Measuring up is a tall order amid all this baroque and crumbling, living, dying shit. Life is Smoke. Real Niggas is dying in the USA. What are we doing here? We head to the bar, down a few spitzes and worry that what we think art is, sin’t, and that what we are, isn’t either. By the end of seven weeks we are three stories underground, on the bare earth creeping ever lower into the Catholic depths suffering from sensory overload, from too much filigree, too much fascism.
Here, no image or structure is complete without symbolic framing devices, which also require framing devices, and so on. Ad infinitum.
Malibu.
Rockstars and fallen rocks and the edge, here is where the European conquest of the New Worls meets its fountain of youth endgame. We have reached the end, and it is vast.
