instagram

http://instagram.com/perryshimon - there is a large archive of still and moving images and writing here. it could be read like a book in reverse although different in it's read/write dialogic nature and metainformational connectivity with other writing and images. much of the work here is concerned with the structural limitations and implications of the platform. 

Some examples below.



     I etch lighting on a clamshell with a sharks tooth. I render svelte aurochs on cave walls. I weave baskets to carry plants i dig from the earth. I taotie ding bronze vessels for dynasty assholes. I stitch rippling blankets to cover my friends and family. I chisel gossip of the gods on zoomorphic palimpsests. I mix oils and pigments to flatter heirs of unscrupulous fortunes with soft constituti  ons. I make bloody illustrations for subjugation manuals. I desperately and self-importantly try to make familiar things slightly less familiar. I construct or appropriate obscure aesthetic vehicles for speculative financial trading. Pan sexual girls in mud and moccasins at Moroccan restaurants in Cincinnati (autocorrect: concomitant) clap for my Instagram posts   👏

 

I etch lighting on a clamshell with a sharks tooth. I render svelte aurochs on cave walls. I weave baskets to carry plants i dig from the earth. I taotie ding bronze vessels for dynasty assholes. I stitch rippling blankets to cover my friends and family. I chisel gossip of the gods on zoomorphic palimpsests. I mix oils and pigments to flatter heirs of unscrupulous fortunes with soft constitutions. I make bloody illustrations for subjugation manuals. I desperately and self-importantly try to make familiar things slightly less familiar. I construct or appropriate obscure aesthetic vehicles for speculative financial trading. Pan sexual girls in mud and moccasins at Moroccan restaurants in Cincinnati (autocorrect: concomitant) clap for my Instagram posts 👏



     I get a no caller id call from an obamacare woman who asked me a series of questions from a script that I invariably answered no to. After twenty nos the man who collects rocks and sells them as meteorites autocorrect merited rites got up and said goodbye to me. I said goodbye and he asked me where are you from again? New York City. He started autocorrect strayed on a story about penn station and   getting a Bowie knife in the side first thing in the morning autocorrect Mormon. And the silience on the phone opened up into an uncomfortable cavern autocorrect cabin. What? I said. Are you or anyone covered on the plan currently receiving psychological or psychiatric services? No. Are you or anyone on the plan on the autistic spectrum. No? You only live once he said, the passing idiot, you got to maximize buddy. The little kid that might be on the spectrum walked in the shop and said this smells like chicken tikka masala. When I asked him a question he paused for just long enough to make you question every preconception which mediates your way of being in the world and then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I think it's best that people don't know who you really are. If I get another bag I'll just put weird stuff in it. It's like a magical insurance for a car we didn't have. That's not even funny, that's vandalism. My friend who is unsure about gravity autocorrect frailty and opens autocorrect items doors from the past brought me back the finishing salt I keep in the trunk with my camouflage jacket and I gave her the backpack I found in the freebox. She's unplugged all the electricity in her cottage and is going to sleep on the ground to be closer to the earth. She wants a surgery to open her throat so she can breath better. She's literally autocorrect lottery fighting to breath, to live. There's not enough spirulina in the world to fix this. French elementary schools banned wifi for the children's health. Should we be an island or a peninsula or put up a gate or get retina scanners? Slowly simmering constant world war three™ If it's not grim it's not accurate  💘

 

I get a no caller id call from an obamacare woman who asked me a series of questions from a script that I invariably answered no to. After twenty nos the man who collects rocks and sells them as meteorites autocorrect merited rites got up and said goodbye to me. I said goodbye and he asked me where are you from again? New York City. He started autocorrect strayed on a story about penn station and getting a Bowie knife in the side first thing in the morning autocorrect Mormon. And the silience on the phone opened up into an uncomfortable cavern autocorrect cabin. What? I said. Are you or anyone covered on the plan currently receiving psychological or psychiatric services? No. Are you or anyone on the plan on the autistic spectrum. No? You only live once he said, the passing idiot, you got to maximize buddy. The little kid that might be on the spectrum walked in the shop and said this smells like chicken tikka masala. When I asked him a question he paused for just long enough to make you question every preconception which mediates your way of being in the world and then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I think it's best that people don't know who you really are. If I get another bag I'll just put weird stuff in it. It's like a magical insurance for a car we didn't have. That's not even funny, that's vandalism. My friend who is unsure about gravity autocorrect frailty and opens autocorrect items doors from the past brought me back the finishing salt I keep in the trunk with my camouflage jacket and I gave her the backpack I found in the freebox. She's unplugged all the electricity in her cottage and is going to sleep on the ground to be closer to the earth. She wants a surgery to open her throat so she can breath better. She's literally autocorrect lottery fighting to breath, to live. There's not enough spirulina in the world to fix this. French elementary schools banned wifi for the children's health. Should we be an island or a peninsula or put up a gate or get retina scanners? Slowly simmering constant world war three™ If it's not grim it's not accurate 💘



    i've always defined myself in opposition, but to what? everything variable and in constant change. where does that put my opposition? like light bouncing off snowflakes in a storm. am i the dialectic? the others advocate? the description is not the described. whatever we think it is, it isn't, it's more and it's different.  her daddies are magic. black lives matter. not in an order. the woman on the rascal in walmart is capital in shorthand. we already live in ruins. that's the graffito i press into the glass walls of the zuckerberg plantation.  i can't even bring myself to write the story of many rapes as a child and the aliens in sedona. i just took her warm hand with my cold hand through the car window

 

i've always defined myself in opposition, but to what? everything variable and in constant change. where does that put my opposition? like light bouncing off snowflakes in a storm. am i the dialectic? the others advocate? the description is not the described. whatever we think it is, it isn't, it's more and it's different. 
her daddies are magic. black lives matter. not in an order. the woman on the rascal in walmart is capital in shorthand. we already live in ruins. that's the graffito i press into the glass walls of the zuckerberg plantation. 
i can't even bring myself to write the story of many rapes as a child and the aliens in sedona. i just took her warm hand with my cold hand through the car window



     Nina said she saw me biking and it was beautiful with my arms out like I was flying. I scored the last goal in soccer. I introduced a new friend by the wrong name and felt bad for two days. I found a new meeting place tor the sugar group. I met a dancer from Cincinnati who's studying with Anna halprin and Agnes told me to tell her the owl story about how the night before she was born an owl came.   The dancer said the night her mom died an owl came. Mariee souix started singing at the farm stand and most of us cried. I showed Agnes the difference between choreographed and improvisational dance with the Macarena and something ecstatic that looked like moving something up and out of my body. Molly the scientific illustrator at the fire department told me how they control gorillas with hyper palatable Pringles. The last time I saw her she told me a Hopi on the third Mesa took her to see some caged eagles and groped her breasts. It was a special Monday. Communication and compromise for the sake of community is art. Who are your favorite artists? Louis ck, herzog, Marx, Jesus. I want to appogize to the goal keeper. I want to play basketball for the poetry on an overgrown court with no points, a small chamber group on the sideline and a picnic in the middle. I want to dance ecstatically with my neighbors. War veterans and diabetics and hedge fund managers and drone operators and Monsanto lobbyists. We can make fires in the aisles of Walmart and as the automatic sprinkler system rains down on our naked dancing bodies we'll beat overturned plastic storage containers until we find a common rhythm. Can we start fresh? Shave our heads and give away all our stuff. Find new ways of being in the world. Change our minds easily like standing up or not standing up. Letting go of everything we are afraid to let go of like the pen in Diane's broken hand and waiting beatifically for what comes next. An earthquake or drone strike unleashing a tsunami of radioactive waste onto Pringle manipulated primates illuminated by the glow of their smartphones beaming up thousands of simultaneous (autocorrect: simply android) simulacra of our impending

 

Nina said she saw me biking and it was beautiful with my arms out like I was flying. I scored the last goal in soccer. I introduced a new friend by the wrong name and felt bad for two days. I found a new meeting place tor the sugar group. I met a dancer from Cincinnati who's studying with Anna halprin and Agnes told me to tell her the owl story about how the night before she was born an owl came. The dancer said the night her mom died an owl came. Mariee souix started singing at the farm stand and most of us cried. I showed Agnes the difference between choreographed and improvisational dance with the Macarena and something ecstatic that looked like moving something up and out of my body. Molly the scientific illustrator at the fire department told me how they control gorillas with hyper palatable Pringles. The last time I saw her she told me a Hopi on the third Mesa took her to see some caged eagles and groped her breasts. It was a special Monday. Communication and compromise for the sake of community is art. Who are your favorite artists? Louis ck, herzog, Marx, Jesus. I want to appogize to the goal keeper. I want to play basketball for the poetry on an overgrown court with no points, a small chamber group on the sideline and a picnic in the middle. I want to dance ecstatically with my neighbors. War veterans and diabetics and hedge fund managers and drone operators and Monsanto lobbyists. We can make fires in the aisles of Walmart and as the automatic sprinkler system rains down on our naked dancing bodies we'll beat overturned plastic storage containers until we find a common rhythm. Can we start fresh? Shave our heads and give away all our stuff. Find new ways of being in the world. Change our minds easily like standing up or not standing up. Letting go of everything we are afraid to let go of like the pen in Diane's broken hand and waiting beatifically for what comes next. An earthquake or drone strike unleashing a tsunami of radioactive waste onto Pringle manipulated primates illuminated by the glow of their smartphones beaming up thousands of simultaneous (autocorrect: simply android) simulacra of our impending



     Part 1 of 2   I met Paloma in line at my favorite local Mexican restaurant. She looked far away and covered with paint and we sat next to each other. I had just come from AiWeiwei at Alcatraz and she told me she loved him and her grandmother just died that afternoon and she started crying. She came to my place and spent the night. I gave her some comfortable clothing and we fell asleep like brother   and sister. Two days later we went to point Reyes to have a memorial for her. We drove down sir Francis drake and stopped at beautiful places along the coast to explore and take pictures. We went to a small cove beach on the bay side and did a memorial ritual she had prepared. I swam out to a small square dock, maybe 6 feet across, floating a couple hundred feet off shore. I saw a woman walking along the beach and she came to the water and swam out to me. Paloma came into the water from another part of the beach, like a triangle and swam out to the dock. The woman on the beach arrived first and then Paloma and we all sat and then stood on the rocking platform. We talked about death and our lives. The water was choppy and the air chilly and the sun warm and our triangle calming. We dove in and swam slowly back to shore. I asked the woman if I could take her picture and we went to a small cove together. She is incredibly beautiful Mexican and welsh and some Northern European and a little Iroquois. Young and in a kind of stage of blossoming. I kissed her, I was really overcome and she seemed calm at first and receptive and then reciprocal. We were purple with skin raised touching each other in a kind of electric rising excitement. Paloma came back and we said goodbye. We drove towards the ocean listening to Laurie Anderson and crying quietly. Paloma lost her father and mother and her grandfather and now her grandmother. She was certain her grandmother brought us together. In retrospect I remember feeling pushed down the street towards the restaurant, like how I feel when I feel (autocorrect: fell) out of time with myself.

 

Part 1 of 2
I met Paloma in line at my favorite local Mexican restaurant. She looked far away and covered with paint and we sat next to each other. I had just come from AiWeiwei at Alcatraz and she told me she loved him and her grandmother just died that afternoon and she started crying. She came to my place and spent the night. I gave her some comfortable clothing and we fell asleep like brother and sister. Two days later we went to point Reyes to have a memorial for her. We drove down sir Francis drake and stopped at beautiful places along the coast to explore and take pictures. We went to a small cove beach on the bay side and did a memorial ritual she had prepared. I swam out to a small square dock, maybe 6 feet across, floating a couple hundred feet off shore. I saw a woman walking along the beach and she came to the water and swam out to me. Paloma came into the water from another part of the beach, like a triangle and swam out to the dock. The woman on the beach arrived first and then Paloma and we all sat and then stood on the rocking platform. We talked about death and our lives. The water was choppy and the air chilly and the sun warm and our triangle calming. We dove in and swam slowly back to shore. I asked the woman if I could take her picture and we went to a small cove together. She is incredibly beautiful Mexican and welsh and some Northern European and a little Iroquois. Young and in a kind of stage of blossoming. I kissed her, I was really overcome and she seemed calm at first and receptive and then reciprocal. We were purple with skin raised touching each other in a kind of electric rising excitement. Paloma came back and we said goodbye. We drove towards the ocean listening to Laurie Anderson and crying quietly. Paloma lost her father and mother and her grandfather and now her grandmother. She was certain her grandmother brought us together. In retrospect I remember feeling pushed down the street towards the restaurant, like how I feel when I feel (autocorrect: fell) out of time with myself.

     Part 2 of 2   We got to the end of point Reyes and walked out to the lighthouse. Deers everywhere and hawks and rabbits and whales and lots of wind and windswept trees and infinite coast and infinite ocean and Paloma beautiful and stoic with her strong hands and wild hair. She looks ancient and we both felt like we had known each other in some sense before. I was petting a dog some months later with   a mohawk in front of a market and trying to take a picture of him standing on his hind legs. When I stood up the beautiful woman from the beach was standing there. She was smiling and I couldn't contain my smile. She had been up north on a farm living with bunch of people in tents with no internet or phone. We ate and went back to my place and made love. Her young body and easy confidence are overwhelming. I understand as I'm getting older the appeal of youth. It's easy to understand on a surface level but as I get older I get tired and scared with knowledge and scared by past decisions and people and then someone young and naive and excited and unformed and full of possibilities comes into your world with all her freshness and body lines and feelings that just leaves me in awe. Her smile and lips and gums and laughlines and waist and her tight ass that fills my hand and her moans when I lick her neck and her full breasts and thick hair, it's really overwhelming. I feel guilty for how much pleasure she gives me. She gave me a purple chocolate with some mushrooms in it and said its medicine. My Navajo brother @alpha_beta_tone said it's not medicine. He's in the program and I don't drink or do drugs or eat sugar or drink coffee. I don't know if I want to take it. The last time I remember taking mushrooms I was fifteen in Amsterdam and ate these tuber looking little nuggets called philosopher stones and the whole world seemed to be rolling like static video and I cracked my head open in the hostel and I thought my friends energy was hostile and I left and walked through vondelpark by myself feeling totally unhinged. I'm not sure what to do with this Purple Heart, isn't that what they give war heros (autocorrect: Herod)?

 

Part 2 of 2
We got to the end of point Reyes and walked out to the lighthouse. Deers everywhere and hawks and rabbits and whales and lots of wind and windswept trees and infinite coast and infinite ocean and Paloma beautiful and stoic with her strong hands and wild hair. She looks ancient and we both felt like we had known each other in some sense before. I was petting a dog some months later with a mohawk in front of a market and trying to take a picture of him standing on his hind legs. When I stood up the beautiful woman from the beach was standing there. She was smiling and I couldn't contain my smile. She had been up north on a farm living with bunch of people in tents with no internet or phone. We ate and went back to my place and made love. Her young body and easy confidence are overwhelming. I understand as I'm getting older the appeal of youth. It's easy to understand on a surface level but as I get older I get tired and scared with knowledge and scared by past decisions and people and then someone young and naive and excited and unformed and full of possibilities comes into your world with all her freshness and body lines and feelings that just leaves me in awe. Her smile and lips and gums and laughlines and waist and her tight ass that fills my hand and her moans when I lick her neck and her full breasts and thick hair, it's really overwhelming. I feel guilty for how much pleasure she gives me. She gave me a purple chocolate with some mushrooms in it and said its medicine. My Navajo brother @alpha_beta_tone said it's not medicine. He's in the program and I don't drink or do drugs or eat sugar or drink coffee. I don't know if I want to take it. The last time I remember taking mushrooms I was fifteen in Amsterdam and ate these tuber looking little nuggets called philosopher stones and the whole world seemed to be rolling like static video and I cracked my head open in the hostel and I thought my friends energy was hostile and I left and walked through vondelpark by myself feeling totally unhinged. I'm not sure what to do with this Purple Heart, isn't that what they give war heros (autocorrect: Herod)?




     🌾    Hiding in plain sight. She doesn't read anymore because of her head injury. I believe in everything. When she does read, she reads about Buddhism in a newspaper she carries around about a group of Buddhists who made children their leaders. He feels shame for the way he behaved when his fathered died. He feels shame for the way his mother died (autocorrect: does). The bench held them up and he t  hought we are having two conversations and then one and the waves crested white and he thought about neurons or metabolizing proteins firing electric on brain scans. And strange autocorrect arrange strangers landed on their raw silk jacket and he greeted autocorrect greeee them warmly and intimately and another black dog came as before with coevolved autocorrect cow voles smiles and foxtails in his coat and they're companion autocorrect complain asked if it's nice out here. Rhetorically or maybe just to confirm what we're doing out here on the edge of the land wandering around talking to ourself in the fog. They autocorrect thru talked about buying weed when they were another age when they gave 15 dollars to the negro who polished cars at the used car lot and he would come back a week later autocorrect layer after buying whiskey and taking out his girlfriend with some shitty seedy weed from Mexico that they would sometimes pour coca cola into because they pinched the pound and they called it sweet weed. And the bars a brothel so they say and you'd never guess who and the longer you stay the darker it gets autocorrect he's and we're like the menace of twisting naked branches and thorny underbrush and sprawling autocorrect stealing root systems we can't see.    🌾

 

🌾

Hiding in plain sight. She doesn't read anymore because of her head injury. I believe in everything. When she does read, she reads about Buddhism in a newspaper she carries around about a group of Buddhists who made children their leaders. He feels shame for the way he behaved when his fathered died. He feels shame for the way his mother died (autocorrect: does). The bench held them up and he thought we are having two conversations and then one and the waves crested white and he thought about neurons or metabolizing proteins firing electric on brain scans. And strange autocorrect arrange strangers landed on their raw silk jacket and he greeted autocorrect greeee them warmly and intimately and another black dog came as before with coevolved autocorrect cow voles smiles and foxtails in his coat and they're companion autocorrect complain asked if it's nice out here. Rhetorically or maybe just to confirm what we're doing out here on the edge of the land wandering around talking to ourself in the fog. They autocorrect thru talked about buying weed when they were another age when they gave 15 dollars to the negro who polished cars at the used car lot and he would come back a week later autocorrect layer after buying whiskey and taking out his girlfriend with some shitty seedy weed from Mexico that they would sometimes pour coca cola into because they pinched the pound and they called it sweet weed. And the bars a brothel so they say and you'd never guess who and the longer you stay the darker it gets autocorrect he's and we're like the menace of twisting naked branches and thorny underbrush and sprawling autocorrect stealing root systems we can't see. 

🌾





     Part 1 of 2   Naked woman on horseback with a whip. Scared the local children. Shit on the beach. Used to be a playmate. Speaking in tongues in a black hoody behind the bushes. I'm in a fakir dervish sadhu phase and keep shaving my head, wearing saffron colored clothing and making N African egg dishes. Petroglyphs to petrochemicals. Petro spirit. Mutual exploitation. There's the end and there's more  . Distinctions of myopia. She actually refers to herself as Tina with the beard. She's cool with it. That's cool. Rework ps6485 Esperanto all emoji. New writing. Make scenes of image text. General themes of language restructuring. Post memoir. Traveling to inquire. Krishnamurti. No accumulation. Listening. My art practice. Listen to people until they are done talking. Healing. Let go of all expectation. Hope is suffering. Move like water. Spitting enemities. Yuenic dialogues. Rom or Socrates. OCD trust fund. Friend. Knowing not known. Looks for .4 avocados. Symphonies of grains. Kashi washi. Smooshables. Hitler himmler. Manipulation. Play not work. In regard to energy expenditure. Fissure and fusion. Love is the only revolution. To sell candy bars and commodities. Side stepping black spotted crabs. I've been so still, I look and they are all around me and then gone with my observation. Like science. Dangers of positivism. Stigma of mistake. Spitting enemities. I'm mostly blind. Moments of clarity. Mostly water, possibly a simulation. Looking up and seeing clearly. Landing in myself. Hearing things. Moving out of thoughts. Looking at my hands. Noticing the richness of texture. You can make a symphony out of seeds and cereal grains. Satie and Beethoven and Mahler out of oats and flax and millet or amaranth. Sometimes sun. Sometimes pum. Sometimes sunpum. The joys of language. Soaked, arranged, adorned, consumed. Another language of abstraction. Another comes to occupy this place of contemplation at the intersection of air water land and all other false distinctions abstracted.

 

Part 1 of 2
Naked woman on horseback with a whip. Scared the local children. Shit on the beach. Used to be a playmate. Speaking in tongues in a black hoody behind the bushes. I'm in a fakir dervish sadhu phase and keep shaving my head, wearing saffron colored clothing and making N African egg dishes. Petroglyphs to petrochemicals. Petro spirit. Mutual exploitation. There's the end and there's more. Distinctions of myopia. She actually refers to herself as Tina with the beard. She's cool with it. That's cool. Rework ps6485 Esperanto all emoji. New writing. Make scenes of image text. General themes of language restructuring. Post memoir. Traveling to inquire. Krishnamurti. No accumulation. Listening. My art practice. Listen to people until they are done talking. Healing. Let go of all expectation. Hope is suffering. Move like water. Spitting enemities. Yuenic dialogues. Rom or Socrates. OCD trust fund. Friend. Knowing not known. Looks for .4 avocados. Symphonies of grains. Kashi washi. Smooshables. Hitler himmler. Manipulation. Play not work. In regard to energy expenditure. Fissure and fusion. Love is the only revolution. To sell candy bars and commodities. Side stepping black spotted crabs. I've been so still, I look and they are all around me and then gone with my observation. Like science. Dangers of positivism. Stigma of mistake. Spitting enemities. I'm mostly blind. Moments of clarity. Mostly water, possibly a simulation. Looking up and seeing clearly. Landing in myself. Hearing things. Moving out of thoughts. Looking at my hands. Noticing the richness of texture. You can make a symphony out of seeds and cereal grains. Satie and Beethoven and Mahler out of oats and flax and millet or amaranth. Sometimes sun. Sometimes pum. Sometimes sunpum. The joys of language. Soaked, arranged, adorned, consumed. Another language of abstraction. Another comes to occupy this place of contemplation at the intersection of air water land and all other false distinctions abstracted.

      Part 2 of 2 And Eleanor walks by in purple with a floppy hat as I've come to expect and invites me to join the community board which meets at the library on the first or last Tuesday of the month. If you stand still the world can reveal itself. I'm surrounded by crabs and spitting enemities. We're all learning about ourself. Ananda and john. Curly brings me the sugar metaphor billionaire self immo lation short in the unlikely anthology with a post it note facilitating revelatory insight. And timing. Judith in my dream and on my break. Marie asks if I lose my sense of gravity here too. Neta said she would bring me tahini from over the hill. Pavel and I looking from different points at the woman speaking to herself in the plaza. There are many conversations here, says john. Some to humans, some to spirits. Ananda says something about Isis being bush's children and the conversation turns to drone strikes. If I had twin toy poodles, i would name them Virginity and Fukushima.      

 

Part 2 of 2
And Eleanor walks by in purple with a floppy hat as I've come to expect and invites me to join the community board which meets at the library on the first or last Tuesday of the month. If you stand still the world can reveal itself. I'm surrounded by crabs and spitting enemities. We're all learning about ourself. Ananda and john. Curly brings me the sugar metaphor billionaire self immolation short in the unlikely anthology with a post it note facilitating revelatory insight. And timing. Judith in my dream and on my break. Marie asks if I lose my sense of gravity here too. Neta said she would bring me tahini from over the hill. Pavel and I looking from different points at the woman speaking to herself in the plaza. There are many conversations here, says john. Some to humans, some to spirits. Ananda says something about Isis being bush's children and the conversation turns to drone strikes. If I had twin toy poodles, i would name them Virginity and Fukushima.

 




     I have this thing where people come up to me and tell me autocorrect merge their darkest most painful inner autocorrect meme thoughts. I listen to them kindly with humility and usually by the end of the conversation they appear to feel a little better. But they weigh on me. I collect them. Absorb them. The way black absorbs heat. The way autocorrect Waugh hardrives starts buzzing and the wheel sta  rts spinning and the interface starts freezing. I woke up in the middle of the night. I dreamed I was given drugs by a woman who wanted to sleep with me and she became hysterical and kids were crying and the tv was blaring and there were repair men who had undone all of the electricity in the house and they were asking me questions in Spanish about exposed wires and power sources and other things of unarticulable autocorrect im articulable complexity and everything compounded until I woke up and instinctively grabbed my phone at arms length in the dark and started typing this. Does it get any more big brother than Facebook? The ultimate enforcer of the authoritarian personality. Tell us everything about, you, everyone you know, everything, you, like, and we will use it to exploit yous in concert with all the other authoritarian powers. Everything you say must be likeable. Your dissent, sedition, transgression, likeable. How will there be a likable autocorrect piebald revolution? Poor Timothy spinning out schizoprenic riffs par excellence over low resolution webcams to YouTube tutorials. He looks so tired at confrences, ok let's do this thing. Americas next top philosopher poet idol, send in your votes with heart symbols, likes and SMS. Brought to you by cancer food, health insurance, diamond ring, demographic appropriate internal-combustion vehicle, predatory medical services and enlightenment™ autocorrect relenting meant.

 

I have this thing where people come up to me and tell me autocorrect merge their darkest most painful inner autocorrect meme thoughts. I listen to them kindly with humility and usually by the end of the conversation they appear to feel a little better. But they weigh on me. I collect them. Absorb them. The way black absorbs heat. The way autocorrect Waugh hardrives starts buzzing and the wheel starts spinning and the interface starts freezing. I woke up in the middle of the night. I dreamed I was given drugs by a woman who wanted to sleep with me and she became hysterical and kids were crying and the tv was blaring and there were repair men who had undone all of the electricity in the house and they were asking me questions in Spanish about exposed wires and power sources and other things of unarticulable autocorrect im articulable complexity and everything compounded until I woke up and instinctively grabbed my phone at arms length in the dark and started typing this. Does it get any more big brother than Facebook? The ultimate enforcer of the authoritarian personality. Tell us everything about, you, everyone you know, everything, you, like, and we will use it to exploit yous in concert with all the other authoritarian powers. Everything you say must be likeable. Your dissent, sedition, transgression, likeable. How will there be a likable autocorrect piebald revolution? Poor Timothy spinning out schizoprenic riffs par excellence over low resolution webcams to YouTube tutorials. He looks so tired at confrences, ok let's do this thing. Americas next top philosopher poet idol, send in your votes with heart symbols, likes and SMS. Brought to you by cancer food, health insurance, diamond ring, demographic appropriate internal-combustion vehicle, predatory medical services and enlightenment™ autocorrect relenting meant.



     Notes from the garden:    Coyote bush gets all leggy and responds well to a hard pruning.     Responds well to fire, wants to burn, like manzanita.    On the way to going dormant from stresses.  Aldo leopold's treatise on quail: they want a good place to perch and a good place to forage.   Obligate species.   A cultivated, horticultured clarkia unguiculata next to a non cultivated, non horticultured clarkia unguiculata.   Ildiko Polony: florific.  Agnes: If you stick this knife in the banana plant it will write that name of the day your grandmother got married.

 

Notes from the garden:

Coyote bush gets all leggy and responds well to a hard pruning. 

Responds well to fire, wants to burn, like manzanita.

On the way to going dormant from stresses.

Aldo leopold's treatise on quail: they want a good place to perch and a good place to forage. 

Obligate species. 

A cultivated, horticultured clarkia unguiculata next to a non cultivated, non horticultured clarkia unguiculata. 

Ildiko Polony: florific.

Agnes: If you stick this knife in the banana plant it will write that name of the day your grandmother got married.






     Part 1 of 2   (I wake up and I'm a character with huge shoulders like a gargoyle and tiny legs that shuffle quickly. I'm walking around something like downtown la, it might be digital. The way you can alternate between characters swiping from side to side as their identities appear and disappear from the part of the stage you can see. The shock of montage resists contemplation. The fluidity of ident  ity. The blurring of digital physical. A dream a few nights before of a yellow plane and a woman. The plane turns around mid flight and becomes so big as it crash lands, taking up my (autocorrect: uptown) entire field of vision. I jump out of the way and the woman stands stolicly as the plane screeches to a halt inches or seconds from her. The man woman from the app that looks for clairvoyance in dreams said something about a new sunrise of possibilities with our data. That sounds nice, but the sun is rising over a penitentiary built of data that can hear itself think and change it's shape.

 

Part 1 of 2
(I wake up and I'm a character with huge shoulders like a gargoyle and tiny legs that shuffle quickly. I'm walking around something like downtown la, it might be digital. The way you can alternate between characters swiping from side to side as their identities appear and disappear from the part of the stage you can see. The shock of montage resists contemplation. The fluidity of identity. The blurring of digital physical. A dream a few nights before of a yellow plane and a woman. The plane turns around mid flight and becomes so big as it crash lands, taking up my (autocorrect: uptown) entire field of vision. I jump out of the way and the woman stands stolicly as the plane screeches to a halt inches or seconds from her. The man woman from the app that looks for clairvoyance in dreams said something about a new sunrise of possibilities with our data. That sounds nice, but the sun is rising over a penitentiary built of data that can hear itself think and change it's shape.

     Part 2 of 2   Rupert's banned from Ted and do inorganic organisms also have collective memory? Does every YouTube video know something about all the rest. What do all these cats know. We think the Egyptians worshiped cats. Second life, blue mars, morphic resonances of toxoplasmosis. Jalal patron saint of eudoxia (autocorrect: Eudora) or Borges patron saint of Jalal and 50 minutes of slowed down Musl  im boys praying and beating their chests. No non diegetic sounds, just temporal suspension. I like the trumpet in my video of a black doorman at trump towers with the endless cycle of people poring in and out of the dark reflections of Madison Avenue. This is how we start the new year, a gargoyle on a dying iPhone in digital pysical nocturnal diurnal downtown la ) DPNDDTLA ( or in a still valley town in northern californa. Still except for the hum of electronics and the reflected birds flying through the finger scuffed black of my idle laptop screen. This blurry reflection is the state bird. Not like the eagle hunted to the verge of extinction then exalted or the pigeon that won the war, posed for oil paintings and became a rat. Not the rat that ate mcdonalds for science and couldn't swim to safety but the rat that spread the plague through Europe. The state bird of ) DPDNDTLA ( is reflected, low resolution, unknowable, surveilled, indefinitely recorded, an empty vessel. Find my charger, cycle identities and contemplate the montage

 

Part 2 of 2
Rupert's banned from Ted and do inorganic organisms also have collective memory? Does every YouTube video know something about all the rest. What do all these cats know. We think the Egyptians worshiped cats. Second life, blue mars, morphic resonances of toxoplasmosis. Jalal patron saint of eudoxia (autocorrect: Eudora) or Borges patron saint of Jalal and 50 minutes of slowed down Muslim boys praying and beating their chests. No non diegetic sounds, just temporal suspension. I like the trumpet in my video of a black doorman at trump towers with the endless cycle of people poring in and out of the dark reflections of Madison Avenue. This is how we start the new year, a gargoyle on a dying iPhone in digital pysical nocturnal diurnal downtown la ) DPNDDTLA ( or in a still valley town in northern californa. Still except for the hum of electronics and the reflected birds flying through the finger scuffed black of my idle laptop screen. This blurry reflection is the state bird. Not like the eagle hunted to the verge of extinction then exalted or the pigeon that won the war, posed for oil paintings and became a rat. Not the rat that ate mcdonalds for science and couldn't swim to safety but the rat that spread the plague through Europe. The state bird of ) DPDNDTLA ( is reflected, low resolution, unknowable, surveilled, indefinitely recorded, an empty vessel. Find my charger, cycle identities and contemplate the montage








     Today was unseasonably hot. I made breakfast for a guest that was unreasonably good. I went to a friends garden for tea and made love under a tree while birds cheered and bugs buzzed by my ear and sticks and stones pressed into my ass cheeks. I went to work and Claire brought me young almonds from the Italian farm which I offered around and described as fiberous, tart and gelatinous. The man that   covered the table with rocks and tried to sell them as meteorites wasn't around today but Leah got arrested for hitting the guy from ny who went to Stuyvesant over taking bringer of happiness' boots which ended up with Peter who is like a white blood cell like me or an amino acid with a complex role we can't understand. Wayne does a killer Dylan Thomas. Serena told a poem about wanting to fuck the ocean, being filled by its warm flow and I read some things from my Instagram about Uganda and aunt Charlie's and Dolly Parton and pan sexual girls from Cincinnati which only aggravated (autocorrect: aggregated) the nearly deaf beat poet of significance who kept interrupting and asking German women to read his poems. Serena has advanced degrees and spoke with me in a thick accent about Spinoza and monads and wages for house work. I came home and watched slavoj zizek say hilarious things on YouTube and then posted some things on Instagram that we're collecting on my phone and looked at some pictures and videos from my website and wrote this to share with you. And now I'm going to get into bed and listen to crickets and the moon will illuminate this small cabin and I will think about who might be reading this and when and what it could possibly mean to them.    Comment (Perry Shimon): And now I'm rereading it. And in the space between I recalled a newt by my bed the other day. It was just sitting there by the foot of my bed and I brought it outside. When I stripped my sheets a few days later I saw a dead, shriveled newt and realized that the newt I had moved outside was waiting at the foot of my bed for its companion and this assumption filled me with sadness.    Comment (Perry Shimon): And now I'm rereading it again and I remember talking to the pretty mother of the twins with dots tattooed under her bright blue eyes in a shaft of Rembrandt light in the market who named her daughter Agnes too. And the doubt sets in about what I'm writing and it's implications. And I'm supposed to wake up early tmrw morning to get to Sacramento for the cooperatives conference and I didn't get a chance to upload any podcasts to my phone for the drive and the cd of early French choral music I took from the library is stuck in the poorly made car CD player and here I am writing these frivolous thoughts instead of going to sleep. Wilde said people can be divided into two categories, charming and tedious. Thats a false dichotomy.

 

Today was unseasonably hot. I made breakfast for a guest that was unreasonably good. I went to a friends garden for tea and made love under a tree while birds cheered and bugs buzzed by my ear and sticks and stones pressed into my ass cheeks. I went to work and Claire brought me young almonds from the Italian farm which I offered around and described as fiberous, tart and gelatinous. The man that covered the table with rocks and tried to sell them as meteorites wasn't around today but Leah got arrested for hitting the guy from ny who went to Stuyvesant over taking bringer of happiness' boots which ended up with Peter who is like a white blood cell like me or an amino acid with a complex role we can't understand. Wayne does a killer Dylan Thomas. Serena told a poem about wanting to fuck the ocean, being filled by its warm flow and I read some things from my Instagram about Uganda and aunt Charlie's and Dolly Parton and pan sexual girls from Cincinnati which only aggravated (autocorrect: aggregated) the nearly deaf beat poet of significance who kept interrupting and asking German women to read his poems. Serena has advanced degrees and spoke with me in a thick accent about Spinoza and monads and wages for house work. I came home and watched slavoj zizek say hilarious things on YouTube and then posted some things on Instagram that we're collecting on my phone and looked at some pictures and videos from my website and wrote this to share with you. And now I'm going to get into bed and listen to crickets and the moon will illuminate this small cabin and I will think about who might be reading this and when and what it could possibly mean to them.

Comment (Perry Shimon): And now I'm rereading it. And in the space between I recalled a newt by my bed the other day. It was just sitting there by the foot of my bed and I brought it outside. When I stripped my sheets a few days later I saw a dead, shriveled newt and realized that the newt I had moved outside was waiting at the foot of my bed for its companion and this assumption filled me with sadness.

Comment (Perry Shimon): And now I'm rereading it again and I remember talking to the pretty mother of the twins with dots tattooed under her bright blue eyes in a shaft of Rembrandt light in the market who named her daughter Agnes too. And the doubt sets in about what I'm writing and it's implications. And I'm supposed to wake up early tmrw morning to get to Sacramento for the cooperatives conference and I didn't get a chance to upload any podcasts to my phone for the drive and the cd of early French choral music I took from the library is stuck in the poorly made car CD player and here I am writing these frivolous thoughts instead of going to sleep. Wilde said people can be divided into two categories, charming and tedious. Thats a false dichotomy.





  Anathema both ways with the status quo     The anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situation     To anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situation     She anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situationed   We are anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situationeding

Anathema both ways with the status quo 

The anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situation 

To anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situation 

She anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situationed 

We are anathema both ways with the status quo -ness of the situationeding




     I will. Become ascetic. I will. Become sublimated. I will. Become addicted to the excesses of capital and move to California where runaway queers transform into radical inclusionists and equality vigilantes. Chakratic auras of passive aggression. I will. Make art with the sophists and sycophants. They speak about love like politicians speak about democracy. Vote with hearts. Attention curren  cy. Unpegged. I've moved through my Dionysian phase into my Apollonian. These bits are modular. These ideas are no bodies. What I don't know could fill a million libraries. Or an Internet. With a parallel universe of user generated individualized ads. Wandering the cul-de-sac of algorithms jumping up and down to try to see over the billboards. They absorb everything. Every transgression a punchline and product placement. Ressentiment? Rad sentiment says auto correct. We're drowning in it antonin. I mean friedrich. I mean Agnes. I mean Emerson. But not the racist parts. I mean history. The acorn that maps the forest. The vegetable oils are poisonous. The problems with using limit cases. Grass fed but grass is an acronym for corn, soy, asbestos, fracking solution, hormones and antibiotic pellets. Something is gifted to me and I intervene. Deleuze and guattari or Andalusian guitars?

 

I will. Become ascetic. I will. Become sublimated. I will. Become addicted to the excesses of capital and move to California where runaway queers transform into radical inclusionists and equality vigilantes. Chakratic auras of passive aggression. I will. Make art with the sophists and sycophants. They speak about love like politicians speak about democracy. Vote with hearts. Attention currency. Unpegged. I've moved through my Dionysian phase into my Apollonian. These bits are modular. These ideas are no bodies. What I don't know could fill a million libraries. Or an Internet. With a parallel universe of user generated individualized ads. Wandering the cul-de-sac of algorithms jumping up and down to try to see over the billboards. They absorb everything. Every transgression a punchline and product placement. Ressentiment? Rad sentiment says auto correct. We're drowning in it antonin. I mean friedrich. I mean Agnes. I mean Emerson. But not the racist parts. I mean history. The acorn that maps the forest. The vegetable oils are poisonous. The problems with using limit cases. Grass fed but grass is an acronym for corn, soy, asbestos, fracking solution, hormones and antibiotic pellets. Something is gifted to me and I intervene. Deleuze and guattari or Andalusian guitars?




     Part 1 of 2    she told me i was the realest person. she was sexually abused and she got cancer at 25. she was v interested in traumatized landscapes. she was the kind of person and writer that saw everything in the room. she sucked it up, into her, like when we made love i felt her sucking all of me into her. she told my by the horses on the mountain that she stored it psychosomatically in her ches  t and i rubbed her chest as she sucked me into her from above while we were making love. she started telling me and then stopped, that she could come without me touching her. and she did and she would shake and come after and in between our love making. for someone who had been abused maybe the moment before or without touching is deeply erotic. she's so tall and compensates by being goofy and awkward to disarm smaller people. we ran down the street to catch a showing of citizen four and her arm did what she called a tyrannosaurus thing where she held it close and loose at the wrist. get a hold of that thing i joked and she instantly turned it into a creature about to attack her face. she does improv and we spoke about how comedy is the highest art form. we talked about how beautiful louis ck is. we talk about how beautiful edward snowden is. we ate puerto rican food. we read to each (autocorrect: teach) other and made love for hours. our text messages were dense and hilarious. playing with emoticons and calling back jokes in hilarious new contexts. when she met colette for the first time she told me she almost had a stress nap for fear of female on female violence. her mature defense mechanisms include crack joke exit stage left and narcoleptic stress induced napping. she said she was scared of post relationship psychodrama. i laughed and of course colette has no drama bone in her body. curiosity, kindness and shyness thinly veiled as chilly detachment maybe.

 

Part 1 of 2 
she told me i was the realest person. she was sexually abused and she got cancer at 25. she was v interested in traumatized landscapes. she was the kind of person and writer that saw everything in the room. she sucked it up, into her, like when we made love i felt her sucking all of me into her. she told my by the horses on the mountain that she stored it psychosomatically in her chest and i rubbed her chest as she sucked me into her from above while we were making love. she started telling me and then stopped, that she could come without me touching her. and she did and she would shake and come after and in between our love making. for someone who had been abused maybe the moment before or without touching is deeply erotic. she's so tall and compensates by being goofy and awkward to disarm smaller people. we ran down the street to catch a showing of citizen four and her arm did what she called a tyrannosaurus thing where she held it close and loose at the wrist. get a hold of that thing i joked and she instantly turned it into a creature about to attack her face. she does improv and we spoke about how comedy is the highest art form. we talked about how beautiful louis ck is. we talk about how beautiful edward snowden is. we ate puerto rican food. we read to each (autocorrect: teach) other and made love for hours. our text messages were dense and hilarious. playing with emoticons and calling back jokes in hilarious new contexts. when she met colette for the first time she told me she almost had a stress nap for fear of female on female violence. her mature defense mechanisms include crack joke exit stage left and narcoleptic stress induced napping. she said she was scared of post relationship psychodrama. i laughed and of course colette has no drama bone in her body. curiosity, kindness and shyness thinly veiled as chilly detachment maybe.

  Part 2 of 2   we talked about david shields and she had been taken with his ideas and then moved back to fiction, where i had taken his theory and applied it in the extreme to my praxis. we saw a pomeranian with a young boy at the park in point reyes station where agnes was climbing a play structure surrounded by trees, naked of leaves and filled with singing birds. his name was benito and he didn't   even acknowledge us when we pet him. she said that dog is so used to having hands all over him he doesn't even notice, like an old washed up whore. i laughed out loud. benito the washed up whore. a few days later i was lying in bed and thinking how emotionally, i felt like benito the washed up whore. but in kind of a zen way. like emotions will come and go and they are interesting to watch but i'm becoming detached from them. a kind of resilience. laura flanders and naomi klein talking about resilience. tired of resilience. and hope. palliatives of immiseration. i'm zen like benito the washed up pomeranian whore but tired of being resilient like laura flanders. we spoke about the impossibility of ever really knowing anyone on a ridge with a beautiful curvature by an oak tree overlooking a valley filled with hawks. janet cardiff and the man in the wheelchair. alchemical reactions in the dark matter. groping and finding fleeting moments of human touch. laughing and crying together in the abyss. we met at the good earth, naturally, i was unshowered, depressed, reading something in the sun and she sat down next to me, and in a moment, as she put it, we were firing on all cylinders. she was visiting her lesbian aunts with the same name and doing lots of things west marin we could abbreviate as seeking journeys and putting on hands. she's going back east to teach and we both recognized immediately we would have a romance. the way we have a romance, healing, fully, feeding, reflecting and then analyzing and synthesizing into our work. she's interrupting me and telling me to stop speaking in past tense.

Part 2 of 2
we talked about david shields and she had been taken with his ideas and then moved back to fiction, where i had taken his theory and applied it in the extreme to my praxis. we saw a pomeranian with a young boy at the park in point reyes station where agnes was climbing a play structure surrounded by trees, naked of leaves and filled with singing birds. his name was benito and he didn't even acknowledge us when we pet him. she said that dog is so used to having hands all over him he doesn't even notice, like an old washed up whore. i laughed out loud. benito the washed up whore. a few days later i was lying in bed and thinking how emotionally, i felt like benito the washed up whore. but in kind of a zen way. like emotions will come and go and they are interesting to watch but i'm becoming detached from them. a kind of resilience. laura flanders and naomi klein talking about resilience. tired of resilience. and hope. palliatives of immiseration. i'm zen like benito the washed up pomeranian whore but tired of being resilient like laura flanders. we spoke about the impossibility of ever really knowing anyone on a ridge with a beautiful curvature by an oak tree overlooking a valley filled with hawks. janet cardiff and the man in the wheelchair. alchemical reactions in the dark matter. groping and finding fleeting moments of human touch. laughing and crying together in the abyss. we met at the good earth, naturally, i was unshowered, depressed, reading something in the sun and she sat down next to me, and in a moment, as she put it, we were firing on all cylinders. she was visiting her lesbian aunts with the same name and doing lots of things west marin we could abbreviate as seeking journeys and putting on hands. she's going back east to teach and we both recognized immediately we would have a romance. the way we have a romance, healing, fully, feeding, reflecting and then analyzing and synthesizing into our work. she's interrupting me and telling me to stop speaking in past tense.





     An electronic wheel chair parked in front of me at a concert and I had a vague feeling of annoyance. He adjusted himself in the third act reclining his seat to settle into a sublime moment of Riley's In C. I have overwhelming remorse for my lack of empathy and how broken yolk looks on rye edges purpled in salmon oil of lobster mushrooms.

 

An electronic wheel chair parked in front of me at a concert and I had a vague feeling of annoyance. He adjusted himself in the third act reclining his seat to settle into a sublime moment of Riley's In C. I have overwhelming remorse for my lack of empathy and how broken yolk looks on rye edges purpled in salmon oil of lobster mushrooms.


      I remember the psychiatric ward where Naomi and Ana would put on sex shows for me in their room. Taking cleaning spray from the cleaners cart to mask the smell of cigarettes smuggled in a coca cola cookie can by the Indian guy with a magazine cart. Lemon scent, menthol and hot running water. Did they force meds on me? Nick from Bronx science came in on acid, a strange coincidence. Jose pressing the ice machine button rhythmically as the sink and then the floor filled with ice. Adam shouting legalese. Calling Caitlin and Gilly on the pay phone. The place seemed almost normal with headphones on and I could see my apartment from the window.

 


I remember the psychiatric ward where Naomi and Ana would put on sex shows for me in their room. Taking cleaning spray from the cleaners cart to mask the smell of cigarettes smuggled in a coca cola cookie can by the Indian guy with a magazine cart. Lemon scent, menthol and hot running water. Did they force meds on me? Nick from Bronx science came in on acid, a strange coincidence. Jose pressing the ice machine button rhythmically as the sink and then the floor filled with ice. Adam shouting legalese. Calling Caitlin and Gilly on the pay phone. The place seemed almost normal with headphones on and I could see my apartment from the window.





     Salacious sex gossip + ISIS beheading + frozen soundtrack + Pfizer medico-marketing budget

 

Salacious sex gossip + ISIS beheading + frozen soundtrack + Pfizer medico-marketing budget




     I was reading Ben Lerner at the park. Angel was playing with my skate board and falling on my chest. The Lerner is making me _______ . Jose looks like an Aztec. Jules says the post modern slip is showing. Fran told me about the clown who went to Madagascar and spent his last money on a Chinese motorcycle, fell in love with the people and sent for more clowns. Anwen came over and interrupted my con  versation about extraterrestrials on the dead Lebanese grocery store owner memorial bench and stoicly asked me to play with her. She finds a rusty scooter and takes me to the edge of the water. It's low tide and we run out to an island and climb a tree and she tells me the names of birds and sea creatures and we pick up small crabs and iridescent nudibranchs. She hums softly while she gently picks up the tiny animals and I hope Agnes will stay gentle and sweet as she gets older. We run over the rippled beach and clams spit at us and we stomp to make them spit more and I walk on my hands and she calls me a show off and says she doesn't want to go to track and field day at school and Agnes got her first report card and it made me cry. We wash the clay like mud from our feet in a canoe and jack and Jim comment on my Hawaiian shirt. She returns the rusty scooter to its place against the wall by the market. I chat with Vic about dead seals and look for a headline later which eventuates in a prolonged exploration of seals Facebook and tumblr and some mild anxiety about bono's white savior complex. I interupt Jules podcast and we go I for an overpriced farm to table tourist trap and the end of a surf movie. A neighbor and his wife both held my arms while they spoke to me and a friend gave me a hug and she and her sweater and hair felt soft and warm and bright. I watched about half of tarnation on YouTube eating a bowl of steamed greens and fell asleep.

 

I was reading Ben Lerner at the park. Angel was playing with my skate board and falling on my chest. The Lerner is making me _______ . Jose looks like an Aztec. Jules says the post modern slip is showing. Fran told me about the clown who went to Madagascar and spent his last money on a Chinese motorcycle, fell in love with the people and sent for more clowns. Anwen came over and interrupted my conversation about extraterrestrials on the dead Lebanese grocery store owner memorial bench and stoicly asked me to play with her. She finds a rusty scooter and takes me to the edge of the water. It's low tide and we run out to an island and climb a tree and she tells me the names of birds and sea creatures and we pick up small crabs and iridescent nudibranchs. She hums softly while she gently picks up the tiny animals and I hope Agnes will stay gentle and sweet as she gets older. We run over the rippled beach and clams spit at us and we stomp to make them spit more and I walk on my hands and she calls me a show off and says she doesn't want to go to track and field day at school and Agnes got her first report card and it made me cry. We wash the clay like mud from our feet in a canoe and jack and Jim comment on my Hawaiian shirt. She returns the rusty scooter to its place against the wall by the market. I chat with Vic about dead seals and look for a headline later which eventuates in a prolonged exploration of seals Facebook and tumblr and some mild anxiety about bono's white savior complex. I interupt Jules podcast and we go I for an overpriced farm to table tourist trap and the end of a surf movie. A neighbor and his wife both held my arms while they spoke to me and a friend gave me a hug and she and her sweater and hair felt soft and warm and bright. I watched about half of tarnation on YouTube eating a bowl of steamed greens and fell asleep.




     Things from the last couple weeks I wanted to post and remember but didn't for various reasons / a protest against forgetting   #HansUlrichObrist   / mental inventory Monday morning     #Foucault   interview remarks on   #Marx     #Tidalmagazine  #communique   #3   #JosephCambell     #sukhavati   #joanjonas   lightening storm drawing   #jasonmoran   #allenruppersberg   source material   #kadist  #AlexandriaStringQuartet     #ZoltanKodal y    #Shostakovitch  fugue no 1 c major encore  #pointReyes deer with Paloma  #creativeGrowth  uncommon sense George hugs  #pier24   #Archiveofmodernconflict   #MaurizioAnzeri  introducing  #derrida   #poststructural  inflation of verbosity  #RobertHCumming   #photoalliance   #ignacio   #lawerenceLessig  superPAC  #transitionjournal   #IgnacioChapela   #microbialEcology   #retortcollective   #pasolini  #accatone diving into the Tiber #elizabethkolbert 6th extinction #PaulVerhaenghe neoliberalism rewards psychopathic character traits #christo monograph with Agnes in Petaluma reading #obijwe lady slipper tale up the Sonoma coast Jenner #oakland used to be covered in oak trees #berkeley #powwow children throwing shiny candy diabetic prayer dancing #wayneKoestenbaum cabinet #DavidShields is #bhutan really that happy?

 

Things from the last couple weeks I wanted to post and remember but didn't for various reasons / a protest against forgetting #HansUlrichObrist / mental inventory Monday morning 

#Foucault interview remarks on #Marx #Tidalmagazine#communique #3 #JosephCambell #sukhavati #joanjonas lightening storm drawing #jasonmoran #allenruppersberg source material #kadist#AlexandriaStringQuartet #ZoltanKodaly#Shostakovitch fugue no 1 c major encore #pointReyesdeer with Paloma #creativeGrowth uncommon sense George hugs #pier24 #Archiveofmodernconflict #MaurizioAnzeri introducing #derrida #poststructural inflation of verbosity #RobertHCumming #photoalliance #ignacio #lawerenceLessig superPAC #transitionjournal #IgnacioChapela #microbialEcology #retortcollective #pasolini #accatone diving into the Tiber #elizabethkolbert 6th extinction #PaulVerhaenghe neoliberalism rewards psychopathic character traits #christo monograph with Agnes in Petaluma reading #obijwe lady slipper tale up the Sonoma coast Jenner #oakland used to be covered in oak trees #berkeley #powwow children throwing shiny candy diabetic prayer dancing #wayneKoestenbaum cabinet #DavidShields is #bhutan really that happy?


     Dwarf wheat + nike frees + deep state + Ebola virus

 

Dwarf wheat + nike frees + deep state + Ebola virus


     It's Monday. I put on a Hawaiian shirt and masturbated. I played a mabuhay singers record. I did some laundry and made quinoa.     I don't want to help sell cheap clothes to poor people. I don't want to give out solar lights to East Africans. I don't want to help you design your website. I don't want to take pictures of your fancy shit.     #tbt

 

It's Monday. I put on a Hawaiian shirt and masturbated. I played a mabuhay singers record. I did some laundry and made quinoa. 

I don't want to help sell cheap clothes to poor people. I don't want to give out solar lights to East Africans. I don't want to help you design your website. I don't want to take pictures of your fancy shit. 

#tbt


     I walked through a grove of plastic Christmas trees in the cold, stark, white light of Walmart on a Black Friday, camera in hand stalking an obese women on a rascal with two children in tow. I wondered to myself how much of my photography practice is sublimation of primal instincts? Hunting? Mating? How much of our practice and presentation is in service of mate seeking? What's guiding our behavior? What are the motivations behind your next instagram post?

 

I walked through a grove of plastic Christmas trees in the cold, stark, white light of Walmart on a Black Friday, camera in hand stalking an obese women on a rascal with two children in tow. I wondered to myself how much of my photography practice is sublimation of primal instincts? Hunting? Mating? How much of our practice and presentation is in service of mate seeking? What's guiding our behavior? What are the motivations behind your next instagram post?





     Miami Basel was a fever dream of compounding anxiety attacks, piercing headaches, nausea and near catatonia. All of the disgusting excesses of capitalism writ large. Shocking inequality, class stratification, celebrity worship, Bernaysian marketing schemes, ostentatious - no, sociopathetic displays of wealth. These objects contextually perverted of their art status are really part of some subset o  f unregulated luxury goods and speculative financial vehicles. Another insane, bubbling scheme to further godify the ruling class. All of these artworks are commited crimes Adorno. All in the frenetic, neon, throbbing cancer of Miami beach. Diamond status. VIP. Platinum level. The hollow, twisting, fearful, anxious expressions on the faces circulating the trade show arteries. A spectacle of rabid, poisonous, psychopathic capitalism. Metastasizing cancer. I had a moment, early in the morning when I arrived, where I felt completely groundless. Unhinged. Sick. I went to the ocean and swam out over the rolling waves and with a gasp of air I felt a pang of what one might describe as euphoria. It was a brightness for a split second, the most real and resonating moment of my trip. Like I pierced through something thick and dense and dark. Now im sitting next to a neurotic on a plane. Endless fidgeting and spraying of antibacterial solution. His bag opened partially, revealing a mess of papers and prescription bottles and what looks like a screen play titled motherfuckers with money. What is the poor boy doing to the chemicals in his brain? His biome? Who is profiting? A stupid fucking movie with a depressing, poorly aging Harry Connick Jr in a wetsuit and sentimental shots of a dolphin. So many jump cuts, no horizon line. Hito steyerl on a plane, vertiginous horizon lines. Neurotic horizon lines. On another side of me a woman is lazily playing what looks like a game for children on her iPad, reading tabloid gossip magazines and shoveling sugary cubes of unidentifiable substances into her mouth. Her body spilling over into my seat. Noxious chemical sugar and antibacterial spray in alternating waves of olfactory assault. So many planes, no horizon line.

 

Miami Basel was a fever dream of compounding anxiety attacks, piercing headaches, nausea and near catatonia. All of the disgusting excesses of capitalism writ large. Shocking inequality, class stratification, celebrity worship, Bernaysian marketing schemes, ostentatious - no, sociopathetic displays of wealth. These objects contextually perverted of their art status are really part of some subset of unregulated luxury goods and speculative financial vehicles. Another insane, bubbling scheme to further godify the ruling class. All of these artworks are commited crimes Adorno. All in the frenetic, neon, throbbing cancer of Miami beach. Diamond status. VIP. Platinum level. The hollow, twisting, fearful, anxious expressions on the faces circulating the trade show arteries. A spectacle of rabid, poisonous, psychopathic capitalism. Metastasizing cancer. I had a moment, early in the morning when I arrived, where I felt completely groundless. Unhinged. Sick. I went to the ocean and swam out over the rolling waves and with a gasp of air I felt a pang of what one might describe as euphoria. It was a brightness for a split second, the most real and resonating moment of my trip. Like I pierced through something thick and dense and dark. Now im sitting next to a neurotic on a plane. Endless fidgeting and spraying of antibacterial solution. His bag opened partially, revealing a mess of papers and prescription bottles and what looks like a screen play titled motherfuckers with money. What is the poor boy doing to the chemicals in his brain? His biome? Who is profiting? A stupid fucking movie with a depressing, poorly aging Harry Connick Jr in a wetsuit and sentimental shots of a dolphin. So many jump cuts, no horizon line. Hito steyerl on a plane, vertiginous horizon lines. Neurotic horizon lines. On another side of me a woman is lazily playing what looks like a game for children on her iPad, reading tabloid gossip magazines and shoveling sugary cubes of unidentifiable substances into her mouth. Her body spilling over into my seat. Noxious chemical sugar and antibacterial spray in alternating waves of olfactory assault. So many planes, no horizon line.


     The man in the wheelchair presciently parked in front of what would be the last of the 100 ticking pendulums in ligeti's poeme symphonique. He asked me to put his paper in his bag, fix his jacket and zip it up. Which I did, but up too high and he asked me to zip it down a little. His expressions looked anguished and drool spilt from his open mouth onto the board he used to point out words with the   stick attached to his head. It was clearly difficult for him to point at the correct words and it took a minute to figure out what he was asking. Whatever his essential self is seemed trapped in a body that refused to cooperate with. In a sense I feel my own attempts at communicating with language reach only slightly further across the gap between us. Quantum mechanics doesn't get down to the essential is level. Making funny sounds and gestures to cover the spaces between us. Janet Cardiff told me something like this in a Kassel train station

 

The man in the wheelchair presciently parked in front of what would be the last of the 100 ticking pendulums in ligeti's poeme symphonique. He asked me to put his paper in his bag, fix his jacket and zip it up. Which I did, but up too high and he asked me to zip it down a little. His expressions looked anguished and drool spilt from his open mouth onto the board he used to point out words with the stick attached to his head. It was clearly difficult for him to point at the correct words and it took a minute to figure out what he was asking. Whatever his essential self is seemed trapped in a body that refused to cooperate with. In a sense I feel my own attempts at communicating with language reach only slightly further across the gap between us. Quantum mechanics doesn't get down to the essential is level. Making funny sounds and gestures to cover the spaces between us. Janet Cardiff told me something like this in a Kassel train station



     A friend asked for contemporary synonyms for avant garde. My response: As part of a restructuring of the language hierarchy we're experiencing visual movements through networked technologies which have limited corresponding vernacular associated with them. I would venture that avant garde today can be found somewhere in new media as a medium and it's corresponding aesthetics. The labels will surel  y come later, marking the death of the avant garde qualities they've been assigned to. That said, it's hard to imagine substantive transgression via social media with its limiting constructs and hegemonic nature. Transgression in the digital simulacra often distracts and effectively compounds the subjugation and exploitation happening in the desert of the real. My hope is that avant garde or whatever language symbol stands in for it, manifests itself as revolutionary alternatives to capitalism and uses common-ed networked technologies to help achieve this. Regarding synonyms, this brings us to an interesting notion about the cycles of avant garde. Everything has already been said one way so we find a new way of saying something and that becomes avant garde. When we go back and learn about all the different way of saying things we realize that little below the superficial level is really changing. Therefore avant garde is really just a synonym for synonym.

 

A friend asked for contemporary synonyms for avant garde. My response: As part of a restructuring of the language hierarchy we're experiencing visual movements through networked technologies which have limited corresponding vernacular associated with them. I would venture that avant garde today can be found somewhere in new media as a medium and it's corresponding aesthetics. The labels will surely come later, marking the death of the avant garde qualities they've been assigned to. That said, it's hard to imagine substantive transgression via social media with its limiting constructs and hegemonic nature. Transgression in the digital simulacra often distracts and effectively compounds the subjugation and exploitation happening in the desert of the real. My hope is that avant garde or whatever language symbol stands in for it, manifests itself as revolutionary alternatives to capitalism and uses common-ed networked technologies to help achieve this. Regarding synonyms, this brings us to an interesting notion about the cycles of avant garde. Everything has already been said one way so we find a new way of saying something and that becomes avant garde. When we go back and learn about all the different way of saying things we realize that little below the superficial level is really changing. Therefore avant garde is really just a synonym for synonym.




     I shaved my friends head tonight. She's fighting cancer. We went through an inventory of things on her mind. Amy goodman, e.o Wilson, next door neighbors, what to do with a not yet dead baby gopher that the cats bring home, the glycemic index, the Hubble telescope, kent state, fucking in college, introversion, kids getting pepper sprayed in Seattle, missing a protest to get emergency dental work a  nd the sound of helicopters and drills. Haircuts are intimate. Her hair is light and soft like a baby or bird and whiter than white, clear, polar bear. Our friend with whiskers sent her hundreds of cat cards during chemotherapy. I went through a giant pile and was overwhelmed. Later in the car I let out one short and violent sob at the crescendo of I'm waiting here with David lynch and Lykke li. I told my friend later that was the poetry while failing to explain why i document so much. For Agnes, in case and other reasons

 

I shaved my friends head tonight. She's fighting cancer. We went through an inventory of things on her mind. Amy goodman, e.o Wilson, next door neighbors, what to do with a not yet dead baby gopher that the cats bring home, the glycemic index, the Hubble telescope, kent state, fucking in college, introversion, kids getting pepper sprayed in Seattle, missing a protest to get emergency dental work and the sound of helicopters and drills. Haircuts are intimate. Her hair is light and soft like a baby or bird and whiter than white, clear, polar bear. Our friend with whiskers sent her hundreds of cat cards during chemotherapy. I went through a giant pile and was overwhelmed. Later in the car I let out one short and violent sob at the crescendo of I'm waiting here with David lynch and Lykke li. I told my friend later that was the poetry while failing to explain why i document so much. For Agnes, in case and other reasons



    I wake up with the word acumen cal acumen cal ecumenical in my mind like a dying gopher brought by a domesticated animal. The room filled with swaying grass. Terry from the hardware store walking by the post office in the painting of terry from the hardware store walking by the post office. I drag it into an ever filling pit, my mode of investigation. A fox came to the Morton book club. Sensationalism is the name of the game, Buddhist super ego Wittgenstein mesh, I'm about to blow your mind, that's what we want. Cobbled together fragments autocorrect reps clef repackaged, always, necessitated by the education industrial complex. Colonize new words to feed your children. These books poison, distractions. A library life, unchecked, is a missed opportunity. We're all enlightened Buddhas. The practice is the point, there is no destination. When I escaped my mind, put away my phone and fell on the warm patch of sand with Agnes after the windy run across the low tide landscape I had a sublime moment or rather a present moment filled with bliss of awareness of everything I already knew, the best things, pierced the fog, stoic orrery autocorrect god, like that swim in Miami away from all competing horizon lines and planes. Break into breaking down lines and planes. Likes and lines and planes. Likes and likes and likes and lines and likes and limes and planes. A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Temper with humility. A hazy fog of fragile digit ge tenuous fugitive connections. I wake up a second time to purge more words. I remember commuting commuting vomiting as a child. The wind stopped. And started again.

 

I wake up with the word acumen cal acumen cal ecumenical in my mind like a dying gopher brought by a domesticated animal. The room filled with swaying grass. Terry from the hardware store walking by the post office in the painting of terry from the hardware store walking by the post office. I drag it into an ever filling pit, my mode of investigation. A fox came to the Morton book club. Sensationalism is the name of the game, Buddhist super ego Wittgenstein mesh, I'm about to blow your mind, that's what we want. Cobbled together fragments autocorrect reps clef repackaged, always, necessitated by the education industrial complex. Colonize new words to feed your children. These books poison, distractions. A library life, unchecked, is a missed opportunity. We're all enlightened Buddhas. The practice is the point, there is no destination. When I escaped my mind, put away my phone and fell on the warm patch of sand with Agnes after the windy run across the low tide landscape I had a sublime moment or rather a present moment filled with bliss of awareness of everything I already knew, the best things, pierced the fog, stoic orrery autocorrect god, like that swim in Miami away from all competing horizon lines and planes. Break into breaking down lines and planes. Likes and lines and planes. Likes and likes and likes and lines and likes and limes and planes.
A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Temper with humility. A hazy fog of fragile digit ge tenuous fugitive connections. I wake up a second time to purge more words. I remember commuting commuting vomiting as a child. The wind stopped. And started again.