Just as an intense year of CalArts coursework in Aesthetics and Politics was coming to a close, video of Howard surfaced.* The long path from then to now lit up like neon.** In that sudden vacancy after the end of classes, this text-gather happened. It’s me, Howie, and Judith Butler (because I think he would’ve loved her thought) – voices differentiated by… Continue reading INHABIT
This short piece was just published in The CalArts Eye, a student-run periodical that struck me as the perfect venue for this odd little story inspired by a run-in with one of Wim Delvoye’s Cloaca sculptures at MOCA in Manhattan. No Two Ever the Same It was Pablo Putnam’s 49th birthday. He sat in an… Continue reading NO TWO EVER THE SAME
One of my CalArts seminars has been looking at accelerationism, a response to today's capitalism that favors intensifying technological processes to achieve some sort of escape velocity or point of breakage with current systems. Intriguing and disturbing. Here's my latest response, taking inspiration from the #ACCELERATE MANIFESTO.
And now for something completely different... Two short motion poems that put the Keynote presentation format to work in a different way.
JOEL: I can't remember anything without you. CLEMENTINE: Aw, that's... very sweet, but try. —Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind The people with the most persistent claim on my attention are all gone. The persistence is linked to the gone-ness. I take it upon myself (from somewhere well beyond and before conscious choice) to outline their absence.… Continue reading BODY OF ABSENCE
It's that time of year again. “The Scapegoat” is a short story I wrote back in Boston, inspired by a part of the Yom Kippur service that's graphic, troubling, provocative and moving, all at the same time. It's not well known, so I was gobsmacked to see Heidi Taillefer’s “Scapegoat” at CoproGallery’s “Land of the… Continue reading THE SCAPEGOAT
Feeling stupid. Where was I? There’s a moment of stupidity that’s something like a gap in the order of things. A forgetting, except that I don’t care that I’ve forgotten. That sliver is a strange freedom, not unlike the feeling of staying out after dark and ignoring calls to come in. Some game is in… Continue reading BEING AND STUPIDITY