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CLOAK/1.4Into the admissions office of the state college of art the commonwealth discharges its high schools' most rejected personalities. |
| Meanwhile the teachers of art, graduates of the state college of art, stationed throughout the
school system of the commonwealth, from its breast-clutched gems to its deepest closet racks, make their regular reports. Paddle up the tenebrous flumes to the site of the fellings if you want to see why so little is coming downstream. Art college admissions as civic psychoanalytic reckoning: what has our privacy wrought? What has been bred? |
| Art without recognizable intellectual underpinnings, instead, collective preoccupations with the
commonest images—cars, lipstick, dismemberment—predominate, and of course they've all heard
of Jesus. - Which came first, the cross or the human figure, during your crayola age? - It's like in class my friends were all trying to make these really weird tables but I was just trying to make this table and it came out being really weird and they were all like, wow that's intense and the teacher who was like really a dick to me until then was like, whoa I don't think I can teach you, so then that was really cool because then I was kind of on my own and I didn't have to do all the assignments and stuff. |
| Every three months or so now another famous artist blows his brains out or shoots up to death
and then they release all the stuff people were bootlegging— the airwaves fill smack rock puns leaking ersatz profundity. The difficult search for a pulse of feeling, a fingering through stilled and empty veins, through cold nests of nerves used and abandoned by stimuli. Sending agents into the interior with fresh axes to penetrate unmapped demographic territories— to find, among the virgin stands of first generation growth, rarities. Conversion experiences dispensed, with the becoming of chosen. |
