Subsequent to Vladimar Umanets’ Yellowist deface of Mark Rothko’s painting Black on Maroon an excerpt from The Studio Game from Fledgling Press.
■ People destroy works of art for a variety of reasons. Sometimes they believe that a work of art is valued by other people more than they are. Others have had political motives.
cf. Paul Kelleher : The Destruction of the Statue of Margaret Thatcher Abortively with a Cricket Bat and then with a Metal Pole (2002) Criminal Damage on marble, three month sentence.
Sometimes a mania is a personal fixation that carries itself to a violent conclusion, much like a murder — and sometimes it’s an accident — as in the case of Heery the Hippie of Multiple Solitude who built a twenty foot driftwood Ossian, which blew away into the porridge of the North Sea.
The content and purpose of dreams are not definitively understood, though they have been a topic of scientific speculation and a subject of philosophical and religious interest throughout recorded history:
In the Mews flat, with a new computer : I didn't really want to live there, and worse, it seemed like I had a choice. I put my ear to the computer while the others moved in furniture. I was asked questions by the landlord. No : I didn't want a sound card for the computer; I didn't want anything. Are you sure you know how to use it? he kept asking, and I reassured him that I did. The people who sold me the machine came on all facetious. What was the point of such a lovely Mews flat, with flowers in tubs, cobbles, and this lovely new computer? The computer could be used as a telephone, but I was happier putting my ear to it and listening to the voices this way. Are you sure you know what you're doing? the landlord asked; but I was boss. Another call came through : someone's friend wanted their boat moved into the market, and all the men were to go and help. So : we moved off down the hill, descending until I realised that I had to return and put in a call to my wife. I had an excellent method of clambering back, a variety of crawl which allowed me to move low over the ground, in a manner of sliding, reaching upwards with momentum until at the summit I was able to break into a sprint. When I got up back to my Mews flat the landlord had taken the computer, and was driving off through the mud. I didn't chase him. I couldn't even find the flat any more.
I wrote this out of the pride and vanity of my own mind, out of my disdain for the mutherkind. I wrote this at my table while human society talked about the good of man. Yea, my temporal goods were excluded from the composition. Yea, my weekends spent in inkie dollars then minky dollars. Yea I wrote this as I have often wished to write, with the same ease with which I drink it I can spit it back. None of this I saw coming. Give me leave to wonder now if I am bothered to pick it back up again.
Happy climacteric! What news from along the Rialto? Little or none - other than I continue to ignore good advice. Be not solitarie, Be not idle. And I pay the price in black bile, and further my apprenticeship (long and tiresome) in lycanthropy by dint of correspondence (shouting) with the screen.
The story is that the original planners, when they willed the giant motorway under the town, wished to dig a tunnel for the cars so that none of the domestic harmony created by the several thousand adjacent hovels on the ground would have to be touched.
Here we are at Charing Cross in Glasgow and so much for that, because they tore them down. Two birds and one stone, old hovels gone away and new motorway placed in an analytic line from North to South.
The swathe of town they cut was over 100 metres wide, and at the point where I stand (and memorise this composition) the motorway is eight lanes deep and runs about thirty metres below ground level. The noise of all these engines thrashing at once is what attracted the planners to build this . . . yes, that and the fact that it may never stop.
JOHN DILLON'S IN; WE WON
BATTY AND HIS TRANSFORMER'S OUT; WE WON AGAIN
PUT THE BOOT IN
SUPPORT THE ANGRY SIDE SPREAD THE WORD
POWER TO THE PEOPLE
The Angry Brigade
MUTATION: Charm: With this power, you can exude a pheromone that makes all humans in the area trusting, happy, and generous. Honest, too. You're not completely immune to your own power, however!
SOCIETY: Death Leopard: The Death Leopards do whatever they can to have fun. That's what it's all about, right? And what's more fun than explosions, gunfire, and wreckin' shit?!
Your mission today is to set fire to at least five things and/or three people. You've got a pocket full of IgnaLight Stickers just for that purpose. Just stick one to something, scratch it, and... Well, at that point try to get a few feet away.
LOSS RATIOS EXPLAINED. As well as depression related shop-lifting, an abyss of deepness opened, distress flowed up through the slough, and our cousins came to stay for the weekend.
This did not effect the overall performance of the Economy, which suffered only a minimal amount despite the high volume of unhappiness.
This is Downcome, a font designed by Eduardo Recife. In the spirit of the age and in line with other open source software, Eduardo Recife allows anybody to use his font, and all he asks is that he be acknowledged. As a bonus, if anyone can be bothered, Eduardo asks politely to be gifted any books, CDs etc that may make use of his font. That is the idea, but the practice is sadly lacking.
PART TWO: The Nine of Diamonds remains the Curse of Scotland. The origin of this name is not certain but many explanations, some of which follow, are suggested. Lord Justice-Clerk Ormiston was called the Curse of Scotland and so the Nine of Diamonds (also commonly called the Curse of Scotland) was known to them as The Justice Clerk.
Here I am . . . the lorne forlorn . . . a work-shire hunt, I mean a work-shy, Berkshire hunt, with triple bananas for lunch and the promise of a whole lot more when I get home.
Bananas! B is for boost their energy flows, A is for "ass" through which the pulp goes, N is for Nana, Mouskouri she sings, A is for anvil where Thor's hammer rings, N is for Nana, whose shortbread we crave, A is for Atholl, whose brose is our fave.
And that is the poem, soon to be featured as the strap line advertising my new product range, which is Burnett's Banana Brose. Mouskouri will be singing the song, accompanied by Marvel Comics' "Thor" who will mashing bananas on an anvil in a Scottish glen.
The entire project as you see is "concept led" and my Nan is mentioned, purely because the Banana Brose is her recipe.
The ownership of a bank account excites a sage contempt for social morality. Customers too, I’d be the doormat of the decade if only they had a vote. And yet people had me down as this weakling, just because my anarchism never scared anybody. They were all slavering dogs, they liked to frighten people, or at least they didn’t mind. Me though, I just can’t get tough. I don’t feel the rage so much any more. I just get the anger. I’m no good at it though, really no good. Can I still be an anarchist, I wonder? You’d think then that this was the moment, but it wasn’t. How many pages have I written? I still haven’t attacked the state. How did I become such a coward?
Envy, lust, sensuality, lies, and all known vices are the negative, "dark" aspect of journalism, which can manifest itself in two ways. In the positive sense, it appears as a "humourous piece," creatively animating the opponent of the writer, and smearing them for entertainment.
These are the writer's rights that have been mentioned so often...
In the negative sense, the same writing manifests itself as a spirit of attack on all of society, as a drive to destroy, and enslave.
As has already been pointed out, the journalists who personify these vices as "the spirit of Murdoch" and called it, with no good reason, objective reporting, have contributed to the genuine journalistic duplex (the two-faced, dual effort) we receive. We are not the media, any more than we are Scottish Power, General Motors, or any other corporate interest.