An image from Vlatka (on a wall down the street) and a text (re boredom) from my brother.
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Had a few of those jobs, not the kind when you can voluntarily say yay give it a go for a full 32 mins. Couple come to mind, one poss the worst on a stone crusher. Stood on this fuckin huge 40 tonne machine on a footplate while a 16 tonner swung shit and concrete in front of my face, no cage, and dumped its old oily load of bust up town of brown field site into the rollin vibrating killer jaws of satan hiself, yeah, my job mind, was to grab steel and shite from the jaws of said beelzebub, and any other foreign matter too. foreign matter. crushed old stuff for foundations of new stuff. old steel fucked the machine tho, that was the job. 10 hour shift in fear of your fucking life every time you grabbed a 9 foot piece of reo and the fucker bit it already, yeah, snag you, pulled in, lost a coat once. was wearing it, but it was me or him. hope it went in the foundation to build somewhere nice.Used to pick Brody up 6am in the van. Smell of victory v's gave it up then, yeah brode was a great plant man, fix ought, but fuck , whisky before the work. Not a tot neither. hafe bottle. Early doors hometime he was a two handed pint man for the first half gallon. steady as a rock then, nay tremours. purple drain from his face to red and then start talkin and laughin with us all. I'd be away then. Id reckon he'd swamp another gallon and then back to the favourite homeside. a drop for the mornin and a victory v.
Another Guardian blog by yours truly, this one about site visits, here. Earlier entries in the same series here and here.
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John Cage said, "If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all." He's right: there's a certain kind of unboring boredom that's fascinating, engrossing, transcendent, and downright sexy. And then there's the other kind of boring: let's call it boring boring. Boring boring is a client meeting; boring boring is having to endure someone's self-indulgent poetry reading; boring boring is watching a toddler for an afternoon; boring boring is the seder at Aunt Fanny's. Boring boring is being somewhere we don't want to be; boring boring is doing something we don't want to do. Unboring boring is a voluntary state; boring boring is a forced one.
Unboring boring is the sort of boredom that we surrender ourselves to when, say, we go to see a piece of minimalist music. I recall once having seen a restaging of an early Robert Wilson piece from the 1970s. It took four hours for two people to cross the stage; when they met in the middle, one of them raised their arm and stabbed the other. The actual stabbing itself took a good hour to complete. Because I volunteered to be bored, it was the most exciting thing I've ever seen.
Came across the above here, in an interesting (not boring) 2004 text by the conceptual writer and artist Kenneth Goldsmith - I also learned in the last couple of days that he's the founder of the amazing UbuWeb, which somehow I didn't know.
I have a new video/text work titled Unwritten in the show The Malady of Writing (a project on text and speculative imagination), curated by Chus Martinez, at MACBA Study Centre, at Museum of Contemporary Art Barcelona - the show runs from 20 November until March 7th 2010. Unwritten follows a little from the work I've done with Starfucker and 100 People, as well as the live-writing experiment of the Long Relay project I organised with Adrian Healthfield a couple of years back.
Inspired by two texts in the MACBA collection - Guy de Cointet's Tell Me and The Fox, a publication initiated by the New York branch of Art and Language and described as "a quite particular collection of texts in different book forms written by artists" The Malady of Writing comprises 160 plus titles from more than 50 authors, including my own book The Broken World and the new work mentioned above.
Meanwhile a selection from the Empty Stages photographs series I've been working on in collaboration with Hugo Glendinning is currently part of Looking Aside at the Peter Scott Gallery in Lancaster. The show runs until 11 December and features work connected to performance and documentation with work by Manuel Vason (The Spill Tarot) and Lucy Cash/Goat Island (video installation) amongst others. More details here.
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Nice review of the Durham Lumiere show (see immediately below) here, though I find it weird (or rude) when people neglect to mention artists names.
My friend Matt passed me this spam, or a version of it, which led me into some googling to find this slightly longer version. It's a very beautiful phishing email. I really hope the movie gets made.
Dear Sir,
I
have a full length tragedy movie script title: RANKLE Jones The Golfer.
It is a new idea, full of suspense and thrill. I need a production
company and financial investment into this movie production as it will
make a block buster.
Jones enjoys golf playing, hoping to be a
professional golfer like Tiger Woods. Professional golfers play in golf
field, ours play at home. No fucking son of a bitch will accept
correction. The pride of what is yet to be is a destroyer. Jones:
Everyone in life have a dream and aspiration to fulfill, so I am too.
My life, my all will go to a sport I love and cherish most. Golf is my
dream game, a sport I love. Let’s go golfing.
Rudolf drug life
flashes of wealth caught Jones napping as he was convinced to take part
in one of the most bloody drug cartel deal.
Shelly is a desire of every men but her stinking lifestyle of prostitution can’t let her settle for a man.
Jones
fought Elvis in the night club all because of a fames sex machine
Shelly with Rudolf, Alex and others watch with no one allow to separate
until someone quit for the other.
There are a lot of happenings at the night club.
Gangsters and Police combat force.
Why is Jeff called the master by Rudolf, Elvis, Jimmy and others?
It
is traumatic to live with nutty breed of human, all in the name of
family-hood. Traumatic experiences of Ray of hatred, alienation by all
his family members, his emotional disgust and good moral negligence on
the part of his parent on the family.
His erratic brother Jones
gave him a blood bath, living his life-less body after which he was in
oblivious state. Ray is cast away and also an object of mimic.
Hilda
gave Ray a taste of love life which has been missing for years. I love
you mum because you hate me. Cassandra my sister is no different from
my mum Vera. Ray’s love life with Hilda left nothing to be admiring as
it is an ocean of perfect love for both of them.
Jones finally
golfed out daddy’s ''Kenny'' breath, as he was left to his pool of
blood. Jones life turns sour of no savvy as he committed suicide. Those
that bury mines indiscriminately will one day fall victim to mine
explosion.
There are golf scenes, fist fighting, snake scenes, club
scenes, sex scenes, drug scenes, Police shoot out, gangster,
hovercraft, Apache helicopters and Belgian attack dogs.
The script is over 120 pages.
This
production has good advert spaces that will be integrated into the
movie without it interfering, as the production is purely commercial.
This is a viable promotional vehicle to boost your products and
services across the globe considering the much success this movie will
achieve.
Thanks for finding time to read through. Only get back to
me if you are ready for us to proceed with this viable movie
production.
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