Real artists don't talk to the world
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
poetry unsuspected
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
A walk backwards towards the birth of a collective improvisation based on the participatory performance Iconicum given to the Generator.
"Everything must go" is intended to make its participants perceive this total eclipse of self-confidence that makes the interpreter in true research.
When you're shocked by anything that exists, it's because you've made up your mind about the world but you don't know anything about it.
One morning, or rather one night, a new blog was born in my little family of sites, a messed-up blog, designed to collect spelling mistakes with a ladle.
Empirical excavations reveal the root system of David Noir Production. Between the tortuous roots and the brambles are articles.
Attempted social evasion | There's no room for social chatter here. Not even on a good morning. And that's just as well.
Start by undermining the basis of my nature. Set the moral high ground and wait for the... cement to set... the wide asses of the cows that live here...
Time veils backwards, throws a theatrical tulle over the detailed vision of ancient crimes. The tragic beauty of history is more congenial than the impending horror.
TO PREVENT STORIES is DEAD! Instead of aspiring to grow, let's stop taking ourselves for what we cannot be. Let's stop idealizing.