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.


Oh dear Lord. Fuck me. I was being so good with that schedule thing. But yeah, that’s life. What can you do. I have tons of great excuses, and even better stories. Well, actually, not really, but that’s still a good way to make an entrance, ain’t it? I would apologize, but I’ve been told it would cramp my style (do people even still say that?) So what happened, where did I go, what did I see?

It all started with Joke Post (hi Joke!) Joke is an architect, and works with Reversible Destiny Foundation. The firm was founded by Arakawa and Madeline Gins, two of the most intelligent, creative, and fanciful people the earth knew. Arakawa and Madeline’s architecture is positioned against death. Nothing less. They were (are, because they will never die) poets, architects, thinkers, philosophers, painters, writers. And on top of it all, they were human beings. I was too young to remember when I first met them. I do remember the birds Arakawa had. He passed away a few months after I moved back to NYC, and because I was too shy to give him a call, I didn’t get to see him again.

But Madeline. Madeline! Madeline, I wouldn’t let that happen. So we often met for very long and lively lunches in Soho, close to the house of RD. We talked a lot about manhood,femininity, life force, death of course, and arts. And Joke instantly became our third voice. There were conversations at the office about Dakis Joannou, the right dimensions for limited edition prints, and us working together on a book of biotopological poetry (a work in progress.) She would give me books she had written, others that Harry (papa) had published, and a couple of manuscripts she was working on. She also asked if she could use me as one of her guinea pigs for her visionary -and extremely complex- website. Madeline’s words and aura threw me out of what I had envisioned as « possible » and « impossible. » And for that great intelligence, and the great discomfort it sometimes created in my growing being, I’ll be forever grateful. A bit sad to think I could never told her that when her physical being was still with us.

So anyway… Joke invited me to Ezuff Film Festival last Friday, where RD was presenting two short films. Ezuff stands for Elvis Zapp Urban Film Festival, fyi. I was confused for a second by the name of the location: Spectrum. Wait, the super fun, drugged up, gay party in faraway Brooklyn we used to go to last year? That tiny super warm first floor apartment transformed (more or less) into a club? Well, that wasn’t it. The Spectrum I went to on Friday is, and I’m quoting because I’m too lazy (and too late) to come up with my own phrasing: « a technology-intensive site for innovative music, multimedia and art » which mission is « to foster innovation and virtuosity in the arts. » Fucking brilliant if you ask me. Because it is very low-key, and unpretentious, and yet extremely innovative indeed. It’s all of that, and so much more. Super comfy mix and match chairs, big bonus worth mentioning. You feel at home whilst are being fed what could be an intelligence potion. The screening was entitled « Apodyopsis » and all the videos presented were about urbanism and architecture.

Of course, out of 2 hours, not everything was to my taste - when does that ever happen? But I was watching content I had never seen before, and that I couldn’t even connect to things I had seen in the past. Most of the films, videos, projects, had a DIY feeling, with weird editing. Some were cut in the middle - or was it all on purpose? Madeline used to do that to my brain and psyche. And so did the festival. It’s becoming rare for me to be happy after an « art event. » It’s more like leaving angry after I lost 2 hours being held hostage to some shitty ostentatious art attempt without a soul. So. Yes. Yes to leaving thinking about the work, asking myself questions, trying to figure it out, and discussing the different works with my again super cool girlfriend (hey baby <3 ) Ezuff didn’t have a program I could steal, so I was that annoying person taking notes on her iPhone. I wrote down: Amanda Bonaiuto, Reel bricolage ; Andrew MacNair, Egg ; and Ama Mermaid pearls of the river (except the words are not in the right order, oopsie.)

The next Festival they’ll be having is 3 months from now, so clear your schedule, ya?

PS: Also, I totally forgot to go to the opening of Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian at the Guggenheim. They even had a breakfast planned, goddamit. But do not worry, my dears, I now have a super tight schedule. In which there is a defined and blocked time frame in my day to drown you in petty art gossip (un peu), art reviews (maybe more) and the overuse of the word « fuck » (mom, that one is for you). Okay, peace out readers. I need to get back to my other job. The one I’m the boss of.