Futurism Forever is a Union of Egoists, not a formal political group. So any of the views expressed in any article reflect the views of the person who wrote it. Not everyone who has ever contributed anything to the blog or podcast. We don't tow any political line collectively and our contributors come from many different backgrounds and lifestyles. A love for modern art in general, and especially Futurism is what we all have in common.
Untitled by Jackson (L’Fontaine)
Walking past urban lights,
Desperately clinging to the willow tree,
In the warm-cool September nights,
Watching flowers wilt to the tempo of ¾, with no plea
And yet, these flowers, with their blooms long past
Have in their dying, wilting moments, a darkening of color
Which, long at last, with the reflection of neon glow blast
Upon the flower, shrouding its hue, becomes squalor
And the willow tree in my hands, weeps–its lances
Stab through my hand, spewing blood upon the ground
Collapsing in front of me, the willow tree stammers
And lets out a groan of pure, pure agony upon belowground
The indifferent city lights shine upon the dying willow
Triumphantly, as if it's been waiting for its death since eternity.