Jan 29, 2016
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 18, 2016
whiskey for cold.
a slow .
I stole loved and wanted
a friend had an idea for an
image
I ages and I stole it. what
did I steal? the idea? the image?....
Blood. eat heart.
man looking at camera:
text (on screen) (man looking
at camera) this is the full archive, all the material –visual, textual aural.
this is all the material.
the full truth. wht to do
then? looking for the map.
what is a the map?
what is w e looking for here?
Set out.
Outset. Date. Go.
aft. set .
a year ago. now. burn.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 8, 2016
I can’t remember why I
started the instagram thing? But it has become really fun. A psychogeographic
game of finding the hidden geometric meanings of my surroundings, of my meandering
meaningless shit life. It’s doing just the thing I like about art: create
meaning through chance encounters in such a way as to create synchronicity; rifts
in causality making it impossible to establish cause and effect, melting
yourself into the landscape. Reality-bleed. Finding things that maybe aren’t there,
but are once you find them. Creating ugly stupid fun images of what actually
constitutes me subconsciously, text and context being one. It isn’t that once the
secret underground unconscious coordinates controlling you are found out
(detective-style), ferreted out (animal-tracking-style), lined up, shot, you
can control them, you can’t – the whole idea of control evaporates.
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