The freedom of the albatross
Like a poet
clumsy and funny
a crippled athlete
a wounded horse
on the earth, but then takes flight
the albatross flies between sky and sea
between matter and light
between parallel dimensions
Poets like the albatross
from the gloomy Baudelaire to the albionic Coleridge
in its flight with spread wings there is something white
there is so much white
there is so much dawn, he chases it defying the infinity of the sea
albatross
between abyss and sublime heights
the very ends of the cosmos
he is like the guardian of that line, always the same and always different, where heaven and earth meet
the horizon
from the horizon sprouts white the dawn of a new albatross
before the absolute we all turn white
today art is defined by the system
today art is what the system decides
today what the system decides is good, right and true
the freedom of the contemporary is that of an albatross with its wings nailed above the cross of the system
the postcontemporary allows itself the luxury of flying
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