A Contracultura

Good day, I'm Eduardo, and audacity defines me
In my day I was an actor, and now I'm a film director
My success is scarce, and I'm not delusional
But let's talk about money first, that's why I'm here

I'm just one more artist among millions
To whom I don't even come close
But I dedicate myself to cinema, I don't write books or songs
I belong to another breed and I deserve subsidies

And maybe saying it now isn't the most convenient
But here precisely presents a wealthy man
Through my past work I amassed a huge sum
And anyone who says I haven't earned enough is lying

And even though the State constantly gives me money
Five figures specifically, it's not enough
I need more money, this is urgent!
The direction of art depends entirely on people like me!

On the carpet I will deliver a speech to the blind masses
Asking for public money like a good strategist
And only a fool would deny me
Because what I do is culture like Greek sculpture

Are you playing dumb or do you think we are? I ask
I hear you, for now I don't shoot, just aim
Talking about culture, then I'll address the issue
But not without leaving you lifeless and without a set

If I don't relax, one day my artery will burst
They only go for the wad, setting up their fake fair
I have taught my subject for six years for free
And I still invest every last penny of my misery

And I know it's not necessary, but I'll put an accent on it
And it's that unlike you, I live in a humble house
There's less food in my fridge than on your plate
And my whole wardrobe is worth less than your shoe

But you're a fake, Solitary, what do you say to me?
If you have a Patreon that supports your art
Indeed, and if I want tomorrow I can open ninety
Because it supports me who wants to, not who doesn't represent me

However, yours is a boldness that walks on stilts
Demanding money from the people, like the banks
I'm a beggar, and you're a white-gloved thief
So don't extend your hand to me, I'll tear it off

I can't be more straightforward
Today armed with a sheet I pierce your monopoly
Present me your best argument and I'll debunk it
Even if I end up dumb, mute, and maimed

You have the dollar sign in your eyes
Pig, the people don't owe anything to your private company
And if you don't have the dough, find someone who does, buddy
Because making art is one thing and business is another

We must support their companies, as it is culture
Said an idiot, a puppet of the shameless
Who doesn't even know the reason for his conjecture
I'll try to make them think without losing composure

Listen to me, bumpkin, I'm going to tell you a secret
Culture is an invention, and I beg you to be discreet
Defining that concept is actually quite a challenge
But that garbage has as much culture as excrement

Sorry for being so blunt, because I may have been too specific
And my verses fall like a dead weight on the concrete
I know the argument I interpret makes me violent
And sometimes I don't let them breathe because I squeeze so hard

Culture is nothing more than the delirium of the arbitrary
And the assumption of an abstract totalitarian construct
Culture is the fragile structure of the snob
Because there is only one and it's called pop culture

My ram goes straight to the head of the fool
Who claims to be an art lover with an easel
Who hasn't even seen the stool of a present painter
But he eats the ass of those from the seventeenth century

And maybe they'll study my notebook in a couple of years
Because it seems that old things are culture and not modern ones
It seems that their consecration is like discernment
And that something needs to die for it to be eternal

And tell me, who is the arrogant one who decides
What is culture and what is not, and how it is defined?
If there is an acceptance that fits and hits
More than assuming as such what the masses dictate?

They are looking at the cosmos through a window
Believing they know by knowing about vain matters
Because it seems that culture is a projection of the ego
That feels like an Australopithecus in front of the fire

Who is more cultured?, I ask that sheep
The one who knows about classical music or video games?
His answer is given in half a second
The first one is obviously, everyone knows that

And so it is clarified with a resounding example
That the fear of the naive is to illuminate the profound
And on behalf of Socrates I will call them dying
For those who live without examination waste their seconds

But let's make a parenthesis, and suppose for a moment
That cultured is the one who knows, and culture is knowledge
And said like this, whoever is attentive will agree with me
That the purest knowledge is its substantive abode

In that case, culture is misdirected
Because ninety percent of it contributes little or nothing
Knowing about movies or sports is the same to me
Although the former enjoys the touch of elitism

So culture is the spur of progress
And we want to feed a society with brains?
Then I would see it more prudent to approach that
If we gave some meat instead of so much bone

Do you understand me? And for that I don't even make an effort
I don't defend my argument, I just reinforce it
Why emphasize so much then on that
That doesn't contribute anything more than what is popularly beautiful?

In this way the income of the trivial is sustained
While intellectual content subsists in famine
Then the definition of culture is not such either
Or if it is, bad news, we are doing it wrong

Film directors being subsidized
By the people, or let's say it clearly, by the State
While geniuses and free men of the caliber of Escohotado
Invest their lives in works without receiving a cent

Who pays the writer away from the herd
Who composes a book that takes more than nine years?
Who pays the poet for every letter and every cloth?
And the artist of purity, who pays for his disillusionment?

Who subsidizes me, for example, without going further
That I make such astral art that it needs telescopes?
Who pays me for the days and hours I spend
Writing my poetry and handling the complex?

Who subsidizes my working hours, tell me fool
Who replenishes my money if I risk and then lose it?
Who pays for the tracks, the studio material
The mastering, the masterpiece more sinister, the interlude?

Who pays for the food so that I can sustain myself later
Or do I also have to make my art under a bridge?
Who pays for the light, so that at night I invent?
And the water? Or do I have to go out to drink from the fountain?

My conscience is clear, because the money I earn
Comes from those who admire me, not from the citizen
And if I stole half as much from the people as you, pig
The last thing I would do is demand more and open my hand

Let whoever wants mark your church's box
To subsidize your private company, and even if it were
True culture, the original and true
I should decide who I open my wallet to

Culture is nothing more than the delirium of the arbitrary
And the assumption of an abstract totalitarian construct
Culture is the fragile structure of the snob
Because there is only one and it's called pop culture

Culture is nothing more than the delirium of the arbitrary
And the assumption of an abstract totalitarian construct
Culture is the fragile structure of the snob
Because there is only one and it's called pop culture

If we understand that culture
Is the set of knowledge this social interest the social interest
Understands the interest of humanity
And that it contains a majority
Whose power is, therefore, socially predominant
And consequently, dominant
We should understand without difficulty
That the only existing culture is pop culture

Taking into account that what is popular has
A direct relationship with the mediocre
I couldn't feel less interested in the cultural concept
Which is nothing more than an arbitrary over-appreciation
By the masses towards certain aspects
And its progressive sum and inheritance
Without ceasing to be subject to change
That depends on the social context
In which said conception develops

There are those who try to take advantage
Of the lack of definition of the concept
To impose their interests
Through its dissemination and economic support
Selling it as a necessity for human progress

Money buys marketing
And marketing buys the masses