Fat-free chocolate and absolutely no smoking: why our guilt about consumption is all-consuming -
What we are witnessing today is the direct commodification of our experiences themselves: what we are buying on the market is fewer and fewer products (material objects) that we want to own, and more and more life experiences – experiences of sex, eating, communicating, cultural consumption, participating in a lifestyle.
An entirely appropriated story in 10 parts exhibiting the ‘life-cycle of a relationship’ made of excerpts of over 20 musicians/bands and 40 songs. It is an experimental genderless, and nameless, narrative-poetic-prose-flash-flash-fiction entirely told through dialogue. These factors modernize the composition while the 10 parts can each relate to the antiquated, and very cheesy, Relationship model by Mark L. Knapp’s still taught in Interpersonal Communications classes.
Essentially there are two main characters <=> and <>, and the supplementary character <->:
*I think it’s time to take a lover*
<>: “Not sure if you’re a boy or girl.” “I take my aim; do you feel me coming close?”
<=>: “I’m waiting for something…”
<>: “Under the bar lights…some band…forget yourself.”
<=>: “If I had your face…” “It’s because of people like you.”
<>: “They take a Polaroid and let you go. Say they’ll let you know.” “But, you wouldn’t understand…no, you wouldn’t get it.”
<=>: “You’ve got them all by the balls. Causing waterfalls…doll you make them feel so small.” “I was born in the same town as you. Hell, I even think we have the same tattoos.”
<>”Baby, you think you’re special, but you’re probably not. Why even try?”
<>: “I wouldn’t know what to do if I got you, but, it’s true, that I waited all night for you.”
*Hey <>, why you didn’t call me?*
<>: “You look your age, but you don’t act the type.”
<=>: “Really, you just injured my pride. You’re probably surrounded by …”
<>: “Katie with a ‘y’ or an ‘ie’, it doesn’t matter, trust me, trust me. You’ll love me.”
<=>: “I think we both know you will stay. I am surprised how we fit together.”
<>: “Put weight on me” “Touch me…fight for me…think of me endlessly.”
<=>: “And maybe I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. It’s all so confusing”
<>: “It’s the heart attack that you feel.”
<=>: “My pulse working overtime. I get shy…I feel your body working…nobody’s saying no.”
<>: “My secret friend…so we can…die a little death.”
<=>:”The distance isn’t fair to cross…just because it’s real, doesn’t mean it’s going to work.”
*A married <->, <-> visits me*
<>: “The two of you will soon become three.”
<=>: “See <->, <->’ll break you in two.” “Remove us from the scene of the crime.”
<>: “Don’t make me mad, I don’t take none. Don’t turn away, this is my turn.”
<=>: “Too drunk to notice…the world is falling around you.” “How many times do I have to say it?”
<>: “You want to camp out, and I want to screw around, in the dark. I’ll let you know, I’d do this all again, just to get where I am.”
<=>: ”I want to be <->, so do you.” “How many people would be good for me?”
<>: “You were not alone…cuts you to the bone…deepest…break…take me to the river.”
<=>: “You were outta my league, at a distance I didn’t want to see…wanted you nearer.”
<>: “<=> gets real sad, I felt real bad.”
*Hot tramp…we look divine.*
<>: ”I still want to see you tonight…get you alone.” “I’ve been waiting hours for this, made myself so sick.”
<=>: “The truth: I need someone.”
<>: ”Can I make all the moves I’m planning tonight without hurting your back?”
<=>: “I don’t know what you want from me?” “Left. Turn Right there. Right there. Go. Pick it up.”
<>: “You like me, and I like it all.”
*You and me we’re just fine…clap your hand into mine. We’re just fine*
<=>: “Please put on that record again, and I’ll put on that shirt you’ve been wearing around.”
<>: “You burn bright to my eyes…they shine inside.” “Go steady…I know it turns you off when I…make those eyes”
<=>: ”I lose my grip, I lose my focus.” “I’m so obsessed, I’m becoming a bore…slammed your fingers in the door.” “Hold onto me.” “Give me your keys, I’ll watch your things like I watch your face—I promise I won’t…push my face against your pillow, or those stupid sheets.”
*Losing sleep, watching you get yourself clean*
<>: “I moved out, so you moved next door. I found you sleeping next to me, I thought I was alone.” “Call me pretty.” “When are you coming home?”
<=>: “I can’t be outdone, I’m your prostitute, you gonna get some.”
<>: “Got you ‘round my finger…honey lovin’…like a lonely lover’s jar.”
*Every day we fuss and fight*
<=>: “Neither one of us will make it out alive.” “Take me over. I get down on my knees. We keep getting closer.”
<>: “Tell me all the things you want to do…drunk…seeing stars. Better than I ever even knew.”
<=>: ”You’ve applied the pressure…paradise…you don’t move slow.”
<>: “Do I have to keep on whispering to keep you satisfied? Listen for your affection?”
<=>: ”This bed is on fire. The neighbors complain. A disease you can’t cure.”
*Whistling my name. Go play a video game*
<=>: “You’re a hot mess. I thought we’d had this conversation.”
<>: “You could hear it in my voice; I was getting kind of removed.” “A walking corpse like me, like you.”
<=>: “A black box…full of memories…I never felt love.”
<>: “Waited for days, can’t believe you didn’t call.” “I love myself better than you, I know it’s wrong.” <=>: “What do you do when I not there? Where do you go when you’re not here?”
<>: “One more special message…then I can go home.”
<=>: “Please don’t think too much, because I can’t let you in, these walls have been built.”
<>: “I’m fucking up everything…all I wanted was a pretty <=> to live with me, now all I want to do is leave.”
*Holding her tonic like a cross…you imagine her naked in your arms…a ghost*
<>: You know it’s easy when I take the blame, and then I steal your heart, your heart.”
<=>: “I know you tried, but they told me, they told me…concentrate…breathe…lungs.” “I was outta your league, you were 20,000 under the sea, waving affections.”
<>: “And I thought I had ruined it all, and I thought I was living in Hell…and I know you were doing so well, but I know there is that deep well that you won’t look into.”
<=>: “I feel suffocated…lonely…numb.” “You and I are almost dead, and you’re better off for leaving.”
*Try to sing along: tattooed lovers, they don’t like to reminisce*
<>: “Walks up and asks how you are…leaves with someone you don’t know, makes sure you saw <=>.”
<=>: “Give it a minute, it’s gone. Wait a second too long. We are both here, but my true love is not.”
<>: “Nothing in the way we part could warrant such a cold remark.”
<=>: “Don’t, cause I’ve smiled that smile a thousand times. Polaroids of shame.” “Well, I guess I got just what I wanted, when all I wanted was a glance…we’re both alone.”
<>: “It would be nice if I could touch your body.”
*Don’t forget me. I remember you said…you and I have history*
<=>: “I cram it in, try my best not to scream…I feel the burn inside my inner thigh, I just need a second. I like to think about you thinking about me. I do it on the floor. I get myself into the moment, lose myself.” “What name <> screaming now?
*I heard that you settled down*
<=>: “It never felt like you were really gone…but you were.”
*Note: a quick, sketch project that is in need of refinement.
Me, performing for you, performing for me.
Lifetime Original in-the-making out with self.
"Nobody laughs at me! Because I laugh first. At me! Me, from Seattle! Me, with no education. Me, with no talent, as you kept reminding me my whole life! Well, Mama look at me now. I’m a star! Look! Look how I live! Look at my friends! Look where I’m going! I’m not staying in burlesque! I’m moving, maybe up, maybe down! But wherever it is, I’m enjoying it. I’m having the time of my life! Because for the first time, it is my life! And I love it. I love every second of it! And I’ll be damned if you’re gonna take it away from me! I am Gypsy Rose Lee! And I love her! And if you don’t, you can just clear out now!"
—Louise “Gypsy Rose Lee” Hovick (Gypsy)
"… (mail fraud), pirate radio transmissions, wet cement…The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by PT ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror— powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst…if it does not change someone’s life (aside from the artist) it fails. PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls…(PT) must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater are perhaps too well known & expected now. An exquisite seduction…mutual satisfaction…a deliberately beautiful life—may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE. Don’t do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don’t stick around to argue, don’t be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives—but don’t be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you. Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don’t get caught. Art as crime; crime as art. "
Excerpt from Poetic Terrorism, Hakim Bey
"My life is but a seeking after life;
I live but in a great desire to live;
The undercurrent of my every thought:
To seek you, find you, have you for my own.
Who are my purpose and my destiny.
For me, the things that are do not exist;
The things that are for me are yet to be.”
—Edna St. Vincent Millay
"Taste has no system and no proofs. But there is something like a logic of taste: the consistent sensibility which underlies and gives rise to a certain taste. A sensibility is almost, but not quite, ineffable. Any sensibility which can be crammed into the mold of a system, or handled with the rough tools of proof, is no longer a sensibility at all. It has hardened into an idea …" (Susan Sontag)
You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you. — Angela Chase, My So-Called Life
Why are we pissing our piss away? Why can’t every action have a purpose, a chance for protest, humor, self-reflection, etc.?
Public Restrooms are the perfect opportunity to comment on, or piss on, the social landscape. You’re not pissing on your own turf, but marking your territory in the communal, public sphere. Join me in taking this ‘private’ act ‘public’ through photographed in-action ‘selfies’, utilizing reflective surfaces. Take pissing to the next level: activate this process while it’s still voluntary (eventually we will all lose our shit—no shitting, please), be it political, absurdist, aspirational, or otherwise.
Instagram your purpose—exp:
#pissing4something #pissing4bieber #pissing4freedom #pissing4marriageequality #pissing4trashyfashy
The possibilities are endless!
Too often, I pride myself with my malleability and willingness to augment flawed design, but I should own.up.to closing off to specific types of people, those outside my imagined demographic, I guess. Yet, with the intent of getting some serious writing, serious like a novel, done during my break between undergrad and grad school, I’ve been revisiting old criticisms and feedback. —Lips.tightened and nose.scrunched I typed in the name of my main critic (most are too easily pleased), the only Fiction professor that had the audacity to give me an A-, destroy my perfection, into the Gmail search field…
Realized.sometimes it takes a whole year to “lick wounds” and negate that two-generational mentor/pupil gap to take what a seasoned writer/literary critic has to say, because, really, we can’t justify everything (lack of exposition) with “it’s experimental”, meaning “alienation is A-okay”, and to “try new things” is never bad advice.
*Note: apparently an 80,000-100,000 word manuscript is publisher preferred for first-timers…and considering that writing is easy, and I don’t have a brain, or too much of one (or too few of many), still.not.sure.on.that.one, and I type at about 37 words-per-minute, or 2220 words-per-hour (sounds less pitiful this way), it should only take me less than 2 days writing nonstop[nonsense] to finish. Too bad editing takes…at least time and a half…is, “…like double penetration in a Smart car.”(golddiggingwhore).
Shame.share (my new confessional site under the guise of file sharing).
I love your work—in small doses. There are parts of these stories—lines, whole sections—that just glow with wit and humor and wonderfulness. But then, after some pages of combined cleverness and aimlessness, my eyes begin to wander and I find myself thinking, What’s this all about again? Where are we? Who are these people? The new beginning of “golddiggingwhore” is engaging, interesting, clear. I generally like all the new stuff in both stories. And it’s clear you put a lot of work into them. They’re good. They’ll be even better if you can give them some direction to take the weight off the cleverness. Anyway, keep doing what you’re doing, but try other things, too.
worldviewexhibition said: Hello, I just wanted to say, I really like your Shop Less Bag, especially the fact you take it everywhere.
Thanks—yeah, definitely an endurance piece.
It’s inspired by a girl I went to middle school with who fucked both her uncle and step-dad. It’s called ‘power clashing’. — Elijah, Girls (series) 2013
He had this disease called, um, Wisenheimers, I think. You know, where your brain cells run out into your pee. — Vanessa (Reese Witherspoon) Freeway (1996)