God First
“God” first of all, first of all and every interest. This blasphemous religion that leads us into the temptation of every purchase. Our desire first of all, before any other intellect. Guided as blind by clichés towards the false ideal of freedom. We aspire to absolute completeness, to conquer as many purchases as possible. Collectors of receipts, vidified advocates of consumerism, unbridled and irrepressible we hear the smell of sales like vampires hissing their sharp teeth towards a drop of blood.
By mistake an advertisement struck us in that very small moment when we disfarted from the screen of our mobile phone. An image sculpted for eight vivid seconds, immediately after the finger went to refresh the page in search of other food to feed us from the needless complication of reminding us what we saw before.
Where’s the art? Where did the difficult task of telling a story end up to get people excited?
It got lost the moment we spent a thousand dollars on the phone that we didn’t need but that they made the best publicity possible. They hired excellent minds to write a couple of pages and remind us how important it was for us to photograph moments that we would never remember again. Was lost when we stopped writing for a religion that has become an ideological sect.
When did the word marketing stop in its function of perspective for the future?
When we no longer considered it important to diversify a concrete block from a fine cut of black ebony. We use the same words for different products. We catalogue planets by size, soft drinks for sugarcontent, presidents by wife in tow, and the religion of purchases grows out of proportion, feeding on stupidity, pointing to highly emotional and poorly protected youthful minds.
You could say that in any living market we find ourselves, we drugged him until he was immune from his own addiction. And now it touches on the difficult task of sipiding programs for publishing any product. Already fed up five years ago now we are exhausted, distracted and bored we wander in search of the “vintage”. Other is not the irrefutable desire for old feelings. Humans are nostalgic by nature, and in reverse cycles we turn to the mirror in search of something that belonged to us but we consider fresh and elusive as a certain novelty.
To whom the thankless task of discovering old loves and covering them with something that is also attributable to a certain modernity?
To copywriters. And I’m sorry if I throw water at our invisible mills. It’s an old Italian saying, but in practice it’s what all selfish advertisers do who think they’ve invented something in the last twenty years. Feelings or emotions are not invented. They are put aside and then found buried under old thoughts. We believe we’ve found an old dead friend, or a brother of our own likeness. And instead it’s just that bit of civility that still keeps us on our feet, the memory of a pale real-neck edits in which we fell in love with a high-necked sweater that until ten years ago could be ideologically connected to Steve Job. Round goggles that before that were John Lennon’s, and before that, in an old and stale period those glasses so tiny and round were of a man named Heinrich Himmler.
We are the vibration of the returning past. We strive to give you a sense that it is possible to sell to the masses. I hope they forgive me, the slew of writers, novelists and poets, but this we have become, sellers. Characters from a colorful book who hug a camera to make a video blog. With the words of someone else we sell happiness thinking that everything is spinning around only and the latter. New shoes give happiness, e-cigarettes, branded jeans, leather belt, chocolate packaged in Switzerland, phone with apple speckled, computer with apple speckled, sleazes of books not yet read but promptly Purchased.
Memes will be the next commercial. They are the grandchildren who with great speed spread thoughts and fashions, easy unparalleled in their youthful spirit, also managing to enclose that vintage vein that never hurts, remember the billboards. The good ones, able to make you smile and remain imprinted like a boot imprint. They will sell for eight seconds and then disappear being eaten by other even faster memes, it will be a vault that will take us to the starting point. As bored as we are tired we would be hungry for busy novelists and dreamer-minded advertisers.
Here is the religion in which God is the first on every plane. His face is the impulsive purchase, the constant and meaningless turnover that leads us to close our eyes and swipe the credit card. Common places that turn on themselves by selling 360 degrees on multi-platform digital. They are not afraid of disease or duty, the real “God” has come to earth to defend us from such lies, only certain death can awaken us from the torpor and make us stop turning around in search of passions and sensible purchases, if they ever were.
“God” first of all, following that vault against all physical logic, even himself. Putting himself in the last place. Pushing and climbing like a piston burning gasoline in the engine.
“God” is the smog that puffs from an escape pipe clouding what was the dream of an ideological future where we would catalog ideas for dissimilarity and uniqueness and not quite the other way around.
