And I will purchase hair clippers and shave parts of my own head and the hair clippers will become the archetypal tools of my scrupulous self-sufficiency.
I will greatly exaggerate the noble idealogical basis of my hiatus from the American consumerist construct. If friends remind me of prior particularly gratuitous consumerist exploits, I’ll spout Hegel and call them unsupportive dick-nosed assholes. This will buttress my aura of hostility, rendering my immediate environment too socially barren to inspire impulsive purchases of numerous rounds of communal stimulants, large loans or any such potentially extravagant overly-emotional flights of camaraderie.
With a permanently precarious MetroCard balance, eating mostly instant noodles, I will embrace the severely ascetic limitations of my physical and geographic mobility. Now disengaged from the unsupportive dick-nosed assholes, I will also be unable to commute into sloppy, blurry, boozy and thus less discriminating outer social circles. My frequently ineloquent, socially problematic interactions — usually masked as hedonist peaks of self-actualization tragically susceptible to selective amnesia — will cease completely. Stupor will become sleep again. In that sleep, I won’t kick balls. I’ll even wake.
I will stop perpetually apologizing for minor and nonexistent offenses to the owner of aforementioned balls, as requested.
Self-discipline will prevail! But, I may allow myself some Bohemian antics during the brief period when hunger will have dissolved all my paunchy flesh-flabs — so bourgeois in their superfluousness! — but the sallowness hasn’t yet fully kicked in. Because I’ll be so sexy.
Non-man-made vegetables will be interesting at this time.
I will perfect the techniques of ethical theft, thus learning better business practices for future career endeavors.
I will know deeply that there is nothing in any store that could adequately fill the gaps in the physical manifestation of my self-image. I will arrive at the existential realization that I never could really do that — not because I’m hopelessly unfashionable, but because I am spiritually above any such pageantry. This is when I might start using the word “hipsters.”
I may sew.
If injured while attempting to sew or bring discount raw meat products to states advisable for human consumption (as well as any maladies resulting from the compounding of past damage that I have not medically addressed, even in a state of financial stability, because pfffft), I will cite those injuries as proud and costly tokens of my martyrdom, a very noble martyrdom which is very nobly self-imposed and very noble and has nothing to do with then when I was a stupid idiot with my money.
Through extensive and ever-compromising rituals of auxiliary underpaid labor, my ego will be compressed, sanded down, and polished diligently until it is a shiny, shiny bean, instead of that gigantic thing shaped sort of like a punctured puffer fish, poking people even as it collapses in on itself.
A bright and shiny, shiny bean my ego will be! And I will learn to shave parts of my own head really well.
“'They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful,' says Miguel, nodding. 'I like them because I’m also an artist,' his friend chimes in. Their eyes are locked onto the terminal. Miguel points at the murals, still looking at the screen. 'They’re making money and we’re losing money,' he laughs.”—Covered the new indoor murals at the Aqueduct Racetrack in Queens for METRO. See context photos at ANIMAL and look for moreANIMALarticles, now in your morning paper.
“I’m not running anywhere. I have no property. They can’t take anything proprietary away from me. They can only continue with their legal processes over my body. But if they initiate the stages of their beaurocratic prerogative — this machine that I am being included into as a person allegedly breaking the law — they will only make the metaphors of my action explicit. The debauched authority’s apparatus of abuse in its relationship with society — they are translating it into explicit actions towards me.”—"AN INTERVIEW WITH PETR PAVLENSKY: ANARCHIST ARTIST NAILS HIS BALLS TO THE RED SQUARE, SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO" ANIMAL New York - Pavlensky on Pussy Riot, forms of resistance and “the phobic fantasy” of pain
"sleep" - monday-friday 2am-6am "nap" - saturday 1pm-9pm in bed (no REM) "food" - cashews from office kitchen "a meal" - a HOT bodega sandwich "outfit" - aromatically acceptable clothes with no visible stains "good outfit" - see above +weather appropriate outerwear "very good outfit" - see above +funny hat and/or functional shoes
“The amount of creative content that came out of that place was astonishing and the people that created it treated the work like it was nothing. Artwork was constantly being thrown out. The most incredible jam sessions on the daily were just treated as playtime. If I could go back and do it all over again, I would have put more effort into recording those sessions, but it’s just such a motherfucker setting up a rig.”—Jenna Graham in "The Market Hotel Diaries: Artifacts From a Bushwick Art Squat" by Sophie Weiner for ANIMAL
“This summer, when a project of mine broke viral, I watched how news tabloids sensationalized the story. Those sites are interesting because their use of link baiting keeps you clicking and reading what are otherwise blasé articles with trivial content. Net Artist Daily emulates those tabloids with its link bait to nowhere. For a ‘scene’ like net art—something that is everywhere covering social networks like sap—why not elevate it to the level of celebrity by glorifying both its real accomplishments and its tawdry moments? Early on the stories weren’t grounded in reality, and then we decided to base the headlines in truthiness… The site had over 20k visitors in the first three days. With so many of the external links being clicked it became apparent that it could also be used to promote useful information through sensationalism.”—Anthony Antonellis, Creators of Net Artist Daily REVEALED!!!! DIS Magazine
“Closer to the well-to-do west but not quite there was Moving Image London, on the South Bank and in the Bargehouse and possibly one of the most exciting exhibitions by sheer volume and diversity of video works from across the globe, as well as the unforeseeably controversial National #Selfie Portrait Gallery huddle on the top floor… In some ways the National #Selfie Portrait Gallery… subverts that system in 16 commissions from emerging artists… In some ways the National #Selfie Portrait Gallery… subverts that system in 16 commissions from emerging artists.”—
"As a showcase of short-form video contributions based around the digital self-portrait, or ‘selfie,’ artist Jennifer Chan mediates her recent feline obsession, also performed on twitter, by literally drawing the Cat Ears of its title on a pixelated shot of herself saying ‘my dick’, while ever-prolific Darling presents herself nude and in a sunbed, all Zizek quotes and apocalyptic self-obsessions vocalised through a pitched-up (‘like me ya know I jus wanna look good naked’) in Lil Icarus. Paul Outlaw and Jennifer Catron literally devour each other –in the form of busts fashioned from food in Succulent. Anthony Antonellis mediates himself, to himself, through his macbook screen, flesh fading into his keyboard, while Daniel Swan’s self is represented by the dazzling cover of a smartphone facing outward in Selfie Video Loop… Meanwhile, a general public still hostile to the dynamic net art community, the consciously exhibitionistic nature of National #Selfie Portrait Gallery especially, was aptly summarised in a tweet by fellow ‘selfie’ contributor Petra Cortright. A link to the 700-plus comments (“each more LOL than the next”) on a Yahoo News article on the exhibition with the ‘narcissistics’, ‘not arts’ and ‘I could do thats’ liberally heaped on the resounding thumbs down from the Yahoo.com readership."
“For most of us the selfie isn’t and shouldn’t be art… #Selfienation lays no claims to immortality. It only wants the most love and control in a moment. This cathection was attained by one artist in the N#SPG: Jennifer Chan, in whose paralyzing Glow the dick becomes an iPhone or the iPhone becomes a dick. Either way you’re holding it, and she’s really doing her best, I mean she’s actually sucking with these wet pretty noises and everything. I almost couldn’t watch it, either. Maybe selfies are not always masturbation: harmless, pleasurable, and easy, replacing helpfully a need for physical interaction. Maybe a selfie is also this way of saying look at me, bitch. You better come when I’m looking at you.”—Sarah Nicole Prickett on National #Selfie Portrait Gallery in ARTFORUM
Jennifer Chan’s Glow will officially premiere in the New York version of the show. Details to be announced soon. (via nationalselfieportraitgallery)
“'Becoming oneself' has turned into a crappy job — a compulsory low-paying, low-skill job. The promise of modernity, that we might escape the contingent circumstances of our birth and become who we 'really are,' has become an injunction to continually work on the self with no hope of ever fully knowing ourselves or feeling fully recognized. Neoliberal ideology… effaces boundaries between work and life and requires subjects to continually seek opportunity to prove their creativity and flexibility. Social-media companies have emerged to offer just that, an endless number of opportunities for us to test our creativity and transform everyday life experience into proof of our economic fitness. Social-media profiles may thereby become necessary collateral, mandatory passports to participate in a consumer society gone 'social.'”—"Google Alert for the Soul," Rob Horning, The New Inquiry
“Reed took drugs and drink with abandon, celebrating a long addiction to heroin and amphetamines in countless songs. His ambiguous sexual persona coupled with tales of wild sex only increased his legendary status in the music business.”—
"A VERY debauched walk on the wild side: He did more than any other rock star to give drugs a false and dangerous glamor. Now, after a liver transplant in May, Lou Reed’s own excesses have finally caught up with him," The Daily Mail.
This sensationalistic, petty, factually wrong, sex-negative, lazy, morbidly giddy and utterly disgusting article was written by @tomleonard78.
“For reasons I can’t explain though, two single pornographic narratives I have encountered online helped inspire and put flesh on the bones of SoaP the most:
a) the photo series of the heteronormative gimmicks of Vladimir Putin (the archetypal patriarchal figure) and their oxymoronic homosexual undertones
b) a scene from “My Brother’s Hot Friend” porn series in which Trevor Knight, acting a straight man forces Kurt Wild, a submissive gay boy to recite the alphabet with a mouth full of dick.”—Georges Jacotey on Son of a Patriarch (2013), Artist’s Notebook, ANIMAL New York