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Astronauticals, chivers is hungover, hate, love, overkilled, Transformation

One of my presiding thoughts is that humans as a species we have become detatched spiritually in favour of materialism, godless we aspire to money, teach our children the currency of fame is the only source of meaning, and blunder through life as adult children in repeating patterns.
Damian Hirsts 'For the Love of God' illustrates this perfectly, but does nothing in my opinion - it's like an epitaph, an undead Vanitas, it sits at the edge of the capitalist stratosphere, grinning and making money like a selfish cunt. That is not to say it doesn't reflect the truth. But what sort of value has it other that material? does it have the power to change anything? Does it cause the members of the consortium who invested in it to question what they are doing?
Has art arrived at the point at which it just doesn't give a shit?
Hangover today, an reading the Meaning of Modern Art - its great, like you said a while back it's what we should have done back in the day. Never too late though, got up to Kandinsky, looking forward to Futurism and Dada. I'll never fully understand the Large Glass, no one will I think... I much prefer early 20th Century art to conceptualism, it's just nicer to look at.
Bufoonerism is updated

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hate, Mr Punch, temptress of the 7th dimension, the hills have hives, woodbine

fag ash lilly rides into the sun set

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briddles

laser beans ruin play at the astoria

The opening night was a disaster, not only had the strange apparitions from the lavatory lingered like stolen lakes misted with tadpole plumes intent on taking the expression “break a leg” too far back as the audience squinted and fidgeted upon broken deck chairs and the illustrious

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temptress of the 7th dimension

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Mr Punch

the slow date

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the slow date

the slow

Initiate Curuthers

we have the army of zulu robots on our screen now captain

we have the army of zulu robots on our screen now captain

Daumal compares art and alpinism in this novel, saying

“Alpinism is the art of climbing mountains by confronting the greatest dangers with the greatest prudence. Art is used here to mean the accomplishment of knowledge in action. You cannot always stay on the summits. You have to come down again… So what’s the point? Only this: what is above knows what is below, what is below does not know what is above. While climbing, take note of all the difficulties along your path. During the descent, you will no longer see them, but you will know that they are there if you have observed carefully. There is an art to finding your way in the lower regions by the memory of what you have seen when you were higher up. When you can no longer see, you can at least still know”

They seem to be attracted to the shopping mall… as if they’re re-enacting routines of their former lives

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In fencing, touché (French: touched, Pronounced Too-shay) is used as an acknowledgement of a hit, called out by the fencer who is hit.

Two can play at that game thou lousy harpy!

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briddles, butchery, overkilled, wonderlushness

i ought not bridles and take, no no i am beat, i couldn’t even butchery and overkilled, it was wonderful, i hate to admit as i grit my teeth at the mere sight of its wonderlushness a fragment of tooth hits the screen and i’m just left staring, oh woe is man who claps the monolith Houdini cigarette laser discs!

gods teeth! far from losing i suddenly realize that i am still in the game!

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Chairman Mao Zedong, Transformation

That fateful day Mao Zedong quite publicly transformed into his affliction

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hate, love, woodbine

smoke pies eat discs fucker!

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Astronauticals

Argh! thou art a tart sir!
Yet I find m’self  temporarily aced! game set and mach t’you it maybe
but by jiggery i will have my vengeful retort!!

Thus I lob to thee t’immediate lunar googley of m’ intent and yor’ downfall!

it

i must confine in you that you almost had me stumped then,

lackaday LACKADAY! Over kill? moi?! gentil truth and the masked cape of de-seat.

penetrating and skull like.

An Ill concieved notion of bedazzled enquiry disguised as sobriety.

I thus returneth to rude health.

Bleach night cap

A true Gentleman

confound you!

a fabulous volley!

knocked me for six! (if only this was cricket, if only we would judge books by their covers)

with a heavy heartThe game is yours. I remain both vexed and delighted at the same time = hiccups.

I pace across the room, approach the court, attach, and ‘huh!’-send

Oof! You vile scab!

may the hand of Hades beat you down!

I cough in the face of Postmen!

i riddle the ilks! have one in the yarbbles, you fiend-

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Timmy Mallet Legs

Gah!

A sneaky recontectualization!

I am forced to extrapolate!

Behold the legs of Timmy Mallet!

Take that you rotter!

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The Grim contact of jelly fingers Brain

Pah!

Thou ill fated wank token!

You neglected to attach!