Mike Driver
Not today Justin
Product Placement
Today's Document
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Cosimo Galluzzi
RMH
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Show & Tell
Andulka
DEAR READER
Cosmic Funnies
Claire Keane
we're not kids anymore.
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@theartofkarma
I don't want to eat off of your hand I want you to eat off of mine. Fuck the white Gerber baby being pushed in a shopping cart by his Lulu Lemon wearing mom. Fuck your societies. I am a monster. I am a swine. I am disgusting. I like my cunt eaten and my cock sucked. I like my hands drizzled in cum while I bathe in your blood. And I like that, because that gross leftover body that remains is the crux of my art.
A night
Let's begin a good night With you laying in bed Enjoying yourself My body against yours Having studied what pleasures you You moan a little I find the spot that could potentially make you orgasm You cum I cum You clean up I go I go I go You don't know You enjoy You suck I blow You sleep I die A little more inside Paranoia instills They died In my position For pleasing you They died In my bed For blowing you They died In my arms For fucking you Because you thought That one night With an M4T was hot Because you didn't know That I was A person Because you didn't think She was My sister And you blow I fuck You cum I die A little more inside And don't tell me to shut the fuck up Because I will scream so loud Like she couldn't And don't tell me to shut the fuck up Because they screamed so loud Like I couldn't And you ignored them Because your born this way Gay liberation Capitalist front Didn't fit them Didn't fit me Didn't fit us But you had me In a one dimensional gay embrace And you had me In a born this way dance And you had me In shut the fuck up and listen to MY mind Shut the fuck and make art my way Shut the fuck up this isn't good art This isn't bad art This is MY art It's what I SAY WHAT I WANT FOR YOU TO WIN BECAUSE WHAT I SAY GOES SO SIT THE FUCK DOWN YOU LITTLE SWINE SIT THE FUCK DOWN YOU SON OF BITCH and enjoy my mind fuck And enjoy what I'm about to give to you Because it's only the tip Of what I've had to go through.
On "Suicide Notes"
Suicide notes are not the literal interpretation of words that surmise death but rather the interpretation of words that are near death. That rub against the fragility of life. That crack the boundaries and the vulnerability of a tormented mind. That break the illusion of a depicted healthy and expected happy mindset. That which I attribute to be a lie in the eyes of most queer folk and that which I attribute to be disembalanced in these same queers. Have you ever noticed how my friends know the way step by step to the psych ward? Not to send our straight friends or cis friends their but rather to deliver flowers or better yet to deliver ourselves.
Nov 30: Covering my body statues in gold paint and black spray paint to give the appearance of charred bodies. The most successful of the three is the masking tape model. Moving forward I may cover the other two bodies in masking tape or other materials to give it more of a reflective surface.
Nov 28: View of my studio covered in newspapers ready to stuff the sculpture. The newspapers are editions of the Michigan Daily and Between the Lines (the local LGBT newspaper)
Dec 1: Photo documentation of the pattern and sewing of a body sculpture piece that will eventually be stuffed. This is how I spent my thanksgiving break! :)
Dec. 13: Makeup Documentation
IP Critique Response
This week in IP we presented our works in progress to the class in order to receive feedback on how to move forward with our projects. For my presentation, I showed my performance for the Interarts 2015 Fall Showcase, intended to be the introduction to my performance. The piece was focused on creating a space of reflection and drawing in the audience for the second segment of the performance which will include more monologue based pieces. The music element, as a last minute choice for me, was cohesively chosen as the least strongest choice while the image of fire projecting and illuminating my body was the most successful. This brings to mind the importance of playing with technology and particularly projection for my work and so moving forward I want to begin getting the digital portions of the piece hashed out. Another aspect of the performance that was brought up multiple times was not having a clear understanding of what the piece was “about” until the final monologue and understandably so, desiring for this to be revealed earlier in this ten minute piece. This is something that I will definitely take with importance and work on making sure that the raw material from which I’m working from is exposed much earlier in order to avoid this confusion. However, it is difficult to say how this will play out in the larger piece and when the adequate time to drop this in will be without the full script. I am hoping that moving forward I can hash out this final script by the end of winter break.
Nov 18: in thinking of other ways of merging fire with the body this week I went to the motion capture studio to get some movement data for a vignette that will eventually transform into me dancing with a flame version of myself.
Plan for the coming three weeks in prep for IP mock review
Making apocalyptic stone heels to perform in. The colored stones will eventually be covered in paint.
My Queer Death - showcase script
I made a remix of songs inspired by fire. This upbeat compilation will underscore a mad race to gather the clothing representing those lost to Trans* violence
Projection editing works in progress!
Documentation of materials experimentation for sculptural pieces
To the world, I share my dying hatred and bliss. Have at it. Take from me what you have sowed - the seeds of trauma and abuse - those that I cannot see with my naked eye but feel through my naked skin. I have a riot in me. A riot of pain minimized by the ivory walls that has taken root amidst my body. I stand alone amidst the pillars which seek to burn that naked brown skin in an attempt to expel me from its confines. With the fires of nostalgia it deteriorates at the fibers of my identity, but I do not fear it. I indulge in this destruction - a cultivation of pain and fear. I do not leave it. Because amidst this blaze the ivory peels like chipped paint at in its surface i find exposed a shiny nude flesh staring at me. A pink flesh which seduces me and unable to resist its temptation I am taught to stay a little longer for merit. I make love to it in bittersweet agony as I know how much touching this flesh will burn. How do you measure success when that success involves your own destruction? Charred, my body begins to blister at its surface and in the process of healing I burst. To my horror, beneath my brown dermis I find that same pink flesh that once seduced me through the ivory pillars itself. Tears cannot begin to subdue the pain of newly scarred flesh and I wonder - Am I really any different than them? I see my own beyond the borders of these ivory pillars and on the other side they wail in horror. For to them they were forced to sacrifice a brown body of their own to nostalgia’s ivory rage and after years of watching this body endure the flames they are shocked to see a being no longer like them. No longer one of them. They weep when they see my flesh, now pink flesh masturbating to its own reflection. On the other side I am alone. Amidst frustration I reach for them but no longer can I hold their hand as the tower insulates itself and burns brighter at its borders. However as my hand burns more I realize this pink flesh beneath my skin is different. This flesh cries nostalgia, the nostalgia that holds up the pillars of this ivory tower. The nostalgia that justified my people’s sacrifice to it in the first place. The nostalgia that lurks in the ground beneath them on the other side. On the other side a monster of enormous proportions tackles the forgotten souls of yesterday. But how did this horrid pink flesh get there in the first place and how did it learn to seduce with its tongue and speak the language of nostalgia? I tear at it some more to discover beneath its deceiving beauty an ancient truth. The blood that pours down my hand weeps at its knees as it sings to me an oration of belonging. For as old as the roars of nostalgia may seem, blood knows its origins are far longer lived than the beast. It has seen its own forced concealment. Blood knows that nostalgia will lie to you us to hold up its ivory pillars. Blood knows the secrets that nostalgia hides and is able to seep past its cracks to the foundation of bones that uphold the ivory tower. Bones upon which it slithers. Bones that feel no pain, bones with nothing to hide. Pink flesh does not slither beneath these bones the way nostalgia has placed in its ivory tower. Bones of the ancient. Bones of existence. The bones that once were. The bones of my people. I look outside the pillars at my own and see a desperate beast forcing them into its own creation. Nostalgia seeks to enslave my people the way it did to me and as they pass its fiery borders I watch them endure the pain. These people, now versed in nostalgia’s language resist and as they burn I see them naked once more. They are brown and they are beautiful and they walk slowly towards me. Exposed their bodies char deeper and deeper to show the hellish pink layer I found beneath the skin of my own. This pink flesh attempts to seduce me once more resisting its own demise but the tower recognizes itself from them. The pink flesh is an immigrant from other lands as much as it attempts to assimilate amidst a home that was not made for it. The tower continues to reject the imitating flesh’s very existence. Finally, in an attempt to stop these people from reaching me it begins a self-destruction of its own. Flames consume the space around me and suddenly nothing is visible but a bright white light. Only light surrounds my body as it strips the remaining organs, flesh and blood from the bone. A shriek is heard beneath me as the tower’s flames consume nostalgia and it collapses into Time. In front me, in the darkness that follows, lie the bones of my people. In the ashes I collect my death and together we build new life from the dark.
IVORY TOWER by Brian Garcia, 2015. Part of “My Queer Death”
Light A Candle
When you're so drunk the candle burns so low and you forgot you even lit it You're so drunk you forgot there was a candle there for you in the first place You're so drunk you can't remember why you're lighting another one again and again and again until all you can say is - don't tell me to light another fucking candle for you right now Because I'm still sitting here wondering when the fuck you'll be lighting one for me And it could be very soon But Light another fucking candle you tell me And so I do Write the words you tell me And so I do Carve their names you tell me And so I do So far in their minds it's engraved in stone Only to emphasize that you're the only one on this floor that could speak for yourself And they were the only voice that this world had to speak for them So shed a tear because every queer or trans life lost to this world Was the last of its kind Shed a tear because you are just as responsible Simply for the act of being born And then after you're done shedding tears that we can barely stand to count Get up here and tell me to light another fucking candle