It's the work of our passing that matters the most

our bag of sad from the pew pew seats

Let's bow our heads together. Let's pretend that abstraction is a flavor that we can call sweet, that motion is blue and that the ethereal quality of art is kind of like a toast. If we can imagine these things being, then yes we can also imagine someone bringing into the business of our experience the beingness of these things.
So let's now think about programming all the work that's not been adjusted for the science of social practice. I personally like the title, U through S plus all of the vowels: a sad reminder that failure occupies space if nothing else can. Let's think about the artists hand and its lingering presence in the strata of castaway thoughts pursuant to broken desires, time, and the weight of pride. These aren't masterpieces but they are the things that you will hang in a room. They will stay put until the union breaks and the circle becomes undun. Let's think about the kind of party that we'll have when the host is gone sleepy and the tea is just gone. I think that we can do this thing. I think that we can fold our corners together for a merry little while. So let us think on this and sing all the songs that we can in the sweet by and by. Let's make this happen all the night long.
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