Skip to main content

To wit the midst replied not. kitty


This text was written to be read by a machine over and over and over again...
Dear Teegra,
that it makes sense to articulate the reactionary destruction of the bourgeois aesthetic mediated by Dooshaamp and Picabia in some manner? They are after all necessary in providing a stable ground for the auttohmat-ism that led to your preshious Jackson Pallak's painterly conundrums? Without whom I admit, we cannot have the Warholian revisionism of the Bourgeois aesthetic in the guise of Neo-Realism that leeds to the complete codification of our present art making apparatus. baggage in the way of it's plasticity and style, which by the way really begins with Mikelanggelo, who had a vision of time and space that is the key to Pallak. Because It was Mikelanggelo's articulation of bodily form, in space, that acts as a direct corollary to the grand and mostly specious work of Jackson Pallack. Cubism after all is a historical retreat to what Dooshaamp called the rettinaal arts and Picasso himself refferred to as ockuelurre rape. ihhckk!! celestial and universal value people like to attribute to it. Life is far more interesting." While Canadian Thanksgiving is attempting to resolve issues laid bare by the retreat of leftest critical thinkers since the seventies. Their candor should not be percieved as legitimacy. Its mud in the face of an elegant elite and upsetting to the minions of NPR listners sure, but it lacks the diversity of form to be likened to a Dooshaamp, an Arp or even a Neo-Dadaist like Rauschenberg. A big hockey puck a silly name and some "turkeys" decorating a gallery don't make for the insite necessary to produce the multifaceted poetics that compel one to think, oh Dada. Hugses, Bunny.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Got a dog in my earring (an instance of 3)

H' after everything is a mailbox stamp knows. Don't, it's all bad. Like a captain bad.


Own Mah Own Rose

What say the fallen in the Vestibule, late to dinner  Warm as a garden chair Yes to that, to tea and all  in the green as pale as peaches will get 

Turd Grinder IV: Keep me in line for a little while longer, just until you have to go again. The dark wave and the first jolt from my morning coffee are elements that have yet to sheep. Looking through a ton of old glass is hard. Sitting down and sifting through the odd bits of sparkle and dust left inside this hidey-hole at the bottom of this calendar. There's almost always more bitter mixed in there then there is the sweet.  Fontso: I'm so happy-happy to see that this work is being edited down. All of it's been sitting on the back of my desk forever. Where plastic gets soft in the sun and the desks window looks out south all day long it's always so hot. Turd Grinder IV: There's safety in warmth, freedom from reprisal among the pillows, in the soft down. The clock inside is as deep as a clouds kiss.  Fontso: Onion thugs, yello…

In fashion, passive is to envy the figure smote.

Juniper, cedar and all that's old tends to settle on the bus in the corner by this door. It's not quick, joints are popping like failure. Left alone in the kitchen, looking for matches until it can light the stove. "There once was a night here," I've said as much before.
Corn conjured syrup from the corn that I brought from the back of the store. The simple pleasure of falling into that warm slip isn't like drying off or tempting the man at all. It's a lottery with pages of never knowing it all the first time that I was there.
A three way intersection where the street is wet. There's shrink-wrap that's been spooled across each of the pedestrian walkways. It's secured with bulky knots to the street lamp, the sign post and the scooter at each of the corners. There's a garage door or something else done up in yellow with blue steel doors. In the street there's garbage and soon enough an umbrella will join your car keys.
There's alr…