Yonamine is a Luanda native from the Thirty Years' War and a long-time visitor/inhabitant of Lisbon, a cleaner Luanda as he says, or in other words a Schengen Luanda without epic storms surrounding the class struggle. A Lisbon time out deserving of a beating. The punishment of freedom, freedom without punishment, libertarian punishment, directive thoughts when we see nails. Phage nails. Brushing history against conventional wisdom in search of proof of what hasn't changed in the midst of strange, foreign, theatrical life. People of Africa Rise Up! Here, on the floor of the CAPC, a trapped tour awaits us, a shoveling of nails waiting for a reaper; perhaps (but just maybe) Yonamine offers us a visual metaphor about defensive psychosis, bristling up in the unprotected places of the metropolitan city, about the Robinsons Crusoes who populate it without mystical experiences but who can still help us (disgrace is a good use, especially when it is cluttered with bills to pay), Balzac Dixit elsewhere; happiness has an end of the month and an endless month...). The spiritual situation of the lack of time to consent to be saved pushes us to an irreversible beginning, everything will start in conflict, it will live in conflict, it will be conflict. Norm and error, unconscious, self-conscious are the rhythms of our journey. Barbarism is a box of nails in the backpack of civilization, it is its irrepressible abyss, it's serpent, reflecting the quality of the mortal, of the ephemeral, of what will never be left, of the pyromaniacal fact, of the burning fact in the account book of normality.

Jorge Colombo, the tireless narrator (or descriptor?) from New York All-Around the World, from the slowest and most advanced city in the world (Fernand Léger), the city where, according to Man Ray, the Dada spirit would never have a future because it was too Dada (is it still?) ,landed his iPad brushes at Paris Je t'aime/impression soleil/ minute maid. It is Paris isolated in thermo-digital moments (of color and light) and reassembled on an amphionic tour, the theoretical image of universal cities, as proposed to us by Guillaume Apollinaire through an intermediary person; it is the effort of individuation expressed in the recording of the aesthetic condition of anonymity (of people who pass and are, of photogenic or unsaved buildings); Paris by Atget, by Bresson, of two or three things that I know about her (Parisian region), of adéle white and dry, of Versailles-Vichy, Lion of Denfert, from the father — chair where the cosmopolitan conspiracy sleeps international just as the Blanquist grandparents of Bolshevism lie glorious; the inconsequential Paris of the RER, of the black mec hip-hop of the cités bluffing the ladies on the Halles-Chatellet circuit; the Paris that will never reveal itself and where also “you can't get away with it without some wheels”. Paris Systéme D. Give it as a drawing.

São Paulo by Inês Moura and Maura Grimaldi, Sampa, is a crematorium mirror. Secret hands fold an image and São Paulo is decontextualized in a crumb of light. It's like the example proposed by Robert Smithson about the concept of entropy (the child playing in the sandbox, mixing two types of sand to the point where it is not possible to distinguish them), the irreversible nature of everyday life, of what disappears, of what remains as if elucidated in that metabolism of real estate stratifications in a luminous void. The city-state Not Ducor Duco exemplifies the impressive urbanization (and overcrowding) of Brazil (in thirty years it reached what took ninety to the USA). Secret hands mitigate the panorama of São Paulo. There is a poetics of emotional impact and of its interpretative phase (articulating the emotion of the city loved/seen for the first time, as aesthetic material, rationalizing it as the document of an attempt to integrate into a community); a poetics built around the cinematic disappearance of lived experience. It's a negotiation between parties that is talked about, of those who arrive and find themselves in discontinuity, aware of the uprooting, of the incomplete and hypnotized view that is generated by the experience (partial? touristic?) of the novelty, of the unrepeatable, of those who stand in front of a space with a previous life and ask the other, question, ask for guidance, ask for that corner to leave the end of the world.

And finally, we have Vasco Mourão's city-buildings, a thoughtful thousand low-tech architectural sheets that cover some of life's spatial misconceptions Intra e extra muros. They are idiorhythmic exercises (a Barthesian term) made with pen on the latent conflicts of the idea of conditioning: intimacy and oppression, grounding and nomadism, fetishization and detachment. From the basement to the attic, from the excavated hole to the vertical swelling or to the cushion on an aerial tour, architecture is embodied in it's classic dualism: construction by adding parts (the serious emptiness of Cartesian space opposed to the comical and uncentered accumulation of elements) or by extraction (that concavity filled with stairs and windows, could an inverted vertical neighborhood be a large scale incarnation of intrauterine life? The return to the comfort of the dark, to the honeycomb of the hive?). Architecture then outlined as the future of what has not yet happened under the guise of what was imagined/experienced; or even architectural culture (the mores) as approaching the future of its origins through repetition (here, in this glosa, understood as the search for the authentic, as the criticism of simulacrum, mannerism and social readymade). The Russian modernist poet Velimir Khlebnikov, for whom the present day must also be nostalgic (that is, he must recognize that the messages of the past reach and are still audible with heroic potential in the incomplete realism of the historical present) would certainly like the visual strangeness of these essays where European isotropy is woven into the Ottoman East (from Alexandria designed by Napoleon's encyclopedists to Transcaucasia as the motherhood of Europe). Let's finish with Roland Barthes: The text (the designed architecture, here) is a fabric of quotations drawn from the different centers of culture.