The eventuality of dissipation and Thursday

fig.3ish) (Colour) Swed subs 06:00 Min Run Time

"Our's is deep and manic as the bottom bait in the depth of a half tub. The day will calm and the wind will finally die in it's own way, flat. There's water that will fresh itself to no end, no more salt or piss to taste," It should be higher still but this is where we're at. An east coast flavored dog whistle in a haircut flavored love suit wearing a clipped tie under his bold chin swaggers by for a drink, "Hmmm, it's ornamental, tastes like an arrangement of cranberries folded into dry-goods, patient dry-goods even. There are hints of ash in the back of it, they surrender quickly to a spry lavender that's easy if a little wan. I like it. How much is the bottle."

A woman in coveralls arrived early on the 10th. She unpacked slowly, inspecting every piece in turn. Then we skip ahead. Everything is suspended from the ceiling, free from all concern. Then the team leaves the park. The goodbyes are all warm. There's a lot of hugs going around in sudden circles with the echo of jerky sobs bouncing off the impromptu ceiling. There's even something for the kids, Barks the shaggy dog comes out for awhile. But Elliott's still sad when it ends.

"Let's be as plain as possible. Let's call it, Alex and Elliott reveal the distance between one fence and the next by using something like space." Feeling crazy ass at the loss of his time, his practice and all of the momentum that he's been accustomed to, Elliott spends his day out in the hallway. He counts the gray tiles and wishes for a shorter ladder. He mumbles and worries about things that Alex told him, "funding and programming have to change the way that they think about each other. It's their relationship to the worker, the provider, the maker of math if you want get fucking enlightened, this is what's been called to question."

"The creation of wealth is relief from the friction of ownership, we're still writing down names," her clip board shifts and Alex clicks her pen. "This is what distribution will look like in the future. There'll be 3 guys stapling banners on top of a satellite and someone will be late but that's okay. It's open mic night and everyone gets to sing. So wait for it, this crazy model of cultural dispersion/diaspora whatever. Does it resemble our current neoliberal economic construct?"

Alex picks at the back of her ear. She shifts before saying, "Go ahead, just walk it back around that little circle and bang, there it is. The Drive-In, the creepy Chevy in the mud by the fountain under the tree. I keep saying it because it's truth, not poetry. It's all here Elliott. The sourcing of so much wealth, it's application to the greater purpose of making things that are even bigger then this. Things that can make people think even more as a result, it's happening."

"Alex, our abilities to observe and catalog have deteriorated. They've shriveled right up into themselves. There's nothing with which order can be approximated." The ladder is good for leaning on as he's saying this. It feels authentic, actionable, just right in this plain space of a hallway. The lights aren't switched on. Elliott's arrangement of frames is quite candid. All of their colors are on display, hanging on like frozen fish under the seam of the wall and the heavy crossbeam. The steel and the gypsum were scootched into proximity and then glued into place above the ladder. "There are no values to be set."

"Oh, did I fail to mention that Alex and Elliott are penguins," The girl in the popcorn booth shouts after me as I make my way towards the front of the lobby and the great golden doors.

The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

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 They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. 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, an...

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 as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to 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 the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as rou...

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 ...

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