Every artistic movement since mid 19th century has a manifesto: it is a necessarily pamphletary proclamation, radical, refounder, defying all preceding artists, establishing preferentially absurd intentions, furious aggravated intentions with the world, what they do is completely new, they defend art as the only thing that remains from civilisations (reason here some…), and the name usually ends in «ism». Following this tradition, the Zuturists Manuel Vieira, Pedro Portugal and Pedro Proença presented in 2017 a collection of texts named Zuturist Almanach. What is the Zuturist Almanach? Zuturism firstly opposes Futurism and all other artistic manifestoes by declaring that all art is contemporary and there is no history at all – therefore there is no art of the past and much less the art of the future. There is no good or bad art and a lot of art already exists but is not art yet (the so called pre-art)! The final Zuturist statement is: We are only making Art for Nothing because Art is Nothing.
ZUTURIST ULTIMATUM TO THE GENERATIONS OF THE 21ST CENTURY AND BEYOND
Eviction mandate to the winding of the planet and to the incomplete artists that close themselves in their blank little artworks, cornering poetics without sights nor bulwark for the infinity-plus-infinite!
1. Out! You out, recipe to exist in here (anyone who analyzes you with homeopathic remedies), finance worm with ketchup in the belly of bulging institutions directors, better salad in the writhing gestures of the plastic dishware literati all to remind counterfeited lives!
2. Out Pascal Quignard, womanizer pseudo-feminist with poorly translated Latin to cover up the delicate oval of Action and shoddy freudisms to become interesting and to be taken seriously mixing in the same pot Bataille and the Benveniste hebrew!
3. Out Villa-Mattas of bare walls, face unable to disguise the exquisite stage Frenchmen of exquisite Frenchness of his soul of choice, with shaved tips, poster, mold of the suburbs, wheeler-dealing of the old and simpatico wonderful realism to smuggle drugs, dead of the others, wearing wolf skin of the fathers without children, early suicides in the envy of fecundities and trade, snob’s dada recycling vanguards with napkins to clean the ass!
4. Out Rushdie of renegade souls, lampoon of alien particles, white-haired psychologist always following behind a hot bitch from Anglo-Saxon leftist elites, relegated plebeian snob of high castes faking without caste smelling pig samosa with annoying Ayatollahs, you're going to cover and guess the silly thoughts and literary fissures where the pus runs fucker!
5. Out Jeff Kunts, constant malaise that covers up the wharholian merchandise, the bald man of porn-fuck painting, the imperialist all-purpose to recycle scrap, imperialist epic icons with necrosis prick, who does not know you should buy you, poor large-scale technology mongrel!
6. Out Damien Hirst, with strings in the Sotheby’s, leaning vegeterian in paradoxes, kneeling charlatan of insincerity, low cold tumor of Duchampianism, arranger of visits to excuse the unexpected intellectuality, bar of chocolate tucked into the anal recess of himself.
7. Out civil disobedient, Thoreau hoax adulator, the Boston bourgeois making naughty raids in the woods (but never to live there!), third-rate fictionist Rousseau imitator, spleen scaffold of the transcendentalists, so puritanical, always surrounded by clutches of servants assisting his lunacy and bad temper.
8. Out pacifist, follower of Ghandi, cynical instigator of more trouble and other violence, and whose ego overcame the meager prick, always working for piousness, garlic malodorous, obsessed with power, sleeping naked with the niece only because she gave him joy in the temptation, give orders to destroy Khajuraho and impose a demented chastity to those who paid attention to him!
9. Out Dalai Lama, the politician of the confuse, self-confessed carnivore who does not kill vermin (hypocrisy!) and whose shit is sanctified and sold to the weight of gold! You who strive to maintain a vast monastic elite who lives at the expense of the miserable, who follows the goods in exchange for blessings! What is your policy for the liberation? After all you do not live bad at all?
10. Out, Heideggerians execrable translating blunder smelling of the essence of the essence of the essence, confusion of pasturage-like anguish to be barred by a rancid pâté of Being, mayhem always to give in the Same of the Same, goofylogy misreading the pre-Socratics, Teutonic mystification unleashed to pass by hermeneutic untranslatable fucking shit.
11. You out, Nietzsche's acolyte, the eternal return of headaches and spasms of useless immorality, sublime submissive among panics of cows, Dionysus of impotence hammering silly on the tables, grudging denouncer of rancor drooling in a chair for the mad, at least you were the Super-liryc Zaratrusta clumsy and pathetic attempt.
12. Get out bedazzled Turner's prize, steak tarnished by the drowning women on the Thames, just to draw them (the cameo!) the rotting ass and cunt! Fuck them!
13. You out, Vasconcelos of Barcelos, Kitsch and Camp case terrifying political pundits who prefer to spend the nation treasure in aesthetic apocalypses, tying themselves in the mirror of inanity. Remember! Also Lenin, Hitler and Stalin left disastrous legacies. And history will never forgive you for betting on an anguished slap instead of sprinters for eternity!
14. And you scientists, imperfect scoundrels, always fallible and perpetually refuted, masters of equivocation, perfect crime, caricature hypothesis, sewage of human activity, perpetual up-to-date production destined for civilizational dung. Compared with you, even smaller works of art will be remembered. Sumi, ho! cosmologists, astrophysicists, throwing pranks on the Universe, sucking millions out of CERN, dealing with the uncertain, dark and venomous energies, in such a way that we do not know if we are part of a world, of none or several.
15. And you also, journalists, beasts of the media world, calling you liars or incompetents is kindness. Manipulators at the service of the most shabby economic powers, shameless disinformers, cockroaches, bedbugs, convinced pedants who know everything in less than a match, wise bitter rats, opinionators of the easy, failed of the difficult, authors of vast scraps of novels that only give desire to vomit.
16. It was you, Guedes of resentment and by antiphrase Valente, vomit of commentator to make screen ends, taking from the top and bland the easy insult, case study of superlativ liver inflammation! You don't just die out of this slammer because outside you worth a spike!
17. Vade retro, minor-league of the Fifth Empire longing for a glory we have never had and with a horrible hunger of which we shall never be. And even Pessoa, forgive him, never scribbled on the subject before 5 o'clock without a good drip on Martinho weighing him, which, let us agree, as for the prognosis, is not only lucid, but a guaranteed covenant shit.
18. And you, epigones of Saramago, the super-asshole, vengeful, stalker, onanist complicating ambushed nymphs, comrade of the conveniences that left him the Nobel on the slope! Get rid of the Pilares and the uninterrupted paragraphs that are neither people's sayings nor interesting blurring of consciousness streams.
19. And you historians who make scientific fiction of the retrograde, you are as good at tiling the documents of the past as the writers of sci-fi to get right in future details! Out! Out!
20. Unwrap also, ticks of Philosophy, teachers of the incomprehensible, specialists of the abstruse, hyenas of the knowledgeable wrestle in university departments without students, intrigues and certain income. Shabby, drained, lame of concept, uselessness even to feed the dogs or chimeras.
21. And you, the politically correct litle pissants, you get freaky in the sneak and call whore to the chick you go to bed with, puritan with choucroute moral with terminal sick handwriting, poor thing! Shit fucker!
22. Thou wast Agamben, Hebrew who winked at the papacy, with slices of stilo nuovo and poached Heidegger! Faking to put the egg of Origin back in the art species when what he really want is to wear snazzy furs and get drunk with fine whores in an orgy with power and finance dudes! Fucking bastard!
24. Out thou, Obrist, pseudo-anarch on pasteurized hangover in abnormals biennials! Commander of the curators, healers, jugglers, barrel of radicalism subsidized by governments and bankers, stink with emerging artists, and drinking Moëts and Chandons with many more people.
25. It was your Zizek, belching Lacanian slang with Stalinist jargon, with Stalinist adiposity, and parachute of Lacan, a goofy dialectic in slang with the horror in his eyes and a dump in his hand; monkey suit for little intellectual to see and artist to settle in the bathroom of the intelligentia spilling cotton mouf abominable snowman reasoning!
26. Out third rate benjaminians suiciding in a bathtub! Out Foucaultians, Deleuzians, at last, with the chaosmological nexus to fish archeology, with the divine profanation at the aunties prison! It was you Barthesians, disfigured, with your ass coming out of your pants, and your sweet love fucking Moroccan boys. Out you, the simulated Baudrillardians, with the seduction in the drawer and the pacifier in the mouth! Be thou thy Danto, deader than art, thunderbolt on you, be thou, with a peacock's tail full of dog shit!
27. And you vulgar intellectual, journalist, chronicler, televisioner, fleeing your arm with a foucaultian tic, stove of the erased Mystery! And you, post-structuralist cunning Barthes heirs of, sour soup, reheated in the microwave of a not even postmodernity!
28. And you, annoyed, shut yourself up within the rhizomatic spectrum of Deleuze-ze-ze-ze-ze-ze-ze-ze-ze with the university gang stabbing without organs, but being sucked for shire! Or not! Either good or bad, whatever.
29. Out there, pseudo-neo-surrealist, without being morally mortified to think that Débord is good when he is a great and boring fool, that you do not suck the doggies or tourists in the latrines of a railway station like Cezariny, whom you love the inanities, child molesters and everything, by Luis Pacheco, and the little or no wonderful reality, and the madness of others, since it is not yours and the sordid side of the masochistic meekness! Come on in, get drunk and give shag in a dicier hostel! Fuck!
30. Out! Out! Out! And if there are others in your room to write a letter of intent that lacks the pro-vocation: look for them to change toilette or corner! Get this out of my way! There was nothing out there for anything else that had anything to do with it!
31. Out! There! I want to be free from this even if it's alone away from anyone.
32. What do you do in the celebrity business Angela Merkel? Poker cheating, in this habit of united Germany counting pennies of loans, left-handed and lightly unfriendly arm-handle, with holes next to her buthole, uncovered chancellor to hinder light in the finance firmament, stalking the fire of the miseries of others? Push your finance minister into a precipice. That’s the best you can do now!
33. Who are you, cockroach in the darkened gardens, liberal European socialist, dishevel privatizations, you feel like a cockroach in the dawn of emerging neo-fascisms? And you conservative mocker with a horror of the emigrants' kebabs, but you go to imported Algerian sluts in orgies just to relax from the hard metier of finances and polyriches!
34. And you, commie by tradition, with Marx on the shelf and workers' control of old moldy tea, false teeth, many if’s and shovels, true cassette of the rights of the workers at any moment. Twenty Five of April always in freight.
35. And you, opportunistic politicians in Masonic or ecclesiastical cassock, a slice of Lisbon frying eggs of corruption dumbing down to bar the elegance of rancid butter, dignity fallen on the floor for bad reasons and counting them by fingers with the body jammed in horrible things?!
36. And you, abandoned esteemed lover that she came back to you with another, with all the others, cantabile moderata soup with the mafia to secure threats to your profile in facebook, nobility of incompetence before the facts all where the transparency glory of statesmen scorned in their imbecility!
37. Everyone! All! Eyes on the long cigarette case! Garbage, provincial slammer, felonious, silver glittering on the intellectual! A bunch of heads of state, green shame of snooker table. Incompetents on the lure, barrels of garbage, very well, the cousin licking the ass eye of the stepmother! And little by little turned down, at the door like two lost stars in the infinity of indignation with italics, quotation marks and fuck fascist!
38. Get it all out of our trajectories, outlined in advance! Everything out of here! Unwind! Ultimatum to them all, for they had sensed it several times, and it was inevitable that sooner or later they would leave as dejections of assured precautions. Fuck off! That it is good for you to be like poison of nullity enamored with the abyss and entangled in connivance.
39. Bankruptcy of me, of you, of others, of no one, of whoever want and who comes, of the committed ones, of the nihilists, of the libertarians, of the minions, of the incumbents, of the terrorists. Bankruptcy of people on a movie screen with a torso of eager dynamite destinations – total and fatal bankruptcy! Parade of fashions in the intension of vice. High couture to pretend to be a prêt-a-porter waiting for my Contempt! You, ambition, to understand me better to eat an Italian chick and a lap dog called Stalin, and see porn-fuck on TV!
40. You, french man, it was not because I doubted your «effort to be French,» plucked cock, without the generous tits of Mariane, scaly, good for chicken soup. Nation anointed by ignorance of being only the dilettantism of not having importance anymore, and the affected air of a tongue in nausea enamored with uninteresting subtleties and banal ambiguities – plus one nuclear aircraft carrier and automobiles that no one understands.
41. You, German culture, Sparta of shit in the constitution of families, sour pork with olive oil of Christianity and vinegar of rotten nietzschization, hive of tin – that after all was the Reichstheaterkammer overflowing of servility intertwined with organization and bunkers and philosophers sucking each other's cocks!
42. You, Austria-subject, venereal of the soul with resentment to chatter and Mozart music as disguise. To abhor the mixture of sub-races, with Hitler's mustache to be psychoanalyzed to the door stop and series below C.
43. You Belgium, poodle diarrhea, without heroism and subsidized rage with Museums in Resale: wipe your hand to the wall with a younger generation, with your old surrealisms and conceptualisms pissed by the Meineken piss. Shine on what you never were! Get rid of the Magrittes and third rate Broodthaers fast!
44. You, Russian slavery, with a tyrant guaranteed in the Kremelin to freeze the idiocy of Europe. Enjoy this Pudding in the snow of eyes like two luminous sources freaking blue faint and bombs of Chechen emigrants, release of spring unopened with nuclear radiation. Do you still remember the revolutionary idleness of the constructivists? No, you don’t? Fucking bears!
45. You, Spanish «imperialism» with sangria and tapas, salero that does not shine beyond politics, with bullfighters of sambenito and desire of genius to perfect fucking with the animals and garlic picassatas. Too much oil painting and corny crystals dripping tons of blood onto a bitch's ovaries! You surpass yourself in spontaneously masked poses of souls round the corner and eccentric to transcribe the abstract shifts of the warriors qualities buried in Morocco!
46. You, the soulless interior dynamism of the United States of America, a bastard-bourgeois synthesis that expresses itself subtly to dress low-Europe, garlic of the transatlantic pan with Hollywood licking, pronounce and contain itself in a congenital defect. Oh yeah, flat in the nasal. I of unaesthetic modernism! Great, big, amazing, wonderful, terrific, huge and other adjectives that shit everything, vomited from camp, everything in you is rhetoric of a failed horn, sublimation in large dimension of nonexistent intensities. Keep pursuing your dream of provincial idiots of fucking prick Americanizics clean with shit.
47. And you, Portugal-centime, so often excommunicated by this rest of the Nth Republic to rot in nostalgias of Revolutions or Fascisms, God injustice who made us extreme unction-mortification of la Desgracia, artificial collaboration in the degradation of man, and more still by these wars with natural shame for colonizing Africa and having set sail while the devil rubs is eye! And God's infamy was born just like himself, sublimated rags of infinite tricks and ego-bitches with folk traditions.
48. You, Brazil «sister republic», blague de portuguez with soap operas to sodomize brother countries with «legal» mushy stuff – you have already transposed me into rejoicing Pedro Álvares Cabral, who even in this practical realization wanted to discover no globalization at all!
49. Collect the stains of the world, you e literate to suck on the Fates nipples and the European literary currents, you that spreads in the crackhead spasms or anything else that is worth it in this maelström pipe exaggeratedly dances. Ah, the old tea-lukewarm recipes of the manifestos! Tall men of Fractal Europe pass through the lice beards of my Contempt!
50. Pass the bamboo trees full of dust, you ambitious of the daily luxury, craving for cocaine, dust and sun. The abstract art was not, the reverse of the medal of impotence and all that, for it is not so easy to create at ease!
51. Loose you who have the need to be cut off from those who are no longer even of old-fashioned avant-garde, children made in fanatics of slices of prosthetics video-horn!
52. Passes, radicals of the Little, uneducated of the Logo, of the After, of the No-there-mood, attracted instantaneously by an Advance, you have the ignorance by magnet luminously-sex that baffles your audacity. You embrace the movement of ambiguous beauty dick-helix-toilette. Enjoy the impotence by virtue of the neo-theories and gaudy career!
53. Pass, giants of the other-time-not, in a stroll, the rainbow of ants, drunk from your personality to the cube of the cube to the bottom of the bourgeois children sometimes, with the X-rays beyond the horse mania of the great-life stolen in the transparent dispensation in a cinematographic continuity bypassing the paternal heredity unmasked by the sacred apology of female nervous epileptics!
54. Pass, epileptic dung without grandeur, bluishly asexual hysteria-rubbish. The eyes gleamed round in the bas-fonds of the spectacles, the social senility of the concept within an enlightened rattle to walk the individuality of another lost youth!
55. Pass, mold of the New, fiery and ruined scandal of merchandise in bad condition since the crowned artificial by the Situationist apocalypse. When I came back again there were remnants of a brain that had been crushed with rusty parts from above!
56. Pass on the left, servants of registered letters, anemia of «philosophical systems», abjured in the blue pentagram to elide in Persian naughtiness.
57. Pass pragmatists of the least defect to bring snaps on either side. Metaphysical journalism with more opinions and less data. Come on! Only color takes trouble in picking on with curators and boring in the high negotiations of this Europe-World-Total.
58. Go on, terabites of Ambition, pass on, provisional, everyday artists in the offensive of a career to be big thanks to a sly entrepreneurship, always skimming the dinners-convivial politicians, lightning-lunch style, servants perched on bank balance, loathing of the pleasures of the Occasion!
59. Go, fine whores of the Carnival-egyptian. Light spread equally by the esoteric sensibilities, anodyne, by the lack of backbone with kundalini to cover. Go, civil contractors, coquettes of coffee, left intellectuals to go to conferences in the universities, to attend the Cinematheque to think culturally superior in this passivity.
60. Go, brains of the suburbs, intense devotees of the incarnate abstraction, of the conceptualism discovered in a course for radicalism in a sub-university. Maybe the blue pentalfa is your street corner, your gigolo who spends his money in the theater, how alive would you be more than a mere onanist?!
61. Unnecessary luxury, pass, vain grandeur to which transgressive geometry was also within the reach of all, triumphant megalomany everywhere to be mere villager of the village-Europe!
62. You who confuse being alone with the relations between numbers, where it infuses the human with the popular, where spontaneity asks to jump. You party vertices where the Self is frantic.
63. Go on, pretenders to the best of the best, pretentious windbag, demiurges of half-bowl, maggotmeisters in the wiring of the wedges for another retrospective, lords of sawdust, feudal lords of the blunder farm, with taken adjectivs to see if the sublime catches and impresses.
64. Pass, posthumous romanticism to move on to such a side of liberals everywhere, lively square in brutality chic classic to drinking alcohol from the fetuses, zig-zag equestrian Wittgenstein, dynamism of the Whitmans to rise the step in brouaha-gallope of flood-neon. Completely equal to himself, knocking on the door, a beggar of inspiration without origin to realize that the light is always forced, hollow head that makes a noise with the mortgaged face facing the Absolute, haughty and impish.
65. Go on, home hypnotists, with two faces facing me – dominators of the next door neighbor, housekeepers in the same neighborhood and with the Discipline that costs neither a child of vertices to hurt what creates!
66. Pass, self-convinced traditionalists, neo-Benjaminists, indeed insincere with the center of the skull, accustomed to existent debauchery, pseudo-radicals invoking their bourgeois preachings inside. Tobacco from Spain and quality of workers wanting to leave belladonna band and black drumbeat when working! Routines of revolution, pass!
67. Pass from Luanda to Cabinda Zona Ecuador = eugenicists, organizers of a 40-degree life in the shade, La Creolita, , SSs of applied biology, neo-Mendelians, girlfriend of the toreador *Terre Sienne Brulée* of sociological incomprehension!
68. Go on, vegeterians, teetotalers, Calvinists, tweeters, walls that fall on others, kill-joys of neo-imperialism, floor carpeted with vanguards with jagged cunts, pretentious room left!
69. Pass, clerks of the «vivre sa vie in cobalt blue». When you break down the four corner walls you'll be looking forward for another revolution.
70. Pass Brechtians to other estrangements, the ceiling was already Bernstein-Bataille to be impaled alive in the caucasian and blue circle of the stage! Tango of no caste. You are without soil. Juxtaposing hieroglyphs happened to swerve the cunnilingus!
71. Pass, absolutely, go! Come, ye synthetics of instant expression drawn by the Disgust. Sponge yourselves in the liberality and frontality of expression.
72. Rub yourself and drag yourself, impotence to solve phrases, being self-absorbed archives in depth to make noise!
73. Roam yourselves, tele-guided missiles declaiming the incapacity, the curse of humanity condemned to more ambition between inter-stellar wars, indefinitely-desperate prolongation of the notion of the instant, more destructive-creative intelligence than bombs! Rub it with the mud-equation of the infamy of cosmopolitanism that others were hunting for zebras with poets of passing wind.
74. Proclaim loudly what is of vital importance. Does anyone still fight hard with freedom-savvy bombers or seriously emancipate themselves without being guided by a frustrated zen monk or other pet guru? Everyone fights for fear of others ignoring the dizzying medicine of colors! Who believes in others? Peel the whole herd! Send the danger perpendicular to the house to peel potatoes! They are to be found in the hovel circumscribed to the circle of symbolic hardships! Wash off this jumble of unconscious mumble! Tame the diameter of the earth to a suicidal god! Put a surface daily exhausted on a subjective basis. Use the collar to control your anger!
75. Resurrection of all because of the sphere which contains everything everywhere to transfer to all!
76. Resurrection of everything by brain intensity of the innovatively stamped chymic, hard cube plus boche metallism complete, altogether, pyramid with the slightly crooked side of an integral and suprematist-infraist mode: SHIT!
–
Manifesto published in the book ALMANACH ZUTURISTA by Manuel Vieira, Pedro Portugal and Pedro Proença, presented in performance at P! REINVENTIONS 2017, on 14th April, 2017, at the Teatro Municipal São Luís, Lisbon.
