Postoristoro is dedicated to the little clusters of syringes left by a bench or on construction sites, behind dark bushes and bins: beings we weren\u2019t allowed to see, until we did. Cousins of the fairy-tale gnomes usually only children can spot, or more like mini spiky ogres ready to abduct them. Legend has it \u201cthey inhabit the grass, invisible until you feel that little pinch that wakes viruses and bacteria asleep on their needle, otherwise left alone in their own absurdity like microscopical stray pets. If you stare, they will jump on you\u201d. Addicts too were allowed to visit those fantastic creatures. Hidden high societies of syringes living in lemon skin tiny huts feeding on the remainders of highs \u2013 superspreaders coercing the weakest spirits to their no future will, first ride is free. At each treasure spotted on the ground: \u201cis that it, am I in danger? Don\u2019t be careful, be afraid of things!\u201d
\nAn addiction isn\u2019t necessarily from something you put in your body: we depend on coexistence. Postoristoro is not about youth getting wasted; it evokes a place for the marginalized to rest, a sleepy break from the future and a shelter for chillers, their sharp and hurtful priority radically opposed to a productive need. Parasites, erm \u2026Parasols may protect you from UVs and ODs. Parasols of liberalism, of brands and welfare, under which the validity of your life experience is safe. Postoristoro is a diner at a transfer station where some got stuck, its walls encrusted by the 70s class movements marked by mutual accusations of parasitism (sound of burning tinfoil to the rhythm of Emilia Paranoica). Several outskirts, whole provinces, laying soaked after a hailstorm of pharmaceuticals (sound of opioids falling). Protective parasols are given to \u201cgood people\u201d in the 80s: another epidemic thriving in the background (not a sound). Working class families have received so far unaffordable branded coats and expensive goodies and are offered to settle for a certain wellbeing.<\/p>\n
The spike this Cupid threw has definitely led me on a bizarre tour.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":88,"template":"","class_list":["post-87","works","type-works","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rmrm.info\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/works\/87","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rmrm.info\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/works"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rmrm.info\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/works"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rmrm.info\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/88"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rmrm.info\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=87"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}