Story Pallet

It must be hard for me too? Sure, it is. Sit down Sonny, they say, Sit down. The future is alright. But I need to know when it’s going to happen. Yeah, I do have family that I’m trying to think about, but none of it feels real. I’ve been prematurely reincarnated as a stone, a piece of crag with a crass sentience that serves to do nothing but bring boredom to life. If anything, I am to be glad that nobody can hear me. Wouldn’t want to offend anybody for the next hundred years.

The whole conversation is theirs. It’s yours. It’s always somebody else’s. I’m not waiting for anyone to return mine anymore.

Thank you for this morning,
A friend I hope never to leave.
I know how you feel, Brother
But I’ll see you again tomorrow

Lies. Rather than individual dreams, invert your search- phrase death in a sensible way. Advance obviously. Worth looking at overlaps. Is it modern? Electronic century, in the bowels of disturbance, display to avail, stating the resources. Marked by degrees on the quality of difficult ideas, of structured minds collectively thinking. Expressing errors makes fragments full stop. Difficult to sense rules evolving – yet organic materials exhibit techniques in the wrong place. In a moment, corrections are measured for you. Tabbed quotations, indented centres. Spaces, lines; not something to impression you. Professional checking; using buttons basically. Losing transferable skills well! Now is the time to be working on that irritating habit. Saying the city is whomever might be today still overlooks feminism as a whole. Italic companions give you digitised ignorance, for all intents and purposes you are hell. Explore finality technically. A few peoples used. Like farce, an interesting definition can be festive, sole object to excite laughter. Support information. Protest ignorance. Generic skills are not useful. Presentation is ugly. The floor you walk into, the left you right. Becoming mechanical holds no ambition.

Various reviews were positive – best this, best that; for many months of Sundays this was a party too late for a few poorly nights too late for early fortune. Original, disturbing. Negative reviews were down to earth, ambling on long enough to sketch what happened to whomsoever troubled. Supple yet unsavoury, disappointment founded in two visits. Dialogue you can’t understand strangles one person too sinisterly. Almost fancy, one sane depression, erratic like this, safe to say I didn’t think much similar dislike to symbolic obscurity in waiting. To make sense is to be mad. Might sound naïve or simplistic, noting explanation is unrealistic in behaviour. A naturalistic plot; peculiar, unnamed. Landladies and lodgers for reasons unknown. A sequence of events in a context of assumption. The premier degree; Absurdity. Does anyone know what that noise means? It’s gone. Why does one operated under explanation? In relation to other words experimental/ the avant-guarde might be worth noticing – but two years of looking back in anger for those of you important – inaugurates the gritty with the squalid wonder of irony. Of the boring in itself a reaction against drawing, against class, against glamour. In a period when you could see misdirection leading you, you see the mundane shut up like hell. I’m the only one who knows how to treat paper. Good, strong, anyone at least. Basic points of similarity, drumbeat dialogue is merely aesthetic.

Weighted significance, conversing beneath the surface. Almost unnecessary, very little Is irritated. Aspects, incidence, setting a beguiling element into misleading reviews. Something new that’s not what it is. Assuming vengeance, catching two figures with the aim of reappearing. Taking conventions and clichés in stock and using the past for new ideas. Your own history is still in mass production. The roots of invitation; outstandingly horrible, something setting cores out of experience. Obviously bearing comedy, maniacal faintly. Fugitive – toting potential reference for right and wrong.

Both with more. Kitchen anger, looking on the base for address. They must be mad. More of an idea; trying to solve obscurity for witty, tinkling and reward. Irrelevant verbal anarchy. Deriving the futility of language from the opaque. Macabre thoughts speak through lunatics actions. Deny intimate associations for better ends. Beyond affinities, earlier on, similar banality profound. Who they are is to doubt, to question forever. Nowhere to go is a charming proposal. Empty in the way of paraphernalia insofar as strong material; doors, corridors, onstage… senses? Superficially more realistic through props. Weird tension created solidly by totally nonsensical, philosophical, vagueness. Summoned out of elsewhere, logic dreamlike.

Story Pallet

jayseven

Joined July 2008

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

More of the usual oblique nonsense, except this time I kept the jarring bits in. Not that you can tell because it’s still horrible to read.

Artwork Comments

  • Aimless
  • jayseven
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