Monday 2 February 2009

OLD WRITING

one dollar and a compliment next time i see you, to those that read this whole thing:
bless your hearts.my friends. thanks for liking my work,work that doesn't even exist! as far a concerned anyways.
ive heard word there's a strange girl amongst us that is considered a great artist, having not the need to ever make a thing to validate this...to this i say.. will you marry me? you sexy phony you. i like yr feathers. what color are they? "further we go and older we grow the more we know the less we show."

sharing thoughts propagates creativity. pushes yr own. we mold each other. we are all a big 'self taught" blob. hah! a hovering cloud of genius arteests.
meeting people . i dont understand. are we making friends? why? because we enjoy art and...stuff. simple as that? artists can be inspiring to one another? and we find them, each other curious and fascinating? or is it more? are we wanting to get close to the glowing ones?
i keep coming back to the art itself.
do i want fellowship? would i lie to someone i liked, and say i liked their work?hmmmmmmm. is it a duty to be honest about work or would i not be attentive? friendly?whatever that means.whatever it matters! i mean, truly, befriending someone who knows someone who knows someone...isnt it irrelevant?even if you get into a show... the work speaks for itself in the end, yes?even if you get bobby to tell cindy to tell benny and they are talking about you for a month or two...so what? are you dealing with a potential patron, benefactor, or something, someone you feel you can directly influence..to what end? a sale? furthering a thought you have?a political statement? of course there is also just the fact that we enjoy and love art. simple as that. that is why we leave the house.we make out of something inside we dont know, we just do. that's fine. im with ya...i hear ya.and we leave the house and meet and greet. it is just gosh darn interesting. i guess i need to step back
and ask...
what's yr goal with SHOWING art?
that's the most important, first thing to get out of the way. for me...(yes yes i know pandra.)
is it to "push the language"? theory based, concepts, etc...wish that was me, but i aint that smart. obviously. right? (wanna buy a painting?) i done did been reading that thar fellar walter benjamin and i feel like morgan freeman in driving miss daisy. the stuff is a bunch of arrows flipped in on themselves, that flip out and point the other way. made outta words.along string of words. got me going...uuuh.. ow! siezure! blood spurts from nose in a fine mist.robert, yr a fargin brilliant creature. may i lick the soul of your shoe?

but oh yeah...you guys just simply enjoy art?
has it never occured to you to wonder why? if so, maybe that means yr honest.and im an idiot.. and yr happy? the end, right? but do you experience frustration from lack of attention? or sales? shit. im an idiot. what am i going on about here...will i post this? my imaginary audience? it's getting a bit long and redundant. prosaic, even. maybe? imagine the flop outta that. god, darn it.does this writing bare the traits of verisimlillitisistudedany? and a scratch of impericlahilariousicalisity. why cant i just paint? i wanna burn everything ive done, not for lack of feeling like i could sale the shit. hell, i'd do that chili stomp thing if they let me. sell them for nothing just to get them outta my fucking face. and the work is good, but damn it..it has no meaning. to me. TO ME. and yet..i value them, they're still my babies.my crowded house of conflicted thoughts. horse pucky. with chunks of gold nuggets embedded.

i suppose we all want to be noticed... if we leave the house with it.
id go even one further from noticed, to say...fame. recognition. to have the "shit" that banksy refers to.
ive attempted to compartmentalize and believe i have lost myself and am in some sort of grey agony. im full of shit. backed up. a bunch of wind. ive become so focused on realizing i, personally, despise work that is just for sale. does that resonate, or is that a silly thing to say?
happy painters, happy artists:i understand it, 'fine...but im attached to a notion that these days, things seem drained. 'no point of relevance anymore. wahtever? does it just come down to doiing....i should just shut up, but i cant. i could leave this list alone, maybe. why do i require this b.s...is it networking?is it a distraction?i know..im lonely, yeah thats it. im lonely. am i "getting mileage out of it" duane?...i say what the fuck ever, doo wayne. nice shades ya got there. jeez us. mileage?...where am i going?
anyways...i need a penpal. that's all.yeah, thats it. maybe some other fundamentals. i mean you dont go to a whorehouse and order up a prostitute to have a baby do you?like that? its a play on the banksy quote my faithful wormwood. do they even still have whorehouses? ive never been to a prostitute. at least a sexual prostitute, you bunch of artwhores.but yeah...where is one? like, ya know, with wood balconies and garderbelts and a piano floating on the air..maybe a brawl or two in the street. a baby crying. big redheaded bertha waving to you from the rooftop. eesh. gimme some of that. wanna send her my ear par avian.
i think i just figured it out. it kept on raining in e gulliver and the levee done broke.
i just read my own words, nevermind ya'll. im gonna lay it down. layer by layer.
bye c ya.
now im even more scared, but that's good right?better than lazy talkin b..s
good morning.welcome to the end.
eggtooth.
i would like comments. propagate thoughts...creativity.i need it. cant you see? i still love you.

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