Where is the "zip"?

The sweet movement of the liquid while is passing over the streets. Today was warm like yesterday, but it supposes that at night will rain again over the wide roads of the city. Stopping sometime is good and healthy for your brain to get some things more clear and for avoiding any kind of dark clouds that can disturb the developing of the ideas to exist. But everything has to be related, kind of the piece by itself has to talk by itself. Being itself by itself, without any kind of words that can support the work, otherwise is the word that is saying something about the work or about the explanation that must have for being recognized. “Do not pay attention to the hurts of your neck” said the little elf, “it will pass soon”, everything pass soon, like the life itself is. Drinking beers and making cubes of unconsciousness where your unconsciousness can be held by a box that can contain all your ideas in moments where you are out to think or to have something to say. Is it really necessary to do something for demonstrating? Is it necessary to have an exhibition to say something or to recollect experience or whatever you want to have by that moment? Maybe living like a dead man walking over bridges without any direction where you will finish or someone is waiting you to give you the special gift that can illuminate your way to see further than anyone is the solution to any kind of problems, it will happen after we pass the line, that line between life and dead, like the Barnett’s “zip” in his canvasses is, could be that the artist was saying something about the unresolved question of where we are going, is just next to the “zip” to know where. Anyway, still water over the streets, poor rats that live there. And the devils are crossing the fire when the carnival begin on february, specifically over the great city of Oruro, where the devil is hiding by the dark side of the mountains, those mountains that contain gold and silver for being rich, like Patiño was when he started to “steal” the tin, well he wasn’t stealing really, he was taking everything putting empty all the big mountains of the plateau, what a fuck. However, the condor still flying, it knows everything how was really the history of ourselves because he was flying every time above over heads. And the sky was too cerulean like the shirt of “Bolivar”, but was more strong the yellow rays of the sun like “The Strongest”. Something that some people from La Paz, the city that I was born, that doesn’t approve to much is the name of our team, the team of the town, “The Strongest”. Maybe could be an idea to change the name to just “Tigre” because everyone in the country knows that this team still alive because of the power of the tiger. The Strongest is written in english, like this essay first of all, and is not something that belongs to us, well belong because of the contemporary world, however, we are a country that speak spanish and many other language of different community cultures. We must defeat the white walls, they are the biggest enemy to our world, these world of the white boxes where everything has to be there for being considered art. The connection of “reality” and “unreality” has to be demolished like a drink of Sprite.

Barnett's zip