This guy is American as hell. I mean, more American than me. THE FIRST WORD HE LEARNED WAS ‘MONEY.’ He’s lived here longer, anyway. Got a Mark Twain mind, but boy do his stories
go on; is there a point?
Yes, I began to nod off & he called me out on it. Called me out for that weird mullet or
whatever thing I have going on, too.
Dishwashers as sterilizers—
Snakes in the jungle; a pedal-operated sewing machine;
striped scarves; alpaca hair; altitude, slope.
Do you know anyone who has worked at the airport? I don’t.
Assemblage sculpture(not dada): truck bed:(wing)bird::plane(wing):Clippers
Literature & philosophy led him to barber. His allusion to Marquez was of overt racism I
edited out. A black man shot his
daughter multiple times at the post office & she was the only to survive.
Regular haircut clients, some balding; order, play with
order by cutting into the hair at specific patterns; an international rigidity
that allows for chaos//Prosperity of pension, of when a good, honest living
wasn’t a rip-off.
The stitching will sew the hair under the mountains for
clean lines. The stitching will patch
everything together in sacred cut-up, will be left undone, inviting the
audience to continue it—dangling, menacing & sharp.
Let’s continue, assuming that ‘art anymore’ is unfinished
& that there’s not enough time for a beginning, middle & end—it’s never
that clean. & so his meander makes
sense in its negative capability. You
still think time is linear? It's coiled like a snake & people get sick & forget things.
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