Sunday 9 September 2012

Intense w Xanadu

waht was i going to say?

like a somnombulist jesus, the meter runs hot when out looking for things to stir the brain. lots of maybes. lots of abstracted ideas and expectations that are partially fulfilled.

but isnt that the common denominator, to be a martyr on an auto-pilot

that is also its own language, saying the same thing as others. trying to connect and relate. to feel a sense of place.

 theres def. a north american realization
has to be presumed in this. or rather, recognized consciously,
 so as to better, hopefully/maybe, weigh that against

 or not even relevant to some ideal of affirmation.
is it about recognition
of helping people communicate.
how much is there a need for discussion versus action

having no point seems important. sharing , theres the nature of the intangible, the thing positioned so that only those in the that moment activate the meaning, etc blah...

wandered down cesar chavez the other night to an art opening. realized i dont necessarily stare at the ground when i walk, but that i must not usually look UP. blazed through the crowd of faces, at once relieved to not know them as i was categorizing them based on past categorizations. probably just some product of selfish social anxiety, but it didnt really get in the way of experiencing the work. at an opening.

at an art opening. i took one picture. it was as i was leaving. the top of the building, two stories up, was extended with soft internally lit fabric peaks. quilts billowing mountainess and cathedral shapes. suggestions of entrances and dwellings. of possibilities.

i should probably just move to porlock and get a business degree. in someone's shed in their backyard. inside the building w all the awkard but not heavy art: a couple of solid stand-alone moments. thru a bleary smeared window was a view of some soft chamber, inaccessible, but having signs that it had been relaxed in. beer bottle lids. experience from outside the art as a teaser, or part of the installation as an afterthought. living life. quilts sewn to coat throughout the entire room made it seem a place for a non-sexual orgy or a really laid back ruler's hall of entertainment. too cozy for anything other than honesty. keep yr socks on. work was by chris whiteburch.

also enjoyed panzers spinning heads. 2 white painted beauty parlor head, mounted, spinning on motors. i like you you like me at any given moment.
 a stopped watch is right in action

shit thats relevant to now, oh that causes a weird mood, oh thats how i feel now. or whatever. welcome to austin.

1 comment:

  1. Hey
    You surviving in Austin? Been lookin. REadin.
    Opened up a box of scorpions the day before yesterday. The clay is so red.



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