|Title:||Art Proposal (Monks With Sticks/Sex, Lies, And Videotape)|
|Posted On:||2008-07-31 06:20:06|
(this could use a revamp. alfie's either at the bottom of the ocean in atlantis or in toronto or something - basically, i guess we could say 'if art were a contest', he lost?. anyways. any one want to collaborate with me?)Listening To:
Art Proposal (Monks With Sticks/Sex, Lies, And Videotape)
Date: Sat Jan 11, 2003 5:05 am (*it is still fucking relevant and it still hasn't been fucking funded *if* you needed proof of whether it still has its edge. anyways, are you questioning me?)
THE GRANTFIELD FOUNDATION, ARTISTS ADRIENNE MOOHK AND ALFRED PRIME NUMBER PRESENT:
MULTI-MEDIA PRESENTATION PROPOSAL. FUND US NOW.
PLEASURE SEEKING IS BUT THE ABSENCE OF DESIRE. THE FACT OF EXISTENCE IS ITSELF PLEASURE, HENCE SEEKING PLEASURE IS EMPTY CORN, YOUR HOLLOW LIVES. US, WE LIVE IN BLISSFUL ACTUALITY. SO, OUR PROJECT IS EXPERIMENTAL WITH GRAVE (LIKE BURIED IN A) CONSEQUENCES. NO MERE REVERSAL, THOUGH PERHAPS COMPLETE ANNIHILATION OF SOMEONE'S SANITY (NOT IT). WE ATTEMPT DISPLEASURE IN FINE FORM. VEXATION/ AFFLICTION/ DISTRESS. ALF (22 ODD YEARS OF SELF-INFLICTED CONSCIOUS PAIN + 2ND HAND CORDUROY) + MOOK (LIES + SWEETNESS + INNOCENCE + A BIT OF A MIND-FUCK + YOUR SALVATION) + LYSERGIC ACID DIETHYLAMIDE + 2 DRUM SETS + VIDEO CAMERAS + PROJECTION SCREENS + 8 MICROPHONES + A CRYING BABY + MAGIC PIANO + SPEAKERS + ENCLOSED SPACE + LACK OF PRIVACY + WAR IS EVERYWHERE + 3RD FLOOR OF TALL BUILDING WITH GLASS WINDOWS + SYNTHESIZERS + DISTORTION PEDALS + 1 GUITAR + EFFECTS PROCESSOR + POLAROID CAMERA + NO HOPE IN HELL + DOGS, TOGAS, & A STAFF. WE BRING YOU ANGST, AESTHETIC SHOCK, POWERFUL DISGUST & SEXUAL AROUSAL. BEYOND THE CLICHE'D 'DESTRUCTION IS A CREATIVE PROCESS' (HOW AVANT-GARDE IS THAT ANYMORE?); CREATIVE PROCESSING OF DESTRUCTION IS. EMBRACE DISORDER, LET'S TAKE A RIDE. THIS IS UNSELF SELF-CONSCIOUS POLITICAL IDEOLOGY. THIS IS LUNATIC MISCHIEF OF THE VERY WORSE KIND. A GLEEFUL AGGRESSIVE TENDENCY. OVERCOME YOUR TOURISM AND JOIN US, ALBEIT FROM A DISTANCE PLEASE & THANKS.
GO AHEAD, SEND COMMENTS, QUERIES, FEEDBACK. BUT FIRST:
SEND US MONEY NOW.
OR ANY PROPS SUFFICE. WE'LL RETURN THE FAVOUR.
IN SMOLDERING CHAOS CONSPIRACY.
This Is Not A Rave Party
this is not a proposal for an event. this is not a pyschedelic 60's 'happening', either. and it most certainly is not a fucking rave-party. after years of anti-art art school and a recent short conversation about where alphie 'is at', we've imagined this multi-media art project, transpiring within approximately 11 days time. this is planned art sabotage, avoiding all recognizable art categories. the context: i, adrienne moohk, have stopped eating, taking drugs, and drinking (some sort of quest for either a: a) cheap high, b) earlier death, c) purification, d) disapearance, e) performance art, f) forgetfullness, or g) does it matter? alphie joe primeau, while still eating, does not experience much else but psychic pain. while most make all sorts of banal attempts at 'finding themselves', alphie and i have known since day one all to well who we are, and what we will become. this no search. this is a catalyst. incitation, stimulant, impulse. destruction through creation, we're to experiment whether alphie will get through this. it's high time. the banishment of illusion enhances awareness. there is no pretense of philosophical underpinnings. this is psychotherapy. art, psychiatry, and chemistry. is there a better combination? (besides the previously mentioned recipe of moohk)? alphie has entrusted me to 'fix' him, and who better to do the job. of course i'll resume sessions for any one else who seeks treatment. unless i'm a lifeless corpse, a gaseous form, or a chrysthemum by the window, waiting to be watered. and yes <>, the material is old don't you get it? and i suspect perhaps we've a dogmatic new age neo-facist in our midst, what with all this rhetorical propaghanda. now why don't you explain to us why transcendance must always be so fucking incandescent, because that sounds likes to me like some kind of imposed truth-paradigm with a capital 'T', either that and/ or you're trying to split our brains with light and repetition for mind control. what's next? streets, rivers, cities, parks named after you? call it epcock if you want, i call it epsymbolic order; out with the old, in with the new age.
anyways, kids, the point is this. SEND US MONEY NOW. we're trying to live without dead time, as they say. criminal art everyday, to optimize conditions for the insurrection. fuck the man. and if you send us money, you'll experience the fun in a mediated fashion. unless it inspires you (and how couldn't the end results/ consequences not inspire you. jail. insanity. drool. blood. trauma. documentation. 20/20. the rest of our lives). want to participate in an immediate way? send us props. like i said, we WILL return the favour.
diamanda gallas remixed by bryan adams