Bioluminescência

There is the poetry of things, of the thing in itself, the sun that irradiates from things, of their essence. Essence, that which breathes in its great innocence. The unconscious. There is the observer, the poet, the performer, the one eternally in love who wants to possess. He wishes to be poetry, so he tries to align himself to that beauty. Because it is not possible to carry it in its entirety, only in part – flowerpots for plants, cages for birds, aquariums for fish, boxes for stones and shells, jars for sand and soil, houses for cats and dogs, refrigerators for ham and baked fish, windows to view the sea and other things – the poet subject will create property to contain such beauty, to be its detainer.

The years go by and he notices that none of his efforts worked. His proximity to the poetry of beauty was a mistake; in fact, he is further from it than ever. The poet did not accept the freedom of things and as a consequence did not accept his own freedom. The end of his own beauty. He is unsatisfied, so he destroys, he cannot help himself. He commits suicide with his things. Despite the fatality of this event, the poet alleges that he only did it for love. And in his suicide note, he tells us: Destroy the house, end of story. Destroy the warehouses, the fortresses, legacies, museums, walls, so that we can see the sea.