a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Saturday, February 25, 2017
It's true, and I'll double down again *my rage only makes me stronger* posting on FB where they will never read it (read it: self-dep, sarcasm)
Future-fear is real. And, it's not just political this time. It is what
is irrationally cared and worried about the most: no collective, just
selfish-fucking-anxiety. We have no prospects. We are dying. We heard
the worst artist from our department (and I mean worst as human +
thinker + producer) be told they were being put up for a magazine's mfa
prize yesterday and we were like: this is the most backward thing I have
ever heard. <Also, old men should start to think about expanding
their definition of what is sculpture to at least the 19fucking90s>
And this is how old men help other men get ahead, by being so regressive
and exclusionary in their thinking...holy fuck, even this bullshit is
an allegory for what is happening--we don't have the energy rn. Because
we have nothing but "dress for success" and everyone else (everyone!
haha) has all the security, but we are desperate with voices that will
never be heard. Something about screaming into pillows at night.
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