revumbio still
revumbio side

 

Clariobaldo came to me and said, "oh that I were insane, always...I will never rest! Can you not make me truly insane? I will never rest till I am so. Oh, that in the bosom of god I was hid. Your retain health Mr. Lorenzo, and yet are as mad as any of us all, over us all... mad as a refuge from unbelief... from Bacon, Newton and Locke."

The Tramp came to me and said, "we got a new house with new things and now the new things are requiring that we get new tools to fix them when they break. These new tools have no tangible purpose, they slip out of my hands like ghosts. My old yucca broom doesn't work anymore on screen-printed tile floors and my old soaproot brush doesn't work on my new hair.
At one point, we were interested in broad expansiveness and cycling, spiraling time. Our intellect was collective and cut with one-thousand-facets; it dangled in front of my eyes like string of jewels.
Somehow, our autonomy and our expansiveness were complimentary; venison and acorn mush. Now, my soaproot brush pulls out my hair and my yucca brush leaves more dirt on my tile floor while my swiffer and synthetic brush pound reverberate, echo and disappear, flipping out of my hand like streaming tracers..."

THE INVENTION OF THE BLUES 
 

 

NOW:

Manifestos in the Mirror

Eufencio J. Rojas: Compendium of Industrial Vision

Jose Clemente Orozco: Poet of the City


 

NOW:

IDEAS KEEP DUMPING

PHANTOM SIGHTINGS AT LACMA
OPENS APRIL 6TH

For my cousin: This does blast you, this world- wind does blast by. That duck rolling sideways on its shoulders becomes a tattered and brown piece of junk paper as it gets sucked under the vacuum of your car. The coyote- MR TRICK coursing across the street uses no crosswalk- staying within the lines but not seeing them for all the other multitudes of ferocious lines crowding his entire vision- he crosses them all

MANIFESTO ARE THESE DECREPIT CONDITIONS? DECREPIT CONDITIONS, DISGUSTING CONTEXT BEING CREATED, RENAME AND RESHELL IT, TRULY DISGUSTING, HOW DO THEY LIVE THAT? I COULDN’T IMAGINE… IT TAKES SOME GETTING USED TO. Something like the squalor of an alchemist’s studio- but this time spread out over the street all over the flatness of Boyle Heights, skidding into the bridge to downtown with putrefied blackness, sludgy inert browness, blood stains, pocked streets and an abundance of paper and Styrofoam cups, plstic bags, unwound VHS ribbon, dead weeds. That mountain of concrete chunks, exfoliate of the city. See the bulldozer climbing up that mountain with machismo masking fear.

NEW AND INNOVATIVE. GEODE TOOTH-MEAT, CONCAVE SKULL, SOMETHING HAPPENS OUT OF BLASTING BOOMING REACTIVITY. I saw the whole courtyard empty out, people moving like ball bearings on an uneven table clustering and following at the sound of automatic gunfire, it was also the sound of someone dropping a box of old cassette tapes on the floor: Cure, Jimi Hendrix Tribute, Los Pinguinos del Norte, Green Day, Revolver, Cypress Hill, Al Green Xipe with ball bearing skin in constant reactivity/putrefaction rubbing and sliding on his body like an itch in his throat.

 


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