for this wonder

thank you katie;

but can you theoretically break it down

the link between male genetics and dance moves?

watch the computer generated man.

tell me everything

RD Laing was a Glaswegian psychologist in the 60s(?) who was famous for progressive experimental treatment of his patients,

like the introduction of art therapy. He compiled a book of poems (Knots) based on the thought patterns of his patients.

I believe he later fell into notoriety for his experimentation with LSD and a scandalous sex life.

There is something I don't know
that I am supposed to know.
I don't know what it is I don't know,
and yet am supposed to know,
and I feel I look stupid
if I seem both not to know it
and not know what it is I don't know.
Therefore I pretend I know it.
This is nerve-racking
since I don't know what I must pretend to know.
Therefore I pretend to know everything.

I feel you know what I am supposed to know
but you can't tell me what it is
because you don't know that I don't know what it is.

You may know what I don't know, but not
that I don't know it,
and I can't tell you. So you will have to tell me everything.

which makes me think of this excerpt of an old favourite;

If you were cool in high school
you didn't ask too many questions.
You could tell who'd been to last night's
big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway.
You didn't have to ask
and that's what cool was:
the ability to deduct
to know without asking.
And the pressure to simulate coolness
means not asking when you don't know,
which is why kids grow ever more stupid.

so please, tell me everything,

the clouds were in hot pursuit

they caught us up and passed us by

on cutting funding

UK government is proposing 25% cuts to art funding. All the big shots are publicly signing

the petition against it, and making art in response. Some of the art is better than others,

but since I am still doing rain dances to the record shop gods in hoping I have a ticket to David Shrigley's book launch in two days, how's this for the spirit:

also, proof of the prominence of the arts (ahem, sorry, the Creative Sector) here in the UK

that there is an arts council organizing a counter-campaign.

(Am I wrong in feeling that at home there is a lot of complain-and-shrug going on? Certainly no comparable organization on a national level. Our small-scale cities and our isolation are our biggest prize/curse.)

the past

found these. massive past.

wednesday I went to Modern Institute and lo and behold, this show,

by Richard Wright, winner of last year's Turner Prize

i really dig big scale, small detail, onerous, obsessive work

that is done on site

what you can't see in any photos I could find is that there are little

intentional anomalies in the pattern

"when was the last time art made you feel like this?"

Untitled from VJ Peter Rand on Vimeo.

sometimes you're just in that mood,

David Shrigley is having a book launch at mono next week,

it is free but all the tickets are gone, so I am trying to use my charm to teleport onto the premises,

when the time comes,

in the mean time, here are some of many drawings,

bedtime stories:

he also does lots of other things. i think he takes really nice photos sometimes,

i would like to get better at pairing text with photos,

le ballon rouge

tonight Berkeley and I watched this,

I don't care when you last saw it, it was probably too long ago,

go watch it right now, please, for everyone's sake,

egon schiele

I don't know there's much that I can actually say about his work

or how much I love it

but maybe you can just love the fact that there is this tumblr just of him

and special specially this is

for lizzie and katie, who are fantastic, i hope you meet soon,

you are all on my mind,

this is really nice

globe genie

hit shuffle and wait for it to load

and it will transport you to a random spot somewhere on this world

google street view

let the prose and the poetry of life be identical

sign in a record shop today

SORRY - NO

SMITHS "VINYLS"

AT THE MOMENT...

OTHER ARTISTES

ARE AVAILABLE...!

j'ai tué ma mère

ok xavier, we get it, you're really fucking beautiful,

i could spend some time here,

i flew reykjavik to glasgow too

I happen to feel that wandering around lost, without a time-piece

is the best and quickest way to orient yourself in a new city.

Aside from drinking enough coffee to enhance my jet-lag,

and buying essientials - like vegan pesto and buckwheat soba -

I also stopped into CCA GLASGOW, which looks fantastic,

but honestly I didn't get much further than the book shop,

which I spent a generous hour in (I'd estimate)

of the many notes I made to later investigate, meet these drawings:

or rather, Sigga Björg Sigurdadóttir,

an Icelandic born artist now living and working in Glasgow

making these humourous/repulsive/enticing/beautiful drawings

and sometimes some stop motion?

heres another link to more drawings

i'll take it

fingers crossed then,

the meaning of life

My first sense of life was that of motion, of being lifted, and the beating of my mother's heart. Then, as consciousness pressed, I turned in the radiance of my father's mind. When I closed my eyes I could feel the world spin. When I reached out I could feel the breath of care. Bound, within my blood, was their love, their burning and their discordant prayers.

Yet time makes ravens of us all and swiftly, it seemed, I fled from their grasp. The sea was a glass. The sky an immeasurable path.

Guided by the knowledge of them I journeyed fettered, free. And as all before me, I have questioned, grateful for the privilege of being able to ask: What is my task? Why do we exist? All answers produce the pain of recognition, emptiness and joy.

To prey upon stillness, to suffer dawn
To bow before God, to administer grace
To unveil space, to be spirited away
To lift a child
into the reigning air
where the voice of heaven
chirps like a bird

patti smith

landed

now, to find a flat,

airport-photobooth-glasses-glare

the outcome