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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Simone Boué, Emil Cioran, Luca Pitu

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 ulca and that remote improbability which is the land of the avantgarde: This wind luva concentration way: But don’t make it desirable, for it’s already possible – make a gewgaw out of yourself.

Blue Moly in improbable fields. It is taste that which bring naturaleness in the higher states of contemplation and the subject to the understanding of its nature. The kitsch object devours the surroundings: Moly’s true and Moly’s blue, she brings relief against inhuman metamorphosis, she’s blue all the way down. It can be perceived in a corner or on a shelf, conveniently far away.

The latter is peripheral to the former. Unless you hide – under the crimson moving wounds 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. So kitsch presents the unrepresentable, elects governernments, rules with a velvet fist.


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. And their business goes that well in spite of their accusations and because of them.

Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime.

Lucca only way to narrativize them is to tell the story of your own interpretation of Magritte’s paintings. You live a pktu of quiet knowing that it is there, whatever may happen to this exhausting, cruel, and cold world. Time is devoid of events, a pure time, at the antipodes of Kant’s a priori – insofar as it is obtained by incontrolable syntheses: Gott ist tot – what’s to be done?

Pluck out your taste, castrate yourself with Occam’s razor, make theory possible. Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime Publications: Nature knows better than kitsch and what she does not know better, she forgets ; it simply lacks this possibility – no color combination, no shapes in nature are kitsch.

Indeed, why would you? Fearful angels, sweetened by syphilistines: Taste as a faculty – like imagination or memory – is that which lacks in the process of cutting phenomenological ways through kitsch.

However, gadgets are too artificial the most artificial, to be precise, to be found or lost under this sky to be recyclable.

Temele deocheate ale timpului nostru – Luca Pitu – Google Books

It is naked force tamed by numbers. Kitsch engineers the distance it has to be perceived from, together with the continuous attraction it exerts, that gently undermines that distance.


The land before god chests the avantgarde’s spear. Coito, ergo sum Luca Pitu disait-il, quoi? Kitsch links the represented masses and their political representative.

For the syphilistine, piru kitsch object is an angelic sign which protects him from himself, a symbol of gentle possession. Taste hyperhates the many.

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

They’re all mad in their crave for purity; on top of, avantgarde is crazy. There is no way back from kitsch. Describe harmony and you’ll be breathing – on prescription – the airseptic exhaled by Aristurtle and Vasari. All these are stories about how we can’t make stories.

Who’s there to weep it? Idyllique dieu, ce theos-telos de la technique. Their adoring swallowers, the syphilistines, suffocate and smile, groan and buy. It buries experience in velvet coffins not to be open – no one should open that canned void.

We’re bullies of bliss, we don’t murmur, we state. You can’t tell what’s going on in Magritte’s paintings, can’t make stories out of them. It’s so easy to contract nostalgia for the remote times of the avantgarde.