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| dashed wet and grim |
Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A
I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, and the Parcheesi are played. I'll be under our biggest and brightest stars, right below the other ones but still above the bridge of wonderful design. The spanse of which is between two streets and both are being paved with all of the right colors.
I'll sit here and look up at night. I can do that for now. I can wait to be rescued from this storm as I write my novel in the street. I'll be patient here on the corner. My sweater's in a bunch under my sweaty arm and this old wreck of pearls hangs chaste. Design is a better hammer than teaching the dishes to stare, This is how my novel begins. I've named it, To Charles In Earnest Luv Buck. These are not words of encouragement but for rage, read them however you will because this is not a constructive time. It is personal time and it doesn't make use of the considerable resources at the Umper-Kunsts disposal. It squanders these with a bitter sauce of fear and righteousness. This is no invitation to be more or to communicate clearly. This is an invitation to lose oneself down the rabbit hole of the mean man's penis. This is a plea to ignore our state and to say, Fuck you Monday, it's not my fault. I only ever wished that things could be as gentle and soft as this brick.
We can listen to the sound of one another. We can sit here and talk as though we want to hear the others words. We can be close to one another and share everything that our wounds have made of us. As always we will find that our strength and our dignity is what we find residing inside of one another, so please listen for those with no voice and please speak until all of us can be heard. Because we can build a better culture by imagining an all inclusive space of preservation and learning. A culture with a voice that shares rather then shouts and one that doesn't sneak out the back door when the liquor dries up. Yes we can stop offering each other fuzzy words and platitudes for the thieves that can already afford to buy their own laundry and things. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A
A marginalized and radical percentage of a fraction refuse to fix things by using the right way to fix them, these are supposed to be the bad seeds from which badness grows. Blue lives are so sad, they're are really stressed out and they wanna cry real bad too. A highly militarized and very blue police force is necessary because THEY aren't playing by the rules. They aren't fixing things the right way. When we're suddenly faced with the need to provide leadership and a strong voice of encouragement for both the stewardship of culture and the reflection and analysis of the overall health and well being of our shared community what we receive instead are impoverished nods that despite all facts indicating otherwise our world is just fine and as the guardians of mixed signals and crossed wires it’s our part to serve the narrative that’s paid for with the money of trees rather than the one bathed in the chaos and blight that alone we return to each night. While the work of this artist is profound and timely it’s the words that bolster his labor that are so symptomatic of the decay and ruin at the heart of all of institution.
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