Various methods of response in a fuel injector system like mind of a European fag to an earlier critic by the inter galactic art police… who are experts in matters retaining to the laws and ethics of tra… which is “art” spelled backwards… hip hip hooray
Note: if you want something to read feel free to browse through the below segments to get a general idea of how James Spillane writes, which will basically be a waste of your time, but if you have read the critic in the wrldmrine.com guestbook, skip directly to number 9, of following responses… and do not tempt to read anything else and might just as well receive the same empty feeling that you have now…
1. Wyatt, sat around in my Ikea recliner, you know those kind that are made in a way that looks like there is nothing holding it up, just wood twisted, churned, steamed bent into some anti gravity shape to hold human flesh… “Fuck the ugly people…” and he went on and on. I always thought he was a little gay, maybe it’s me…
(Notes on my Ikea chair: it coast 20 bucks and I bought after I seen some mechanical-hydraulic-piston-robot like arm exerting weight of over 700 hundred pounds in a test like motion… reminded me much of the seen in the movie Rocky 4 where the evil Russian opponent was punching that one machine the registered the power of his devastating hit… I was sucked right in)
Mr. Wyatt Mason went on with his story about the ugliest person in the world as I handed him a hoegaarden…
“Ugly people everywhere, in the streets and between our sheets. Malformed homunculi listing through haute-couture emporia, searching for that slimming micro fiber tee whose design is sure to diminish, and perhaps even render invisible, those unconscionable clavicles, and that hump. Poignant, such survivalism.”
But I cut him off…
“What was the kids name again?”
2. (after going to the Quinault Indian casino last night and watching various blobs biology excrete work week earnings.)
The eye in the sky was watching us, we were at the black jack table, and I kept making faces, sort of like Jim Carrey… nothing happened… there was a pit-boss named Jimmy barracuda who was missing the middle digit on his right hand, I imagined he use to be some sort of big time Las Vegas cheat… and like the movie Casino, they caught him… he tuned states evidence and brought down one of the largest crime syndications in Las Vegas… later he could no longer find work, his muscle all turned to fat, so bouncing was out… there was various “hits” out for him in most of the south west region of united states… but he still had an eye for the game, which landed him a plush job as a pit boss in this sleepy north-west town of Ocean Shores Washington…
I later found out the Jimmy lost his middle finger to a blender accident… he was trying to loose some weight when he began drinking those juice weasel yuppie shakes… “The blender was giving off that weird burnt plastic smell, I realized that the celery was still a bit frozen, opened the lid and began pick the wedged pieces out from under the blades, my fat belly landed on the “puree” button” Jimmy is ok now minus the use of one angry jester… later… I spent the rest of the night aiming my arm at the “Spanish 21 table” pressing down on my elbow as if it was some sort of spy camera… it probably looked more like I was giving mores code messages to a hidden player… still nothing happened… so I ordered a hefeweisen lemon… thinking “just because I am on TV it doesn’t make me a million-air and as for the inter-galactic-art-police… they will never catch me…”
3. “The world is full of shipping clerks who have read the Harvard Classics” said by one already expired blob of biology who only half way found enough success to buy himself a BMW
4. Some side notes real quick out of a worst-case scenario survival handbook
HOW TO ESCAPE FROM A MOUNTAIN LION
a. Do not run.
The animal most likely will have seen and smelled you already and running will simply cause it to pay more attention.
b. Try to make yourself appear bigger by opening your coat wide.
The mountain lion is less likely to attack a lager animal.
c. Do not crouch down.
Hold your ground, wave your hands, and shout. Show that you are not defenseless.
d. If you have small children with you pick them up- do all you can to appear lager.
Children, who move quickly and have high-pitched voices, are at higher risk than adults.
e. Back away slowly and wait until the animal moves away.
Report any lion sightings to the authorities as soon as possible.
5. Which reminds me of some sayings Leo Tolstoy use to say when ever he came over to my house to watch Sunday night football…
“We cannot renew a illusion we once seen through.”
“All we can know is that we know nothing. And that is the height if human wisdom.”
“One’s not dull by oneself.”
Latter Leo became deeply religious and stopped watching football and coming over at my house all together…
6. Getting around to some sort of response
7. (Duchamp himself said it was an adverb), it could mean "the same", such as 'Vest la méme chose' (that's the same thing), 'Vest moi-mémé' (it's me), or 'quand plusieurs verbes ont un méme sujet' (when several verbs have the same subject). In any case, it does seem possible that Duchamp hints the bride and the bachelors could be diverging facets of the single person who invented them.
From a good book I recently read about Marcel Duchamp, Art as anti art…
Hey did you download that new radiohead cd “kid A”?
8. ha ha
9. (Getting started, note James that has A.D.D. and seems to make no real sense at all in this sort of response… he just drops a bunch of names and leaves the reader scratching his or her head)
“We are all dreamers”… what is a movement anyways, how does it start… I mean, I would never go as far to say a thing like, “these guys are totally original” originality is acquired through sever isolation, basically hermits, social retards, loners, outcasts, ostracized against the “norm”… so then what is the norm? is not being the norm, original or is it just the way your biology (DNA, genes) formed to make you… you?
But yet we have all these movements… dada, impressionism, deco, abstract, futurism expressionism, Hudson River school, the Dutch school, or the “nord school” and cubism… ism ism ism?
Why was Van Gogh always painting peasants and fields… what a copy of a copy of a copy that guy Van Gogh… if you ever seen Jean-Francois Millet, mixed with a little Monet impression of a sunset, (which paved the way for that particular movement hence the name.) hooray
So what is original? Brosh, Beckman and the Brugels live at the Tacoma dome, El Greco’s long slender fingers picking nose-scratching anus…
What is influenced?
Maybe Pollock back in jack’s shack on long island freeing the canvas… oh my… maybe we should put mirrors on garbage trucks and drive them through the city reflecting on all those who create the waste… oh that’s been done before… how about we run around the city painting stick like figures all over the subways… that too? Ok how about I rub jelly all over body and throw myself against the side of my house… instead of freeing the canvas, I will be freeing the artist… oh its all been done before, silly me…
How about I just goof around and have a little fun… now that’s better,
Feel free to talk and talk and talk about me while I am gone, mean while I will be over here having fun… life is my entertainment which some how equates to “life is my art”
And yes, “life” has been done before…
9.2 (same point of view from a literature side of the house, just pretend you didn’t read the above mentioned….) What is original? Celine’s Journey to the End of the Night, which is a lot like Tropic of Cancer Miller style of writing which is a lot like James Joyce which is a lot like Burroughs? e.e. cummings misplacing commas, Faunlkner waking up in the town gutters, Brautigan trout fishing? Maybe for now in the sense of now, but it’s been done before… Hemingway’s prose kind of looks a lot like T. Drieser… Fyodor Dostoyevsky was close to it; the Siberian hard labor camp really meant he didn’t have to bullshit anyone “The cleverest of all, in my opinion, is the man who calls himself a fool at least once a month.” Michael Ondaatje impressed me with The Collected Works of Billy the Kid… Sherman Alexie, The Lone Ranger and Tonto fistfight in Heaven… but this is the new stuff, which I am sure has been influenced, which sort of means “a copy” so where did Shakespeare get his shit from, I can tell you if you want, or how about Conrad… Camus, or Kafka, then there is the Asian writers or how about Salman Rushdie, which sort of reminds me of Swift…
bing bang popcorn… should I call them all a copy of a copy of a copy… I wouldn’t go that far… I don’t think they sit around thinking… I am writing this for Mr.Spillane I wonder if he knows I have been influenced… blah blah blah… maybe they do it because that is them, that is life, their life, people call art, but really it is life… and life am afraid has been done before…
What’s this new word eggerisim I keep hearing? And the black girls go “ la la la”
Bonus reading, to get an idea of why Spillane refers to everything as “biology” basically he thinks everything ends sooner or later, life on earth, then the earth itself, the sun burns out of gas, then solar system, the universes contracts and collapses, then big bangs itself out again… its all because we are lucky to be placed some what odd miles from a giant burning ball of hydrogen with enough amino acids and proteins to start… you got it… life
10. My mother’s hand before she died, scaly looking from too much work, stress and disease, a scar over her knuckles circa 1982 from when she was washing out a wine glass. We came home from school and her arm was all stitched and bandaged up, so we had to make ourselves peanut butter sandwiches, I was so lazy I just made toast, over the years I made a lot of toast… she is buried in Friday Harbor, my step father will be moving her down here to Ocean Shores cemetery… but first she needs to be cremated because the ocean shores cemetery is located beach like property… human bodies don’t really decay proper, and stand a chance of rising to the surface when buried in sandy locations… I love mother, and the hands that drove through my hair when I was sick in bed with flu or nightmare… in the movie “Dead Poets Society” Williams whispers the words “Carpe Diem! Seize the day!”