dumpster diving

On Friday January 22nd Hofstra University in partnership with an undisclosed artist revealed a new art installation in the vacant lot behind Breslin Hall and the Lawrence Herbert School of Communication.


The pieces are part of an attempted renaissance of Hofstra’s campus to address the university’s abysmal lack of sufficiently productive art installations.


Last semester students reported experiencing a mildly wet lacrimal occurrence only once every 33 steps

when passing the existing 55-odd “sculptures” across Hofstra’s campus.


The university’s newest addition to its otherwise insipidly barren landscape breathes fresh, sometime smelly, air into the desiccating corpse of Hofstra.


Mother, please stop farting. Mother you’re stinking up the whole can.


The provocative installation consists of two 8 x 5’ adjacent assemblies of spatial solids adorned with deviously simplistic illumines of green and grey. *


*Editor’s Note: They’re dumpsters.


By placing the two pieces next to each other, the artist throws into question the question. Like will this succeed? * Am I missing something? Will this deteriorating body attract Public Safety?


*As in fucking the dumpster. He is trying to fuck the dumpster.


Similar questions, of the necessarily erotic, of motherly affection, of motherly love, care, sickness and of bodily death, of timeless iniquity deprived infinite rage, of vindication, why the fuck won’t this trash bag open I know there’s a half-full Boosted bottle of Naked Guava smoothie in here I saw it I saw it thrown away by some bottle-necked glasses snicker-wannabe in Breslin’s second-story men’s Bathroom, of shoes, shit and of life after corporeal cessation are suggestions of critical insight by the piece’s reflection on late 1970s dialogue. *


*Here he is talking about reviving his mom.


Bananas I ate early in the quest for the right home space feng shui came in use later, but I never knew where to put those peels so I settled their uses as duplicate: for the nervous digestion and the preparation of self-destruction ready to receive. *




Never quite got that banana peel pile placement right…


The art! The art surpasses boundaries of modern discursive thought with its remarkable handling of form… a sentient structure active and still-born in modernism’s embryonic fetus bag. No, no I’m sorry, amniotic sac. I meant amniotic sac.


Time has gotten away from me…

My final moments with my mother came with a rumor that she had expired now and her brain had latched onto the loveless bond of a hospital waste basket.


My mother’s body never meant much to me, but it provided physical comfort, however shallow, in the days after her soul’s untimely departure.


I mean the mortal sequins of existential refuse kept me busy for a couple days before the men in squatters’ uniforms* came in their greenish-tan-greenish tan band skin suits looked me up and locked its copy crying man tears but I’m not no man I’m a continuous reversal of excrement and its suit is only of green and grey back metal.


*Public Safety found former Hofstra sophomore Tommy Gretchen, a film major with a minor in philosophy, living in the dumpsters behind Breslin and Herbert after an alarming smell drew crowds of Hofstra cats, a raccoon and senior faculty from the Fine Arts Department. Upon discovery, Gretchen, like the raccoon, fled in a scurry of shrill screams and frantic movements. He left behind a collection of Naked Juice bottles semi-formed into a shape resembling a giant plastic dildo, piles of banana peels and the rotten remains of an unidentified body. Gretchen first went missing in the days following his mother’s untimely death on January 22nd, 2016.


@majortom That nail-rod shitter brought un-famed techno-gofers to the grape farm one day, January 22nd, and they stunk up the whole breach not much like these two fecund greyish greenish grey lollipop incubators which happened to be just the right size for charging my banana poppers… *


*Penis? Penises? Unclear.


And I did, oh yes I did, I charged those banana poppers.



Warholian containers of stilted green and grey metal shouted,



to me yesterday, January 23nd, and it stood up too, opening the wide sky to shine its glancing venereal juicer down on my poor mortal eyes. *


*Fucked BY the dumpster? Unclear.


My feeble salt and paper cracker mind split right down its meridian axis to vacant loose ghost holes now open to the entrance of my loosely plagiarized experiment- the art can of macro-seeking genesis peeled inside itself past to deposit my poor mother’s soul into me* -and I became pregnant with her eternal essence .it came like a flood into my causal statis-chamber, my I belly belly


*Here he is being fucked by the dumpster.


Now six months in I’m still on the miraculous train lavishing the Newest Hofstra Installation, but from afar it doesn’t look too good, I Can barely track the carnal doings of metal waste baskets from my telescope twenty two feet about the watchtower* it’s obligatory with all the tans skin suits runnin around, but the man is still running and I’m keeping the saint alive, oh my poor old Mother’s soul.


*Gretchen’s current whereabouts are unknown.


Days’ Progress

Today I saw a shower with a radio. The towns I’ve visited include obscure shops intermixed with the standard shops that seems to be prevalent around these places- Dunkin Donuts, Subway, the local deli(s), florist shops, grand old churches with stained glassed windows…I could recount the universal niceties of our host families so far but that might take too long. I’m writing this on an host’s laptop right now. Mine still needs a charger. I don’t know what to relate in the short time I have before sleep. I still can’t get used to collapsing exhausted and getting back up early to do it all over again. The eclecticism of our hosts has been enjoyable. Yesterday our host picked up a Free chandelier on the side of the road and placed it atop his jeep. They’ve both had dogs. One had a mix between a golden retriever and a poodle. These guys have a rescue that has to sniff you before you get near him without his muzzle. Afterwards he’s really loving. His name is Mason and his owner is named Max. I wonder if it might be more appropriate vice-versa.

I’m painfully self-conscious of the people around me, not all surprising seeing I’ve tried my best to be secluded from the people of the world. Now I’m kinda jumping into a cold pool after soaking in a hot tub. Not too much about me. Owner of this computer Max, is a striving medical student who’s trying to get a job in Boston to move in with his gf who just moved there. He has a Masters in Chemistry and is charmingly self-deprecating with a moderate temperament. Maybe I shouldn’t describe a person I’m sitting right next to. Excuse any typos. Matt and Max share this desperate aura around them of young professionals with Masters and practical skill but are struggling to fulfill their potential in the occupational world.
The biggest perk of being around educated people though is that they raise interesting topics. The guy who we stayed with yesterday sold picture frames as a living- a family business that apparently affords him an almost egregiously large house (mansion), complete with pool, spa, pool room, etc. His son is going into his junior year and the other day atop the mountain camping Matt asked for a story from our 16th year of life. We all gasped at the transience of our memories and the frequency through which what might be seen as important at the moment fades so rapidly in retrospect.
While gasping at all the enormously expansive houses of Redding, Peter (the jeep guy) told me that one of the guys on the right worked/is in charge of Watson. Took me a while to realize what he was talking about but it’s Watson IBM, the AI that competes in Jeopardy (absurdly). That was a brief celebrity encounter (not really) that kinda rooted this experience in the intensely odd fusion of reality and fiction that I’ve been experiencing. I’m sure I’ve already relayed the feeling of rapid flip-flop between excruciating pain and blissful self-awareness. Like joy beyond anything I’ve ever felt before a hard stop and then more punishing gravel and gravity. Say what you will about the rest of my character but be sure to know I’m the neurotic guy. There are so many details I want to relate to you and ingrain in my memory. I’m afraid this experience is a sensory surfeit, like going to a museum and seeing so many pieces in such a short amount of time. We were trying to find that pizza hut place and on the way home I was like “Oh I spoke to like six people today!”. Yo this is harder than I thought. I could spew words like a garbage chute about the rest of these few days.
New Haven and almost every town around here possess such a rich culture and history that’s enlivened the people around here in an invisible way, as if they have deeper roots and a connection/curiosity to their landscape-unlike (generalizing) the suburbs we live in, composed of peoples displaced. And of course there’s no history. Christian (Matt’s gf) is incredible. She works as a pastor at a church right down the road from their street which is the FIRST united church of its kind founded in the 1600s and built in the 1800s. Its hard to make it sound interesting. I’m kinda in a drunken state of sleepiness. I hate myself more when I speak, not to be melodramatic. If only that rewind button from Click was real lol. I want to edit and backspace people’s responses to the words I spew out. When the intractable nature of social interaction paralyzes you how should I understand the future in manageable terms, i.e. college?
A quote I’ve been holding onto since today: “Necessity is the mother of adaptation”. I’m hoping I can adapt soon, maybe my character is not as malleable as I thought it was. Creature of habit…realized all of my days was pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, followed by sleep, and then more pleasure. Mixing Bob’s Burgers with dad’s food….the netflix life is impossibly alluring. Please  think of the quote as you give your thoughts on moving nearly straight from traveling to living in another state. Feeling extremely sad when I empathize with you (in which I see things as you would), and feeling sad just by myself. See you soon.
~Recorded on 07/06/16