My cat has no sense of humour.
No matter. He’s cute. And funny. And I’m busy anyway. And lost to the stars in the middle of my pyrite-plated Performance Art piece at SFAI.
Note, they’ve since drove the thieves out of the building. Slo-mo demo’d the entire school down. Including this
Diego Rivera, The Making of a Fresco Showing the Building of a City, 1931.
They now just project a (d)evolving mutating AI facsimile of Diego Rivera working on a generic WPA Bank mural (he currently looks more like a menacing Weegee Dick Nixon slash Mrs Butterworth plastic maple syrup bottle mashup — which is a good look for fat ass Diego by far!) onto the pile of dust where his actual analog mural once dominated the wooden floor like a juiced up pro bully pro basketball player elbowing eyeballs until he can get his dick sucked by CBSNBCIABC and whatever Corporate Fake Food franchise that’ll pay him for his unhurried date rape legal expenses. Or at least a corny Citi Bank comemercial. or Ten. Shit. He’ll even wear a cheerleading outfit. Even the one he left in the trunk.
But fuck that shit. Cuz I’m in one of only four small rooms left standing, if you count the phony flunky admin room and the out of order bathroom we fuckin use anyway. Mainly to vape drugs, touch each other and vape drugs. The touristas and creeps linger when we Perform(ance) our Art en plein air naked. Which is too often. Or not often enough. Strangely. At least for these deathgrip debt tuition prices.
Shit.
I can get naked for free.
But why should I?
Oh
That’$ the name of my career-$ubverting piece —
But Why $hould I?
Otherwise known as
Fuck You for giving me an A on my other pieces
Apparently I did.
Not(e) again, I received an A otherwise known as The Kiss Of Death on every fuckin piece I’ve casually paid someone else to casually look up on the terminally intraforked highway then plug into a larpAIng machine nice and easy like for me to fork over a free fuck or reacharound to then yes casually glance at, casually consider, casually ignore and casually toss it away — buy some new fuckin chic-ass way too expensive for you les shoooezzz-zah! — that are too cute and too destined to be barfed on (by moi. most likely. thank you) at any one of the cookie cutter but cute faux-butch Kathy Acker mainly in haircut only clone bitch and fag hag-heavy Art Parties that I announce is thee best which is code for thee worst. And pass me some more X or a vape and some X and some X and a vape. And oh dear sweet little Rape Date? (Thatz some fake witchy art bitch and her self-assigned name at skool. she’s Utahnian Mormon and yes. I won that bet! Bitch!!) — Crank up and put that fuckin Nightclubbing CD on repeat again (and again) and don’t call me in the morning. Again. Or?
Simply fuck yourself.
Cuz every instructor (code for Suicided by mon-naaaay, hun-naaaay. Or lack of it) who I fucked and who thinks I let fuck me — has given me an A. That is to say I’m not the only one in his or her or herpheezdtweezdskeezdoutgenderfleekdhighconceptolde2thebone but in but out but no not there cuzza my pardn’r duzzn’t doo dat dat much, Cowboyorgirl but lets see the Kenneth Anger fest from this bed or that table or your crappy but better studio floor or in their pants bestest A+ begetting clit suckin moronic Art Damaged class cuz
We all let these sneetches snatch our peaches. Baby.
We aaallll getting A’s at The Art School Formerly Known As SFAssWipe soon to be called AI and like all the little depressing fake badass crybaby snatchy sneetchy teechez who lick our pee pees n our fuzzy peaches whine 2 us creamy-thigh’d A besotten BFraped n MFaped studiodentes after, um, you know and drone
*sniff gurgle
SFAwhy? is going poopy down der poopy shoot hole like last poopy week n me no havi mí tenure letalone no yum yang of either sex tongue to release mía precious Life-giving fluids jewels elixirs oils sands wings wangs wands winds of Time Space Energy swabbing inner thighs splashed around his or her tits tweeked from her or his dildo nipple-Os ruffride’n any hee haw ass cutie — And!
Let’s see if I can get a fuckin F now with this piece you sonofsbitches!
Besides. My pussy needs some luvin.
A generously handed me a free DVD-R of my performance documentation and Y and I cracked up laughing. Later, we all went over to Y’s place pop’t in the DVD-R, put it on mute, cranked up some Grace Jones and smoked some joints and laffed our asses off in her tiny cute kitchen.
A was selling the DVD-Rs at the Oakland Outdoor Flea Market for $3 a pop.
Looks like I hit the Big Time!
But Why $hould I?
No nudity but audience nudity optional upon entry. All opt to al fresco. Figures
No chairs. Doors bolted shut. Nice beam of Sunlight and dust timed for my entrance and defines Performance space. Yes I did the research, asshole
sword stabbed into the wooden floor at a sharp angle topped with honey and illegal or purportedly legal drugs available to consume freely. zero liability forms not issued. Fuck’m
Mary J Blige You Remind Me, blaring on repeat
dead silence
New shoes, midnight blue pin stripe flair’d slacks pressed so sharp they cut like a fuckin knife. tight vintage punk’riiiipt Negazione tee. fuckeeng. chola. fedora. hat. mayne. makeup by Y who sucks my clit pretty good, well, very good. X provided by who gives a fuck. A floated me some vapes. That IIII bought!
I smell like flowerz but what the fuck else is new
Y assists as we adorn the floor with a modest count of shoeboxes and chuck out recent expensivo shooezzz-zahz — $hit! Less gently, Y!! I fuckeeng bought 2 x each pair, chica. $hit! Pleez hurl those things and like you mean to do eye damage, la homie. Y is actually lookin pretty $harp these dayz her$elf! Guess all those boring Bauhaus Weimer Weener Nazi VHS DVD documentarie$ she stole from the $FApeWipe Library are beginning to mold her. Truthfully. The Final Solution look suits her. Who knew?! We punch holes into boxes then stick in some lit candles for a raw cardboard lantern effect. George Kuchar. But it works! Bless him
A joins us with an unrolled poster topped with a heaping pile and generous lines of Diego Rivera fresco dust. A used A’s vintage Peter Voulko$ exhibition poster instead of buying or stealing the very expensive Rick Griffin poster I requested and who (A) obviously pocketed the cash I forked over to do so. A move I wholly support.
We’re never gonna pay these fucks back anway. Even if we do cro$$over
period
What we do is party hearty lines of the Diego dust. So does our entire nude class. At least our noses will remain out of debt. Na$al walls n passages up for auction after we die. Or before. Depending.
Teechshit makes a run for it and crowbars out the door once El Grande Heap-o-el Dopo Diego Dust makes its el grandé entrance and quick exit up our pretty little noses. Figures
Free of that bitch, the sword is licked clean. All Eyes Sparkling. The unspoken but perceptible electric vibe in here is well — it just is.
I Am them they are me we are One
and all that real shit
We have quite literally fucked each other during the course of this year. Multiple near-orgasms between us
Fuck lethal debt
We. Are. Alive
We are all as high as a kite
As for me
I am charting my ruin and my survival in this mess
That is to say my piece is a $ucce$$
My dreams for an F may soon be fulfilled
Who gives a shit
$ux $ex
$ex $ell$
$ex $mell$
at least in this fucking class
Art School-a-Go-Go | Contribute Your Art School Tribute Flashback Memory Incineration Sweet Revenge !!
Loving this... so intriguing the formative years! Viva Rivera! Wild... I will create back!