5cense Arkhiving art to taintalize our tush for the public record


17 May 2020> Last night we were going thru underground passages trying to find the group of people we was with. After bumping into other isolated groups in janky cavernous dens we found our quarters but only our guide was there, the rest had gone ahead to our next destination. So we were gathering our things + it was taking forever... there was all this junk + we were trying to d-side what was worth taking + getting everything jury-rigged so it would be easy to carry, using this convoluted system of straps made out of vines + corn husks to attach things to this pack-frame contraption we could carry things with inklooting the materials used to make the frame itself. Our guide was patiently waiting + we couldn't manage to complete the simplest tasks like tying our shoes. We were in the streets now, in some place that felt like Guatemala. We were tying our shoelaces like how they do in movies, as an excuse to stall for time to spy on people. Finally we started walking + everything we had rigged collapsed so we said fuck it + kept going just carrying this framed cross on our shoulder + our guide was laughing at us like we was a hill-billy Jesus + asked where our backpack was + we realized we left it so we ran back + was panicking cuz everything of importance was in this main backpack + it wasn't where we left it.

... spose this dream represents our current mindset, the past few dayzzz weave been repyschling junk into "art" or anti-art really, still in our casalingo series, besides trashed decaying books found on the streets of Rome we're incorporating stuff from our kitchen—onion skins, corn tassels, the residuals of whatever we happen to be cooking, whatever crosses our paths as we go about our daily house-keeping chores, which yesterday included installing a Tushy on our toilet, so now we don't need no stinking toilet paper! Highly recommended, don't know how we lived so long without (except in Italy where houses have bidets). After u poop u just dial on the nozzle + it squirts up there into your bum... so much more civilized + taintalizing than Charmin.

... not as aesthetically interesting as Duchamp's "Fountain," butt quite useful + paper saving. It's this reversal of function + form (Duchamp putting a urinal in a gallery + calling it art) that intrigues us, taking crap destined for the trash + trying to convert it into art, 1 man's junk is another man's treasure. We're doing these in psychles, starting w/ a day outside in the backyard where we can make a mess + inhale less toxic fumes + then inside for finer tuning. We make about 5 at a time cuz there's a lot of time spent waiting for glue + paint to dry so we switch back + forth between pieces + also cuz we don't got a proper studio (we either do these on the floor of our gym (so can't do yoga or weights on those days) or on the dining room table (weave bin eating outside the last few dayzzz)). Anywayz, hear's 5 more that are more or less finished (tho the glue ain't even dry on the 1st one). These are all mixed media + found/repsychled objets on cardboard except the first which is on styrofoam. Click on each for more detail:

untitled 2020 (10x9S)


untitled 2020 (L56)


untitled 2020 (pillow insert)


untitled 2020 (SSpirito)


untitled 2020 (W-ire)

Peeking over the fence (we stained for them last week), our neighbor saw us working on these + asked what we was making (as Tom Waits says in 'What's He Building In There?'.... "I'll tell you one thing, he's not building a playhouse for the children.") + what we was going to do with them. Good question... we din't think about. Spose sum of them we'll hang on our wall in the spirit of a good casalingo homemaker. Why does any 1 make art? Sum do it for the money or to become fameus, butt we ain't signing our name to these or selling them in a gallery (tho maybe we'll put them up for sail here if folks are intrested). Sum artists (like rock'n'roll stars) do it for the chicks, butt we got a mate so that ain't it... tho perhaps there's a certain Bowerbird obssessiveness to our methods. Recently we aksed a fellow writer/musician friend what he was "working on" + he said back ain't it weird how we're always making things? then aksed what we did to relax to wich we said making things is how we relax... it ain't work to us, if we don't make art there's a nagging sensation that we're dying + we got nothing to show for it. We cook food to survive day to day, but do we need to make art to survive? We make art to stave off mortality + as a record of our ∃xistence... for the same reason we keep this blog, how weave always kept a journal since our teens wich we're transcribing retroactively hear on The Daily Noose. Specially in these home-bound Corona times the dayzzz start running on end, each the same unless we make something to distinguish today from the previous or following dayz. We oscillate between writing (which we ain't don't much of this past month or 2, after "working" non-stop on Textiloma for the 2-3 months before that), making visual art + making music. So far this year we got the foundation of 6 new songs (minus lyrics/vocals), butt we got nada to share hear on The Daily Noose til we put our next album out on December 24, 2020... tho maybe this year we'll release a teaser single before then. The 3—music, writing + visual art—are 1 + the same in our mined, it's only the format that is diffrent in the end. Either way it's collage/cut-up + we do it as an archival record of our ∃xistence on this doomed planit.

743 <(current)> 745> Physics as autopsy of reality: Beanfest in West Stronghold, a Biospherian turns 26 + the end of Bush-Reagan
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