All of these entries are written by me on my trusty smartphone. They're inspired by run of the mill, every day situations. I sample conversations and my surroundings. Everyone and everything's a muse. From there I piece it all together, re-interpreting it as I go... like a collage.
Check out my featured #poetry here and track my day to day on twitter.
Upon our introduction, the first thing the President said to me was, “That’s a great suit! You know? I’d wear a suit like that. But my staff would never let me.” To which I replied, “Mr. President, this is one instance where it’s better being an artist than being the President of the United States: artists can wear anything they want.” And then he glanced down at my saddle shoes and exclaimed, “You’re wearing golf shoes!” Which in part was true, that being the genius of Thom Browne, to take something familiar and recontextualize it to the point of it being “wrong.” And that is exactly what I aimed to do with my performance: to straddle tradition and radicality, being both and, at the same time, being neither; to embrace contradiction, keep people guessing.
Tiny cybernetic coroners appraise you in dollar figures. Accumulating your glitter of mass consumerism into wads waiting to hatch. Re-investing and re-infecting. Watch as the numbers continue to grow.
How nice… you’re still sparkling down the screen, printing out hot wax—candles—time stamps buried in sugar and grease. Burping up the ladder, slowly, between weak kneed weekend nodes of praise. But snails smell, so… check please.
'Haha, that's funny' is a pretty common thing to say. The flyer you hand out when someone says something but you're too… engaged—when you honestly just don't care.
There’s a pile of organic mass sitting on the top shelf. It’s probably been there the whole time. The barn owl that never blinks. Unafraid. Not even hiding. Feeding itself tapestries of left over magnetic tape. The narrow scrolls of ordinary people doing very banal things.
Sure, you laugh at home videos but what happens when the videos start laughing back. You won’t out run ‘em, no matter how well you did in junior track. It’s happening, little spelling bee, every computer’s going to be a valedictorian and you won’t stand a chance. So, why not take the time to sit in front of the piano and play yourself a lo-fi reminder that real hands might have some value left in ‘em, too.