Institutional Sadness

fig.09) right up front among the other sad and cheap items

I have a marvelous first paragraph already written, it's like gold! The only thing it needs is something that lingers. Something that sounds like a bridge, something compelling that will pull you in. At first it will start with, yes! Yes, the lights won't turn off when I'm in here all alone with the plastic housewares. Yes, there's panic in the stockboys heart. But I know where his liver is. I have eaten his lunch before. I have crawled between all of their small lockers in the hallway behind the timeclock. Yes, I've been wandering the store again naked. I've pulled down all the towels and moved the little bars of soap. I have sat here at the counter and waited my turn. I've taken a number and called out your name until I've become hoarse and afraid. Yes, I've been seen in the aisles. I've shouted at the merchandise and leant my ear to the confused. I've been wicked, this I have told them. I have been rude. I've stood here and yelled at the shoes. You were born of trash and that's where you'll get back to. Like the worst kind of virginity, you're perpetual and you're dogmatic. You're a waste of line and texture. You don't deserve to be gathered at the knees and tied around anyones waist. If I were your hanger I'd find a noose instead. If my pronouns we're she and her, I couldn't lose you by the seashore at high tide. You know that when they made you, something else had to die first. Unlike real fashion, you couldn't come back around if you were on a train traveling in circles. Only chemistry ever stank as much you. You're like a car crash that's slipped in dogshit. You're the reason that capitalism broke. You must be liberal to be hated this much. Economists and teenagers only ever say the wrong thing about you....

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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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