ethan feuer // new work
well, it’s christmas eve. i feel terrible. i started a project called liminal. you should check it out. i’ll be adding to it as i damn well please. (that is, desperately often, in a brazen attempt to defer beginning the third draft of metabolism. ) really lousy.
so long, new jersey. you’ve been good to me (for the most part).
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welcome to barcelona: a city so suffused with the spirit of artiness that even the turnstiles are left-handed. spain is truly a country with two capitals. the netherlands, arguably, has three. china and germany have, in their own ways, many. france, the states, japan, and the uk: really, just one. and even though madrid has around twice barcelona’s population, the number of cultural and artistic institutions isn’t so different. barcelona deserves its reputation as a city worth seeing.
barcelona is crowded. some parts of it are times-square-crowded. a lot of the city has a strange psychic disconnect between groups rendered unusually distinct by their surroundings: people just trying to get to work, gutterpunks, party kids who got lost on the way to ibiza, unemployed locals, jaded street vendors, mimes. and, of course, tourists. tourists tourists tourists are everywhere in barcelona. every kind. the grungy ones who walked overland from montpelier, the couples intertwined, the fat ones from topeka, the skinny ones from new york, the german ones from germany. and all of it under the aegis of english as a lingua franca because castellano is persona non grata and every sign is in catalan first, biggest, and in red. castellano seems present only by force of law, and always placed on a parity of size and position with english as if to advertise, “these are both foreign tongues to us.”
adventures in the land of orxata have begun. token notes from the iberian peninsula are as follows: from noon to three españa is a mirror for the sun–siesta, sin duda. madrid’s metro is shockingly clean. lightswitches are invariably outside the door. pinchos rule. horkheimer también mola.
