I am Santa’s Imaginary Boyfriend.
Dear, sophisticated reader,
you won’t believe it, 1) Coolositable is still not extinct and 2) SANTA IS COMING TO TOWN JAPAN.
As Anna and I have been very busy for the past *goestocheck* 4 months – well actually our whole lives – we haven’t been able to update this blog as much as we hoped to.BUT BUT BUT BUT here is a new post. And it’s utterly positive – not according to expectations.
Balthazar – e.g. I – loves/love Christmas. Or actually the ideal of it. Gaining weight by stuffing ourselves up with cookies – yes, not in that way – eating AND peeling tangerines – exchanging gifts unilaterally or nonlaterally – putting dead corpses into pumpkin soups – drinking Ginger Vodka on the Snow (not on the rocks as during other seasons) – going away to Barcelona – staying at fabulous, exclusive hotels – throwing snowballs against passing cars and people – and most of all, throwing snowballs at world leaders in Davos (well I admit, that happens only in January) are wonderful activities to keep oneself busy with when passing time in this wonderful time of nice words, hugs, kisses, French kisses, passion, affection, patting, petting, really hard sex against the Christmas tree, cleaning your chimney with Santa, S/M with Rudolph, Christmas bonda….well just love, right. And CHOCOLATE, LOTS OF CHOCOLATE and GINGER and CRANBERRIES and SNOOOOW. So you see, materialistic lusts evoke great excitement in mankind.
So where is all this leading to? Nothing, apparently. It’s mostly about corporations making inexorably exorbitantly large sums of £,$, ₪, Ft, ₮,,﷼ and mostly CHF. And filling one’s hollow, shallow, wallowed hearts with warmth by buying and cashing and moneyz.
Ahm. Where was I? Yes.
As you may not know, I am currently Santa’s Imaginary Boyfriend and and his muse, that’s why he – the omnipotent Sata… Santa has sent upon us this present:
In this way, I wish everyone a happy beginning of the most materialistic holiday season EVER, and hope you won’t build perverted snowmen and snowwomen.
LOVE and gingerbread,
Balthazar
P.S. Custard-pie battles have been largely accepted in contemporary culture as a new aspect of Christmas.
LOOK OUT FOR IT
Dearest, caring, loving and supportive reader,
you should keep track of or look out for those artists. Because they’re either absolutely hot right now or because they’ve been hot for a long time. Or because Balthazar says they’re hot. And because all of them were featured in some way at the largest art fair in the world, in which the author of this article has dwelled for 6.5 hours.
GENIESSEN SIE!
KEITH HARING
ROBERT REYNOLDS
JEREMY DICKINSON
BALTHUS
KARIN KNEFFEL
GEORGE CONDO
JOHANNES KNARR
HIROSHI SUGIMOTO
PETER LINDBERGH
Space bends and Nobel Prize
Hello there, if any of you still wander around.
As you may have noticed, there has been a significant break since we, or, speaking more precisely, I have given birth to another bunch of meaningless letters and punctuation marks, taking away your free time. We, the proud parents of this little chamber of graphorrea, have some difficult time with our offspring. The eternal problem of fathers and sons, meh.
But let’s forget about these small and senseless details and take a breathtaking journey to the land where even the almighty, solid as a rock, laws of Their Majesty Physics don’t work. The time and space, space especially, bend. The reality as we all know it loses familiar shapes.
I am talking about metro at 8:30 in the morning.
The first rule of Moscow metro in these ungodly hours is, you do not even think of using it if you are not rushing to save the world from the invation of zombie radioactive rabbits. The second rule of Moscow metro is, these is not a coach existing in the world that cannot fit one more person. This “one more person” is the most ephemeral substance in any of the parallel universes, even more ephemeral than a student’s loan.
Too much people, too much. And you were trying so hard to convince me that overpopulation is not the first problem of our little green planet.
Speaking of little green things, I have found a way to at least take a breath or avoid being stuck in a dramatic pose. Starting to laugh hard or sing “La Marsellaise” out of key automatically creates space around you, restoring the physical harmony at least a little. See, making other people think you are completely insane has serious benefits.
But you, my dear reader, may already be submerged in doubts about the reason why your humble key pusher writes these anthropological notes, besides of anthropological notes and scenes from the Land of Absurd as a purpose itself. What is the idea, you ask yourself. And the idea, instead of propagandizing the use of condoms and all this prosaic bullshit, is the following: there is no idea. Ta-dah.
Just if someone decides to describe the deformation of space in a metro coach in the early morning with Physics, then I know who gets this year’s Nobel Prize. Don’t forget to mention me in your speech.
to nisennenmondai the pain away
as you may know from my twitter stream, i haven’t been really well lately.
This has urged me to find methods to escape from this dystopic state of mind, and typical for me, I tried music. Now, what would come to your mind first of course, would be “Fuck the Pain Away” by Peaches. Also in a literal way. Unfortunately the dolor-reducing sex doesn’t work, that’s one of the things I know. In the end it’s just sinister and glum music playing inside me.
So, through a divine webular afflatus I discovered Nisennenmondai and their album Neji Tori. As the name suggests, the formation is from a faraway country going by the name 日本国. Yes, I’m talking about Nihon-koku, you’re absolutely right. Minutes after I had digitally clutched the 58-minute-long album, I found myself in a dark room with loudspeakers, blasting Nisennenmondai.
And it was a revelation. Screeching but rhythmic guitars, no singing, rigorous drums, vast but little melody at the same time. Uneasy to describe, to be honest, but exactly what I needed and still am in need of to make the interior pain go away. LOUD, RAW, BLASTING, PRIMITIVE, DISTORTED, BRAIN-OFFSWITCHING, NOISY, JAPANOISE.
To be honest, I guess my words are an assault to or don’t serve justice to what wonder Nisennenmondai - Japanese for Y2K bug by the way – is. So please, buy their music, I recommend you starting with Neji Tori, I haven’t gotten any further with their discography because even after almost a month now with their album,
I’m still in a state of amazedness.
James Dean’s Emaciated Face.
Dear reader,
as the last days of this year are passing, with cloudy skies, storms in the distance, broken hearts and love for the rain, I feel obliged to write about James Dean, one of the persons of
whom I haven’t seen any films.
But only a glance at one of the grainy, black and white pictures of him, was enough for me, to see how gaunt or emaciated his soul seems to be. At the end of existence, the sensitive soul, the fragile innocence and still the oppressed freshness.
I guess 2010 was for more and more people exactly that. For too many people. Social injustice, unmerited projected anger of others on one self, not-talking to each other, the mean games, the escape from reality and how others are unable to accept that, cutting a better figure at the expense of others’ weaknesses, brainwashed assholes, social incapability, bumpkins and ultimately disappointments, empty promises and failure in communication, dishonesty.
“In life you have to suffer, a lot”, says Pepa in ‘Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios’, and unfortunately she’s right. The repression of the fact that life is just an endless dark tunnel, with little light and few angel…
That was 2010 in emotions, for too many.
Hope? Maybe. People won’t suddenly change, but there will be wonders, which though have to be searched for in ourselves, our souls unfolded, maybe that’s the way, even if it hurts and involves humiliation or else, but being true to oneself, may be the ultima ratio to save ourselves.
Before it gets better, it always gets even worse.
Sincerely yours and cheers,
Balthazar
Mr. Balthazar
anch
