stagnanTVowels

fig.52.355) you are upon which I am fed and this grass is golden to me The kids on the steps are talking about the weather. A few of the women are still singing but most of them have started to cry. A few of them are holding up uterus pictures, one or two even have pictures of their kidneys. There's a girl in the back that can't see so well. Her left eye is milky. The man that's standing with her is big boned and sad but he still smiles like an ocean full of bears. The loudspeakers announce, "Today we're making a Judge from all of your sheep testicles and batshit. C'mon, c'mon down!" "First there's salt potatoes from Syracuse, then there's the baked beans of Boston, after that's the terrapin of Baltimore, then the scrapple of Philadelphia and finally the frankfurters of Milwaukee. But I'm not really a sausage person, especially not with Patty sitting with me. She doesn't make eggs anymore, our marriage is all but toast. I

fig.87.98) Gurgle splitter splatso mutha like a funk now Anticultural positions are like metaphors for the birds that tweet loudest, Jingoistic, jingo on the way bird friend! Tumbling down the foxhole, shadows spraying their plumage like shards of chert or other chert birds that have been struck too long inside of this music box. They've been left to swim in this golden soup where a taxonomy of complex social cues is soon spent into serene bowls of white foam waiting for the privilege of consumption by the children of spastic judges or other goaded into math with their sayers of nay. Inside of here it's an absolute mess of tangled urges and corrupted potential, the comics aren't bad for children but the social environment that accompanies them is definitely toxic. It grows inside of the shops like a festering vine of great sinew where in real life girls and women are ignored or patronized and then it continues online where anonymous cretins are empowered to antagonize

fig.3.343) Near the wreck of the library, the warm fire is kept warm with many ballots and the fluids of hot emotion. After decades of voting for ignorant white men in power ties as a rebuke to elitism or by insisting that these men will reignite the egalitarianism from which our lordly country has stepped away. That these men should be left as well to dominate the fields of inquiry that are related to the aesthetics and the culture whose trade should be in the embrace of dignity, rather. That such misinformed men with their middlesome and arch purpose should then form empty galleries and write books to be devoted to that genders viewpoint about material and perception as being so universal, as being so meaningful, as being so full of the fear and the hatred and the corrupt desire to fill these blank walls with nothing more than the sport of abrupt trade in didactic idiosyncratic promises of balloons for pockets already ripe with hands. So now it is that we vomit in haste. We lo

fig.23.9898) one metric ton Institutions that STANK... It’s important to know a thing, first. I f in time if it needs to fit inside than you’ll want to if in time if it needs to fit inside than you’ll want to - beth2BETH Ho, so it is that when the raineth does so cometh like the wet that it is. Then the chorus will join in like it’s a hollow sunbleached shack, "Crisis, crisis, crisis of a meaningless future being spent navigating meandering networks in search of pleasure or finality." We'll all dine on warm crow soon enough, our small tables been set. The hog lagoons with their hyper-superslop will swell and sluice through the slow streets of the south. The car fuckers will roll over the tree fuckers and the blue eyed sons of Maine will grab all of the water like they're sinking turds late for the bottom. We'll drank the warm booze and we'll watch our shows. Broken glass is like gritty champaign dust to the ears of the moderne. Our backs have slipped

fig.65.65) If the curtain should be to the left This is about the panelist requiring a chair while the table needs its legs. That is, this is about a very soft performance that is about to be displayed inside of a closed room with little or no light. There will be props and there will be tools but there will not be any margin for error. This piece will begin with a loud noise and it will run for 7 minutes. The last sound to be made will be the sound of documents shuffling along in the direction of a barely audible, thank you. This will be about all of the things that I cannot do alone or by myself. Because, this is about the panelist requiring a chair while the table needs its legs. A solo program that inserts itself at the intersection of race, gender and identity as they are being identified, weighed and measured for their appropriateness to any art which is on display that can be further interpreted as itself or as a long goodnight to any singular form relative to the viewers

fig.35.321) Bought and Sold (1988-89)  Books might be required to stand together in neat rows like the brilliant tines of an unused fork, they're still often more best at having to wander around and laying down where-so-ever they happen to be when the tarantella ends. It helps them avoid any necessity that others might feel towards inventing new numerologies or exceptional meanings in the vicinity of their landscapes which are already garbled with robust rasa eating blather. Where engines are built like Gargamel there's bound to be blue. Where nobody remembers ten things and no one wins the ribbon for best in gender the page will remain still. Where most train-like will always succeed or even better yet be, there goeth the sun. The stove is outside on the shaggy grass. It's autumn already and I'm feeling isolated from the ongoing exchange of culture. There's no pumpkin spice, no fish at hand. The meat in the middle seems to have got sour from being too long w