My brain has cum about fifteen times since this morning. It feels so fucking good. Intellectual stimulation is the ultimate jouissance. I’d give my brother away for more. I’m an only child, but still. After weeks of a brain void, things are lining up. I guess it was my grey mater’s way of taking a holiday break without giving its notice. Once you get to touch the other side of the bank with the tip of your toes - yeah, that’s when you start having a massive brain-gasm. ‘cause you can look back and see the puzzle. Looking back even a few hours back is satisfying enough.
Ya, we know, last week was Frieze week. And what a fucking disaster that was. Wink. A good sign for me that art has lost its soft and sneaky touch (what?) is when I see all the people I know from the fashion/nightlife/cool magazine circles talk/write about/attend art related events. I wouldn’t even dare say art without adding « related event » now. The cool crowd has been migrating to the art world for quite some time now. I had a vague hope it would pass - meaning, they wouldn’t overstay their welcome. oh no. They moved in for good. But that’s okay. We just need to climb up to a higher step. Wouldn’t be bad for us anyway. You know. Remembering that philosophy, language, ontology, big words like this, don’t have to not be part of art.
Maybe I’ll talk about instagram’s art oriented feed a bit. Apparently, I don’t have lots of followers (no, really, about 300 people.) Interesting how the areas in which people can compare themselves to have exponentially multiplied with capitalism. Such areas include, duh, social media presence. Or to be more accurate, social media relevance based on a sole criteria: how many people know about what you post, like, comment, and so on. The 2015 genderless version of « how big is your dick? » So out of the 300 I deemed followable on instagram, I think I chose to leave behind about 100 in the past couple of weeks. Pretty much anyone using a #brand is gone. Reading some of the angry messages I received as a consequence of my action, I almost felt the guilt pet owners must experience upon abandoning their big dog on the highway before the summer vacation starts, and after they mistakenly left a tv spot on animal shelter run for its entire duration. Long sentence, structure douteuse, but you got it.
Today. Present time. I’ve been the main character, the actor (as in act, action) of the colliding of three distinct planets. Project A, B and C are exploding together. A is connected to B which is connected to C. People I met within the last few months are coming together so unexpectedly. What a fucking blessing (jeez, could I have become more Americanized?) My maman doesn’t know the real reason I stop our phone conversation after a few minutes. It’s because I can’t speak proper French anymore. And she would be very, very unhappy about that. So back to it. Project A involves gender. Project B porn. And project C contemporary romance. A is a few months old, taking a more concrete shape only in the past few of weeks. B is about three weeks old, and is still in its early development stage - research and words. And C happened today. And that’s when I got it. The common thread, and the key to all three, is philosophy. Wait. Or is it porn?
Pornosophy? My parents met through philosophy (how French) even though every one assumes it only had to do with my mom being a dancer HERE. Not. It was Deleuze, and Derrida, and Hegel. I mean, thanks maman for reading The Phenomenology of Spirit to me every morning before I went to school at age 6. That, and Thus spoke Zarathustra, and other comic books like those two. I found out about porn through Koons. What a house. That explosive combo might be why I was such a weird kid - an old(er) person forced into being a kid. Or something. Pornoshophy. That’ll be it. Oh and. I’ve also decided against quantity. At last. Shit. I might be growing up. And down. And up. More thoughts, more thinking, more reading. Less posts for the sake of posts. You know, like followers and likes and content that gets reported. Hu, what? Forget about it. Tonight, and for the ones to come, it’ll all be about Rue Descartes. Kiss kiss.