Art fairs exist because scared people want to believe in shopping, and who are they to blame? They've lost their noses and the natural shape of their cheek bones, they've lost their individual sense of purpose through mergers and acquisitions and they'd like to carry enough faith to hold stock in the future. So they come to invest in a market of ideas, fantasy to fuel another day. The promise of an infinite dream? Or have we passed that stage - it's so Late Modernism.
These people should be scorned. For their influence? Or for the fact that they have some sort of publicity team that keeps them in your view. And you keep watching. Even in your critique. You feed them always. One must never forget about their tectonic marital status as a collective plate that you may shift yourself into fusing with. Feed them always. Vacuum friends from afar.
We have our own way of advertising. And so it shall be used in equal parts thusly - to shame the celebrity class the wealthy. And to boost ones self with parody, hatred, confusion, lust, anxiety, and occasional hope centered always around the nod you are not.
As a Quaker I was taught not to speak until the voice of god could be felt running through you. Only with that feeling could you say something that struck the community you worship with. I have no idea who worships with me in earnest today. Probably whomever has read this far. But I find myself declining offers to speak about the ills I feel and see around me because of a view confused by multiplicity of being.
People easily package this as a postmodern ennui, but for whatever reason it still seems a fit stew for a thinker to mull in before blasting off another Status Update about their hot new photoshop collage. Sea Punk is very clever, and I like it very much. I understand how surreal the world is. For fucks sake, my left Arm is dead asleep every morning that I wake up. Yup. No contact with that section of a body I claim to be a part of. Shit got weird and I haven't even checked my phone yet.
So there are these worlds that people create for each ether to enact elaborate metaphors. If you get the joke, you're laughing with us.
Ok.
And if you get it, you still may not be allowed in. Say, if you have a fetish for nice paper. You will not be allowed in the party that likes nice keyboard strokes. In the end we all like to touch everything. And want to... Be cheesy. No? Kill the other. I know. Not give in. Define, distract, protect, individuate.
There is a struggle to survive. Brutal cost of simple goods. Water riots. Jokes. Fools who can't take the time to laugh while they know that those they love are in places you don't want to see them in.
Dude. Bro. My step sister is shopping at forever 21! Wtf?! I am too!!!
And bright thinkers. They're thinking about television snow. The end. A loss of transmission. Sorry. No show. The theory is- no show is on tonight. No winter either. It's getting too hot too much too fast. And the only product is the screen. A way to manipulate the way you see things, and know some spectacle. So. Where to go from here? Sit and read? Throw your youth around until it's spent and hope you meet enough characters to help you to the end?
Bleak options everywhere. Micro changes all.
Heartfelt hell, uncertain mindset.
I'd like to live in a room that was made entirely out of regenerative skin. Youthful supple flesh surroundings. And this would be called Living Room. Of course.
I'd feel continuous human surface. Life. And what then? Step outside to a feudal kingdom of spite. Small pockets of allegiance. Glimmers of a push towards the utopia where we could exist as gossamer strands of painless dreams. For. Ever. But
What about Our Forever Steak! The flesh made centerpiece that exists in perfect standing not needing the mind to project it's next ETA. Forever Steak in a Living Room locked away in a vault for posterity. Call it a novelty for the disembodied, a new wing in the museum of natural history.
Why worry though?
Why not think about what other people like? They enjoy increments of knowledge. Information pockets. Digest and act accordingly. Ok
I will too.
I like to draw a lot.
Pictures of you when I'm alone. To think of what's right.
And hope that god comes.
That he? They will speak truth. And that I will feel it.
And act accordingly,
It may never happen. I may have to shoot for success instead. And stack numbers, sorrows, deals, regrets, and descendants. Who will hope and fear in the same way. If there's any air left for them to breath