i wrote a review of this show and this computer will not let me cut n paste the text for some reaon. i am presently highly annoyed.
but that is okay. the show means enough to me to write more then .
never forget:fck computers and fck blogs.
you can see the other words over at ARTLANTA BLOG anyways. they're on there somewhere.
this show means enough to me in aways that are snowballing the more i chew on them
unlike anything else in that it isnt.. .
Is it that it Is?
What to do about that? The wrapped up bow presentation. With what inside? Shit? Life? Soil? Babies?
The necessity. The poker face. I am not an artist.
The relevance to now that I feel has to do with catching up with ourselves because we care so much about being real with ourselves. The full circle is finding a solutionm-and it has to never show its hand. Because there "is no hand" not anymore..it is ...real.
On a global and local level .
These blogs - these internets- these electric wires...
They represent a phenomena, an implication that looks at a cycle of dependance
-that "art world" relys on,and ties it together with real life phenomena.
Which is sort of ironic...because real life is..well, real.
-and it is also the last hopscotch block into the painted corner.. within a corner of that corner and so on and so forth.
That is,unless you just say to hell with it and pop that zit. and walk on that paint. and just work your job,pet your dog, fret for your weight,but pick your nose.
The wild west playing field of the ugly real,because it says so
because it says so.
It points at the problem (life ends with death?) while representing the problem
Relevance of Meaning
Systems collapse and make way for the new. ("oh but that has been done before")
What can art do? How can it react? But to not be art
But to be real
But to stand outside of all of that. Neutrally. Observing
But part of it.
There,s no escape. Try to become all of it now that you can-the critic as art. The critic as performance. The art as real life. The person alone/together. The person before calling themselves artist. The art as it observes other art. The art as it observes life,observes itself.
Is the answer and is the problem.
Internal dynamics based on necessary models still writhe inside,exposing a bland surface of perfectly realistically... nothing. just ...life. as it recreates itself. the process is.
...if you care about others.
like a person that wants to sacrifice and expect nothing in return...that kind of care...
The Dispersed (prequel or previous chapter to strange maidenhead,but who cares...
Grey as the day and its haze ripping through the salty air, his beard long and in the wind was the same. He dispersed sentences and demanded truths. Ramming a finger towards the cliff's edge. Towards the ocean one hundred feet below. The man he gestured to was to dive in the morning, but presently had other more pressing challenges. Gnarled and poignant with wisdom,the sentencing finger had three gold rings molded in points on its length. It turned from the wiry muscular man,tied to a stake and directly pointed to a walrus-like beast straining against a chain in the ground. Not 3 yards out of reach, it salivated a thick black mucous,heaving and shitting and slipping in its own mess. It wanted to eat everything in sight. Oily black scales shimmered and flipped as it breathed. Odd omnidirectional eyes bulged from sockets. Crab's eyes grafted into its head in some strange lab,the mutated thing probably even hated itself. White robed men untied the thin gnarled man from his post. He seemed as stiff and stout as the thing he was bound to,with hands calloused and tough as edges of rock. The fingers were lengthened and came to points with sharp dark nails. They stepped away from him and clambered up off the mountainous plateau to a higher one. To observe the fight that was about to take place. The Disperser levitated, and in doing so struck down and released the slobbering awkward beast from its chain. It didn't hesitate. For its massive size and weight it was agile. Cumbersome on land,it was still dangerous. Without warning it turned, slinging a pink knobby fleshy rope from its anus, attempting to wrap the man with it. A barb on the end bloated with poison slung madly through the air. The man a lanky blur,rolled and bounced against the nearest wall and with webbed feet,he sprang claws out and was on the rubbery beasts back. In a blink the watching men missed what had happened. He was gripping its tentacle beneath the stinger with a crushing hold, keeping it from retracting back into its foul orifice. The beast shifted its body and rolled,wanting to crush the man,but smooth movements harmonized and went with its direction. He arched his entire body a circle through the air and planted his feet on ground, jamming his black finger tips into the tough beasts hide. It howled and rolled the other way, yanking the man and catching him by surprise. Fear registered and he realized in this moment he might be killed. The tentacle came loose from his grip and instead of striking, it retracted. They were both hurt. The beast shifted back and the two stared at each other. The man's hand dripped blood from where his tips were ripped off, buried somewhere in the thing's fatty thick skin. He knew not to wait to react to its attack and moved. Before anyone observing or the beast itself knew it, his hand was in its brain. A fist sized hole in its skull. The beast quaked on the end of his arm,convulsing it howled and the eyes wobbled and extended in shock. It still wanted to fight and perhaps still tried to execute bodily functions ,but nothing registered. It sagged heavily and its face slid from his fist. The wiry man heaved and looked down at his hands, one covered in his own blood and the other gripping yellow bubbly tissue.
"You've completed this." Said a voice close to him as if from nowhere. The Displacer stood before him with an empty stare. The beast still died,shivering and making gasping sounds from parts of its body. "Tomorrow you complete what you started for them. You fulfill your broken promise." The man looked down at the ocean and knew he looked at his death. Boastful lies had finally gotten the best of him. Winning trust with fantastic tales of accomplishments earned a living. Now it would earn his death. "Tomorrow we will turn you over to them to carry out their sentence. To have their game with you. As you had your game with them." The Disperser left every one's sight,retreating into a cavern opening in a grey wisp. The man felt his body go limp from science or spells,then hands on his arms. They chained him up again. Tomorrow he would either discover other mammals or he would die.Or both. More likely simply the latter. The rest of the Disperser's effect soaked in and he was asleep.
The next thing he knew was the three looming hunched beasts before him hissing and grinding. It was morning and the sun was up. "I think we should remove his other fingernails." They laughed and remarked about his wounds. Hanging with arms practically wrapped twice around his body,his one hand still dripped. The Disperser was there and nodded. "He is yours to do with as you please. We offer him to you and hope it maintains our peace."
One of the needled black shapes whipped back a pitch black cape and out came a gaseous form of a hand. It shined sharp edges that came to invisible hair-like tiny points. Thousands of thin tips for teeth gleamed in its darkness. An evil mouth,the man didn't know why mammals didn't declare war on these foul machines. There was sudden pain and a grip as his hand was bound and a fingernail on his good hand removed. He kept dead eyes for them. No pain shown. "He likes to tell tales of mystery....Doesn't he?" One said and hovered in his face. "More of your kind... are there? Magical kind? Watery kind? Astral Kind? ...Gods?" It spit on him. "Today you find out." It said tersely. Another fingernail ripped and he almost flinched.
From above and hidden, the Disperser silently whispered and cast fingers at the man. Superstitious and hopeful. Curious. He mostly just figured, "What the hell...maybe there are some ancient evolved ancestors down there somewhere...." He gave the man some incentive. Some oxygen. "Why not?" He thought. Then walked away to catch up with the rest of his day.
overture: Barn warped bark Larvae in the midnight sun Axle master Space crust on the dark side Vamp candor moo fumes (in toner cartridges) over there Lumpy owned Morse thunder food coloring in the wet cement Amps lung notates poor summations on top of old smokey Purple tire tracks through play Doh around these here parts Moon pewter tomb tummy teddy Ruxpin in the end.
Carbon Mollified Bat Raton's Traveling Flesh Fairwellers had maybe seven clouds tied to their tent. Up there,where bunny rabbits bumped cauliflower uglies. Life drove them and nurishment was plentiful. Their theme had been "Leathery wings and emulsified fingering reasons for bullheaded eyelidless raspy smoker's values". Until they were sued for copyright infringement.
"You don't have to stretch the muscle." said the Lion Tamer. He was up on a ladder feeding a large malformed aquatic creature in a clear walled tank. The Strong Man lifted a leg while curling weights and let a loud flat sound from his ass. He shot the Lion Tamer a look that said "Shut the fuck up."
Strong Man had rancid spidering vein rot networking across his body. More than a few parts needing to be removed before infection spread. His legs were showing black fungal root patterns. It looked like a mold's epicenter was the most dense and spreading from the crotch of his red spandex. The little microscopic fingers thickened as they passed under and around unbusted leg sores and pimples. The Strong Man would laugh with his bad breath and slip off into any and every town. No matter where he was,he'd find the dirtiest bar. And the dirtiest prostitute. And more often than not, the biggest ugliest guy to fight. As they sat in silence,attending to their tasks under the tent,the Lizard Dwarf Twins meandered in sideways, clutching a piece of paper. They were attached at the skull and at one knee. They had high pitched voices and one of them stuttered. "When we passed through Gibsonton last week, we got an idea for a poem. Would you guys like to hear it?" They didn't wait for a response. The overhead lights in the tent seemed to choose moment to flicker incessantly. "Oh donor mutate mandibles and planets. For plants and cannibals masturbate. Baby mashed and ransom letters masticate,sand paper bananas and traffic panties... emancipate. Oh gonad plaster cannister Tralfagar pilgrimage in winter tit mouse drips. Press the snake piss in lullaby manure tumors, tokens of appreciation. Only Mona eyebrows smuggle volume in a munchy laughter gall gumption. Take my omnipresent love letter to sarcasm's ranch and jerk hot sauce on monastery lawns."
They didn't really wait for a response either. The twins scuttled crab-like out the door as quickly as they had come in. The Lion Tamer and the Strong Man just looked at each other and looked back to what they were doing. The moment was too long for the Lion Tame,tho. His watery friend,waiting impatiently for more food took action that seemed correct to it.
"Jeeeezuz Christ! OOOOH..!" Was the sudden scream,but it ended quickly.
The Strong Man jumped suddenly at the man's wailing. Turning he saw a horrible sight. The sea beast was reaching from beyond the top edge of the pool. Using its one human arm, it had taken a sincere grip on the Lion Tamer's neck.
below you'll find actual words sent to a funny blog i found. the blog's premise is an open call for writing. what you send to a provided e-mail gets put on the blog. nothing is turned down... hmm.which makes me think...i wonder if i could write something so gross and disturbing that they make an exception. most of the other writing i noticed was from a sort of youthful violence n gore-obsessed angle-and of a sexual nature. i found an inspired moment and cranked this out and sent it. the email to submit whatever is: firstname.lastname@example.org heres the blog:
i might send in another chapter or i dunno...i have had somebody offer to publish a book if i wrote it. maybe i shld quit screwin around with stuff that feels like it's esy to not care about. my lifestyle is about to change so maybe i will. im making some "healthy" changes because i now have insurance to do it with. so yippee...i guess. maybe my brain will begin to manifest new priorities. maybe i will read that norton anthology of poetry with a dirty focused honest passion. maybe i will throw it away because i realize i dont care about poetry. maybe i will realize i am not a fucking art critic,write the two art reviews i said i would with proper sane respect and be done with it. maybe i will go back to painting for pleasure and paying attention to loving those i know and trust. maybe i will be able to go to my day job and focus on my day job when i am at my day job. maybe i will be able to be comfortable being happy. maybe i will stop getting on the internet.maybe this will be one of my last posts. because im somewhere in sunshine,in reality, sharing reality,posting comments directly from my face to anothers. i am done playing pretend. with that said..heres part of a story im making up:
Seeing thin sheets of light from thirty feet beneath. The emaciated man was a diving mindless spear. Pointed purpose. Through clear blue watery disturbance,wonderful bright white and yellow and his browned ragged stick of a body. Solar ripples of life giving energy and the haze of its strength carved with him deeper.. The sun burned through aquamarine and refracting,bathing his path clearly. A dreamy green and transparency gleamed. On another day,it was beautiful. A sea of angles and deeper with fingers white and wrinkled. Pulling yearning to reach the bottom. To get away. A dream cave deeper down somewhere and air,and big smiles and fuzzy hugs of mammalian warmth. A clawing swimming desperation. Through a mental disease,brushing past rubbery minuscule masses of tentacles. Darker pulling and pressure squinting. Being checked out by tiny tendrils and watchful saucer glowing eyes. Sea fingers tickled and inspected and encumbered. His anxious fleshy tips ripped down to the cuticle,trailing ten streams of red in the water. Scuba flippers fashioned from the toughened hide of some alien beast,strangled ankles held them in place with intestinal length,still bloated with feces. He swam naked and rib caged bare. Deeper. The sun faded but the high-pitched screeching chants of anger pierced through everything. From above, their self-generated cooling sleet poured over the shoulders of haystack shaped shadows. Needles for teeth,clear and dripping, they gritted and grind as they sweat. Pulling a 12 foot thick sheet of glass over the ocean,they dirged and hovered above the water's jagged tiny waves. Observing the man scramble deeper. Sonar eyes in needled shades billowed black cloaks over the ocean. Arching negative lines in the wind with odd ugly jagged points. The monstrous shapes giggled and pointed at the futility beneath them. They dropped living wriggling charges as they pulled the sheet of glass. Demonic scaled and chomping teeth with razor scales that propelled through the water. Beneath and reaching,the expanse went black. Blindly the man pulled in a direction he hoped against Hell was in fact the correct way,the last direction that made sense. Kicking with hands raking and fanned open,still bleeding a steady beacon to anything with a hunger and a nerve ending. A 100 mile radius. They could see him and he silently hoped his rabies contaminated rail thin body offered no meat of consequence. Ache and confusion clouding thoughts,the man damned all else and pushed harder from within,through this darkness that never seemed to end. Something sharp screamed on his calf and then another at his heel. They were everywhere the living depth charges. Their signal red eyes suddenly the only source of light. He stopped and reached with a quickness. Unnatural perfection of his claws exactly into this evil things eyes. Then another in his other hand. Crushed and extinguished,two others sentient enough to know hesitation watched as the man quickly swam again. They followed and zig zagged,knowing his skin held within it alien potions, a current through his bloodstream like an angelic lightning. Tearing his mind and amplifying his body. Glorified and confronted with a purity that was too much. His mortal body stripped down almost to bone and perfection. Sinuous muscle and desire to build and create. Interference with ocean,this bipedal hairy mind of machines. It must be destroyed. It must be eaten.
Foreign oxygen in his body,the man pulled for another eternity. He began to notice mountain-like shapes and almost smiled. They revealed themselves in moments. Almost mirages,but he certainly saw them. The visuals inspired him further and soon enough- a blessing of sorts. A light source appeared,saving him from plunging face first into a strange shape. A mast of dense cracked wood and barnacles.Broken and slimy amongst other sunken pieces.Coated with time and blowing in the deep with seaweed. A rotting maidenhead glowered at him and he planted hand and foot on her shape to stop for a second. Mouth clutched shut pulling on trained placements of pockets from within. Oxygen stored, attached by alien serums to blood cells, waiting to be called on. He pulled in the silence,preparing to dive towards the light source. Letting go and floating he turned and prepared to pull when a sudden lessening in pressure gave him pause. A groan in the water and a massive looming shadow. Slowly with confidence it revealed itself beyond the wreckage. It blocked out the light with its shape. A yawning chasm of a mouth filled with sharp icicle stalactite teeth. They dripped an oily substance and it hissed black bubbles through the water at him. With a massive twist it swung something like a tail or fin,breaking the ancient ship from where it had rotted into oneness with the slimy ocean wall. It came out of the sea ridge. The networked mountain ranges possessed elaborate and subtle developments. Miles long and ornate with naturally formed age. Producing the highest peaks and hiding thousands of caves. And hiding beasts of unknown wisdom and size.
LAMP PANTERS SCRAMMING CANTER DECANTER CANDLES MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE BUDDY.. PLUSH ENOUGH FOR ASIAN STUFFING. A GUT MUNCH HUNG GRANDE PLOP WANTON FLARMILISM SALIVA SCRATCHES/ RAKED TEETH CHASE MANHATTAN MOON BOOB THE TULIP SOONER THAN YO THINK THE SCREEN BURNS OWL MOP LOBSTER SILENCE PYROMANIACS AND WEIRD CREEPY RAT NOISES. LUNG MORPH DISTORTED LORD OF THE OCEAN WALKER. SICK WAY SUCK YARN AND MOPED LOTION. SOUR MANDIBLES. DOOR JELLY MYSTIC CRAMMING TEST HOT LICKS FOR FEMALE GUITARISTS. WARM TEPID COLD LIVID. ANGEL ALIEN CARDBOARD BOX.
creaky boards: listing leaking importance and recedes into a stupid deep. missed. missed,cringe. i dont know why i do this. im thinking maybe. just maybe. this is it. hopefully. laughter laughter laughter. "quint?" ....no.
blanket apple and zowie. transient deep passion is nomadic graffiti sloppy toy boy noise with good intentions. well red pair ants. bytes with addicts space for heating and eating. and drinking. on lines of dreams and time.talents and hawks up claws for rent.or enter his thing. word bombs melt friends. catch rows of emotive dents. rodents. moaning moaning moaning. it's a bitch mans world. make your bed to sleep init. make you r bed to sleep in it makeyou rbedt os leep ini t ma ke ourbed tosle ep init. m ake you r bed to sleepinit mak eyou rbedt os leep init repeat. you get it. whats the point. are you in it? into it? or wut? what the fuck ever selfish tiny tyrant sharing tangent me me me you me me me who you who you who you you you i dont know i dont care i read about this i read about that work or be be or work im a work or be perfection of a felt completeness i seek dont cover me tag burn me graf art for internet territories for internet communities i like my fat balding zit covered skin.
lazy white bread for teeth to rot and break. poor me wanted thought i deserved it. walking fast smiles alone alone. eventually shares
tell us what you remember. the soul. skin. wrath machine sound and distant happy carnival music. chanting ominous thunder hisses a switchblade. the dog barks and the swish of a broom. bells jingle and a lady sings. silence like a river with leaves landing. fingers on torn jeans. disease called age. timer ticks. reboot the jiggling powder of wisdom. from beyond space ,an alien with tentacles mutters not another word. blundering hurt. my people. idealist misunderstanding. one man. grunting chickens the delicious sweat inside a straw hat. friends and politics. rich americans. laughter and glass restaurant clinks. you've come to the right place spider. admit the flinch,the significance within and without a sense of what of what of grunting.the real text of sex would be what. a baby screams. okay. lets see, i have something prepared. space fuel burns the moon's shadow and scuttle claws veins clambor for denial of invading metal monsters. a crunch of marshmallow suits and flappless flags. a zipper of a brief case made for flowers and mosquito nets. be very careful,no second chance. how do we know it works. a beautiful scientist nods and touches. another whirled. the anotated woods of blue diagram crackers, tanned and blathering. traffic bastard files and angels with drums. a morning porcupine clears its throat. off somewhere in the distance a keyboard clicks and clacks. a crutch and a missing leg. war torn country up hill inside the mountain for there will be pus. black holes and cumberbunds urge in the midsection for launch. traded thick bubbles in infinity, for electrodes in the deepest parts. for lack of atmosphere. more blundering close-ups of big snakes and teenage pre-shaved after mastic tears and veneers of head crushing boulders. the ocean again. it stumbles in a perspective that seems singular.
today i woke up with dreams of beheading friends. a white building with pills eclipsed the horizon. shadows of empty figures in perfect unison,chanting, following me...sucking the gas from my tank. my brakes went out on a grassy hill. a trigger or a light switch attached to a spinal cord swung from the sun,thru clouds and slapped me on the cheek.
i grabbed at its slime and questionable strength and began to climb. issues of art magazines and peoples parents on clouds filling out subscriptions. prescriptions. passion and concern. a routine expectation laced with morning coffee and work orders. followers for the friday the downturn in the movement of money. my trunk is empty, a turnkey relay of systematic automatons-like a glob of focus. Is focus actually an emptiness. a singularity, a culling and a bottle neck gestation. Walking on water with floating feces. same difference. burnt swinging arms off of screen prints from germany or los angeles. atlanta. the word atlanta seems to have a film over it of closeness,of expectation and predisposition. i see the retaining walls the supposed sound barriers of the interstates,hiding backyards of homes but only slightly. voices connected to bodies and bodies connected to thoughts,either manifested sexually or as friends touching the same dinner table or as an idea. as a community. objects. with joints and likings for animals. north american health and fame. houses rotting,built by foreign hands. fresh. painted by cheap curb side desperation. appreciation lingers and attacks pick up trucks with pick up lines. cat calls for territories.
a colorful purity to imitation of life. art and internet. internet will fully flesh out the reverberation of wires to beyond images and sounds. to more. as art is and only responds to life, as it always has...the two share a reality in the mundane. the my-ness,the faceless you-ness of alone time to share as friends or for recognition. for who you are.for the negative space that defines you.that you seek to define. with response. comments. feedback. money. to real time. to
Michael Jackson is fabulous. I don't care about Michael Jackson. I see the split and shining glamorous hands all over bodies. The wind is sweeping. Gold blinds eyes with refracting finches playing string songs. Harps galore and mourning. Poor enemies over the sides of venomous boats. A slight head for manored topiary burners. Turned me inside to the mall cops. The children noticed Michael Jackson's drawings and ..that is kind of a little too close to some weird reality for comfort. Will they grow grass and will they ride water slides? Are the days of this house numbered in the stars? Do the stars even notice this house,this place flanked with wild lettuce and black walnuts. Alone in the crib. The stone mountain had faces ripped into it. Tingle tingle little nostril flared up in the hole so pink.dripping clearly weary sink. salt water blues and sand i wont see. the mall showed up for me today. If you don't speak English.