Now, more than ever, there is a need for returning to the literature penned in nature’s defense.
Museums are willing to concede the vulgar desecration of our most sacred objects to suit the fickle whims of the lowest cultural common denominator, the tourist.
Stuff I’ve Read in the Last Month (Or So): The Body
A tip for any teens who might be reading this: find an artist your own age to grow up with.
The United States has two flags. One for when the Constitution is being observed. The other for when it isn’t. Or so say thousands of Americans known as the sovereigns.
What we crave is the unexplainable, the limitless. What we want are stories that, like ourselves, still contain a stubborn mystery.
Rhizomes, Torrenting, and Thom Yorke
Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes must be considered in a way that understands the nature of the mode of communication through which it is accessed as a part of the artistic intent.
The danger with self-monitoring is, of course, that it becomes a kind of consuming navel-gaze activity, one that glorifies the self and the unimportant minutiae in that person’s life. Who else cares about this stuff?
Emotional precarity — the wildness, the effervescent joy and crushing despair and uncertainty that chart the emotional landscape of most young people — is appealing for some time. It is interesting. It is also easy.
The gif, as a miniature model of specific experience, can be seen as a first faltering step towards a kind of tech-utopian vision.
The end is pulled and the void grows, the object is eaten out from the inside to become an Other, the reel disappears and a ball grows out from the centre in my hands.