live the great art vortex.

Thank you, Darling.

Our vortex is not

afraid of the past.

Well, in fact, it's

forgotten its existence.

With our vortex, the present

is the only active thing.

Life is the past and the future,

but the present is ought.

We stand for the

reality of the present.

Not for the sentimental future,

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