Sous les pavés, la plage - MDW ART FAG CITY

I Totally Appropriated This From A Lori Waxman Article Thank You...

I'm really disturbed that so much maliciousness and misunderstanding is radiating from the MDW event this weekend. I see some stalwarts of our august community striking enigmatic and judgii poses while hoping to see fireworks and fiddle playing. This event, fair, or un-fair did what it has done in prior years when it didn't face eviction or hurricane related issues. It brought together a community to gaze at some belly buttons and drink some beer and talk productively with one another. I think that MDW's critics miss or have missed the essential nature of what this community is and how it comports itself in the face of an art world that refuses to catch up with us. Despite inventing the gangster and the skyscraper we are here because so many before us were here too. As Chicagoans we understand and embrace this rich history. Our presence in this city is our gift to each other. As well as the chance opportunities afforded by any reminder that a beach is under the Magnificent Mile.*

Also**

*Ed, Ed, Ed, really?

**Michael Workman and Pedro Velez sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Comments

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

stagnanTVowels

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