Marina Abramovic


Dmitri Prigov

J. M. W. Turner

Petr Pavlevsky

Robert J. Wilson

Tania Bruguera

Joan Jonas

Valie Export

Tehching Hsieh

Andreas Gursky

Colm Tóibín


constantin brancusi

Summer 2019

Summer 2019 has, in unceremonious fashion, unofficially/officially ended for me. Near the mid-point of the twenty summers past, I usually forget my goals. Motivation phase-shifts into lethargy and even that soon fades – days drag by in a limbo state and I wait, meting out the possibility of less and less change.

At this point I usually ask myself what I did over the summer. I .. mostly chill. I apply to things without applying myself. I get lost a lot. I think of these words like a bad commercial. For a phone. Or unnecessary wearable tech gadget. That’s also edible. We work. We strive. We.. sit on the toilet.


open fabrics today there is nt anything … today. open tissues today there must be tears to fill a thousand buckets and for tears i save them in the weaving strands of my blankets. i suppose there musn’t be anything real to say to one another, only the strictly superficial and warm continental patterns of weather to fill our empty frames

there must be pictures today. i would nt want ontology today bishops today anything today.

i woe and wei oingo bin … today

Tommy with a candle’s scent

Still many people take for granted the everlasting tranquility found in reconciliation of death’s permanence. Instead fear and travesty wreck the psyche-opposing the death-wish of society.

Sin in clashing minds saves your permanence, there isn’t any action to curve overt imbalance among choice slabs. Toll shakes sinking love curtains black hair folded like felt strands dangling in wavy wind loophole kaleidoscope can take any lindberry. Thrown out of your house, take poor men down muggings. Shrinking catapult enter

I gotta retake my crown and self-identity.