A wager for the 2 emm's in Symmetry, it's like peeling a vowel from the economy

Determining The Weight Of Circumstance (2015) ball of tape, 4 cups of glitter, broken shrimp fork that's been carved from the wood of a shipping pallet

It resembles the river and the river as a theme. Our perception of the river's mirror is like imagining Thoreau reading Margaret Fuller on an open porch. The tools necessary for marking up it's edges are simple, supple, and smooth. The matter of who can define it's value and what the metric of it's qualities are lingers at the edges of contemporary cultural appraisals where they become inextricably intertwined with economics and other boastful stories. These are the things we store inside of an otherwise empty box.

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Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss herself. Already, the violence of our togethering feels like more than something. I reach out and take the back of her neck with my hand. She steps in as I lean over the counter and write; Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine, You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees. To you, Tigre PS. are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too. We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under our sheets. I get up and pee while Katt talks about Milton. Her mouth's open and it's as...

We're Leaving into This Terrible Dim (starting now)

notes from underground Yes-man bootlicker brown-noser toady lickspittle flatterer flunky lackey spaniel doormat stooge cringer suck suck-up - From the Insouciant Songs of Brooding also From the Heavy Heavy Chair I'm awake now, says he. Then he says, I'm still tired but at least I'm awake now. I'll admit it. I'm not ready to stop being angry just yet, He says. I just can't believe that we as a nation have decided that Donald Trump is the citizen among us that most embodies the qualities of this, our only republic. That he's going to be compassionate and strong in the face of adversity. That it can be said of him that he possesses high standards and an unwavering moral compass. That he is a fair minded man worthy of the challenges that these times dictate rather than be confused for a dictator just in time to avoid the challenges faced by his predecessors. I can't believe that as a nation we have decided that when, in the next four years we experien...

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