Ferran Calvó

Don’t be me because of excessive zeal. Martyr of a hidden but very sharp narcissism that castrates the attempt to be, whatever. Me project without me. Live with true humility and love on the ruins of a perpetual post-ego dynamited on a whim and by system. Not being so much something in particular as the provisional result invested by and for anxieties, real and very diverse, short-circuiting with each other. Chimeric tenant of a rare hiatus lost between multiple intensities with very polarized intentions. Zero zone of an egotistical catastrophe hidden by the nebula of its chronicles that make it recognizable, like the tail of some comets, by the beautiful manifestation that emanates from its own deconstructive wear and combustion, beautiful mortal wake of the throbbing life of a self who says not himself to himself, someone kind, complicit and friend (and quite the opposite too), with the violence and cruelty necessary to be able to be at the side of his merciless way of understanding goodness.

A generous almost-naive to being always and without limit or control, as much and as excessively as is the laziness of his enchantedly faint-hearted, lucid and as dangerous to himself as any sociopath is.

Not being so much an I as the unstructured result of a senseless humor invested with convulsive anxieties between the “on” and the “off” of his intermittent soul. A slippery bar of soap even for himself, what to say for those who presume to know him and only have a bubble of soap that explodes as soon as they get too close.

Text by: joseluiscañadasoler

Drawing: Silvia Cosio