The constant war is the spectacle and the spectacle is the constant war by another means. Miguel amazes it’s easy at first to get on to this banal fair attraction. It’s the large mechanism of the world, it’s said. The platform of fame, he thinks. The vigilance places of the viewer about a traumatic reality, he intuits. Miguel had listened to talk about it’s felt got on there, turning faster until vertigo becomes pleasure and pleasure nausea and nausea an old-fashioned way of knowledge. But he didn’t wait this.

First they are the images that attack the brain like shrapnel, Miguel explains, images of museums that celebrate the horror and the war. The warlike machine exhibited before eyes of who wants to discover how looks like some arm when nobody use it against nobody outwardly, what’s the purpose of this lethal scrap being there immobile, exhibited, naked before the glance of strangers that observe her with damaging curiosity, as obscene now as a porn in a majority channel, thinks Miguel imperturbable for the applauses or the detonations, or this zoological visited for whole families, like if the vision of enclosed animals in glass cages wasn’t as frightening as a concentration camp.

The war is a category of the reality, it’s advertised to come in this fair of falseness. Everything is at war with everything, the advertising repeats. Miguel cannot believe that from his watchtower he could contemplate some spectacle like this which repeating everywhere. Like one more actor, Miguel persists in this exceptional state of impassiveness, in the middle of applauses and laughs, while behind his back it doesn’t know if explosions and rockets celebrate himself like a viewer, or the spectacle is celebrating itself like a permanently emergency status.

He would like get on immediately, but to continue looking at it’s the price imposed by the perverse mechanism in return for the fame. The fame and the childhood are concepts that perhaps it’s confuse into Miguel’s head (but it’s not into Ivan’s head, Ivan Pérez, the craftsman of the images) now that machine of unlimited popularity has begun to show the landscape in ruins, before and after battle. The total war, he thinks before to disappear, it still has to be come. It’s in all the fronts. It’s inevitable.

JUAN FRANCISCO FERRÉ