on a Monday

I'm facing an imagination deficit; hence, I thought P.S.1 would cure me. No cure yet but museums make me happy, it's all about the sensory overload. The visuals, audio, and interaction made it a cathartic experience, as well as being in Jose's company who makes everything even more amazing.

Olafur Eliasson's installation on the elevator.

Eliasson's huge rotating mirror on the ceiling, and we took our time!

Børre Sæthre's ethereal installation.

Sæthre's unicorn. When you walk by the mirror, it creates an optical illusion...it is visually fascinating. I hope I had a video....fuck....I hope I could have the unicorn in my apartment.

Sorry Damien Hirst but the unicorn beats your decaying shark any day....

Leaondro Erlich's Swimming Pool.

Tom's number. I found it on the floor at Robert Boyd's Conspiracy Countdown video installation neatly folded. I texted him to satisfy my curiosity and ask him if he had left it on purpose. He texted me back saying he's never been to P.S.1.

I find it incredibly interesting where some things just end up.

After P.S.1 I headed over to Park Slope in Brooklyn just to walk around. How long until it gets completely Manhattanized?......Save Brooklyn's Industrial Heritage!

on a Monday.

Cremaster Cycle

Matthew Barney's Cremaster cycle "is without parallel in contemporary culture - an odyssey of pyscho-sexual drive and desire, spanning five films set in different geographical locations, from a stadium in his home town of Boise, Idaho, to an opera house in Budapest. Dense, compacted and multi-layered, the cycle reaches back to the mythology, biology and geology of creation and forward into a world of modified genetics and mutating identity. Our culture attempts to articulate such changes, but struggles to keep pace with the speed of development". - Tate Magazine

Attn: Generation Y

It is the nature of the wise to resist pleasures, but the foolish to be a slave to them.

~ Epictetus (50 - 120)

2008

This is what 2008 was like for me. Thank you Siouxsie And The Banshees

Overground

Got to give up life in this netherworld
got to go up to where the air is stale
and live a life of pleasantrie
mingle in the modern families
Overground-from abnormality
Overboard-for identity
Overground-for normality
Overboard-on identity

This limbo is no place
to be a digit (in)-Another space
in another crowd
I'm nameless bound

Overground-from abnormality
Overboard-for identity
Overground-for normality
Overboard-on-for identity

Overground-I'll be worse than me
Overground-it's clear to me

I'll be worse than me

Dea´s Macrocosm

Dea´s Macrocosm has no limits, laws, preconceived ideas. In her space we are not product of society, history or media....WE ARE. Reality has many dimensions and we can walk on ceilings, walls and floors....WALKING is just language technicality. Freedom unknown to men, and where language is not a barrier nor the creation of anything...our thoughts domain.





Andy Warhol´s look-a-like lives among us (so they say), because in this space we are unaware of who Andy is...however we agree he must have tremendous personality.

Black and white halls, a dual dimension.

A hammer, a man with a needle in his forehead, keys......all in their own new context. Different perceptions. Different thoughts. Different attitudes...but most importantly it is all relative.

The mirror does not reflect us, for we are not matter but something more...spirits of a sort.

And when Dea is materialized she is a narcissistic poet with intimidating talent.


Oh, and who is that she is showing affection to? No one other than Karime....her chicken-women-castrated-amputated-phallic-object of desire-and so much more.

O Tristan, Where Art Thou?

The Great Lament Of My Obscurity Three


where we live the flowers of the clocks catch fire and the plumes encircle the brightness in the distant sulphur morning the cows lick the salt lilies
my son
my son
let us always shuffle through the colour of the world
which looks bluer than the subway and astronomy
we are too thin
we have no mouth
our legs are stiff and knock together
our faces are formeless like the stars
crystal points without strength burned basilica
mad : the zigzags crack
telephone
bite the rigging liquefy
the arc
climb
astral
memory
towards the north through its double fruit
like raw flesh
hunger fire blood

Tristan Tzara

The Superhuman Dealer

BULLSHIT
Today I met the Superhuman Dealer.
The Superhuman Dealer said he’s been doing yoga for 12 years.
He is also a magician, but couldn’t talk about it....its forbidden.
He also practices Kabala and mentioned Quiron.
He said he was a junkie, but yoga and spirituality cleaned him up.
I was confused so I asked him.....how can you be spiritual, clean, and sell drugs?
To what he replied....if you understand Nietzsche’s Superhuman, and the law of cause=effect then you will understand.
I said I didn’t understand.
He said he was going for a magic book and coming back.
He never came back