XOXO
Oui
Aucune résistance
Tout est résistance
Invité à s'écraser sur invitation uniquement
Effacer la société
Place au Oui
Musclez-vous pour entrer
Gonfler le monde
Expulsez le ciel
Exploser dire oui
Oui
Oui
Oui
There is no sight. There is no sound. There is only experience.
Man Ray
Jj Crash impersonates imself jezz bi lyin there. An lyin why lyin there . . i wana oui myslf ri noui free flyin ri now me ju layin here on oui floor er flouir says le flouinouir an ju layin on weil . . oui . . jezs sayspell . . 1 . . 2 . . Oui
essa freeflyte een [ow!] . . herump ehh
free fulyte
oui
froui
[Verse 1 by mwa jezzlayn ear]
xoxo
Generated Contents
surf punks la punk dutch tv
i dont like beer
fascism is not anarcade
[Music][Laughter][Music]
i really like that song but dont tell my friends
[Music]
tshirt . .
LIFE SUCKS
HARDER THAN
YOU DO
yeah well its like a lot its like my its like what i do you know and so its
like you you wear the stuff or whatever
and all my friends are into it and everything
yeah I guess I do take it kind of seriously its a lifestyle
whatsthis lifestyle about
about being a joke
beer
beer
beer
beer isnt good for you
beer isnt good for you
beer isnt good for you
i dont like beer
i dont like beer
blood
geniune blood
fascism is not a narc
fasscism is not an arcade
in a sense its a joke but its not a joke
yes
Yes party
oui
Oui party
Oui Oui Party tonite
thats right!
Pissoirhead
landing on my head
people
landing on my head
people
landing on my head
people
oui oui party tonite
metalheads
magnetic brutals
artists all
the tea mosh
this moment
this will all be gone
in just a moment
beyond the moment
beyond ourselves here
on everybodies lips
photography is in
d space
a blur is
by x
Died Writing
[Music]
beer
beer
beer isnt food for you
beer is nt good for tou
i dont like beerr
i dont liken beer
beer sint good for you
beerr isnt good for you
beer isbe t good for you
i dont line veerrl
i do t like beer
i dont line beer
I’m eight years old
What does it mean for you being a punk?
What?
What does it mean to be a punk?
What?
Do you like being a punk?
real blood
coming from my nose
right here right here
this is genuine blood
anyway
I appreciate it early bro-look after that especially of a bang out store for us totally new genre finesse the aina dusted english nations was in their overall booster club our sophie’s pranking us from a masala youth pervading and on that sofa for science recife nitro changes over the elevator to space prosperous people by to-do list oh god okay how does in a long but the test of the vastus afghanistan they got you swastika it’s making me angry
[Laughter]
[Music]
young people today you have a lot of energy and theyve got brains too
This is the Yes Party
Ann youirpart ouit
ytraP seY eht si sihT
Heartbreak is more Versailles than Montmartre
In Montmartre, we await heartbreak. We are refashioning the term. Just as science is in our living room
Living xrays of our studios will emerge as multiples
and we will sign our lives away
Montmartre— I wan tmissy oui
I want to miss you
miss youi
youi
oui
ui
i
iu
iuo
iuoy
iuoy ssim
uoy ssim ot tnaw I
iuo yssimt naw I —ertramtnoM
ViolãMinotaur5
Rough and tumble mosh parade hurtling toward Maison Picassiette, Chartres in a Champagne Supranova in the sky
Rough and tumble mosh parade hurtling toward Autour du Palais Idéal, Hauterives in a Champagne Supranova in the sky
Rough and tumble mosh parade hurtling toward Jardin du Centaure, Limousin in a Champagne Supranova in the sky
Moon Milk
Événement Clandestine — Paris égout speakeasy. Brancusi furniture. Elsa Schiaparelli lighting. Yves Klein Blue curtains and the scent of gold and damp stone in the air. We’re told its ok to stamp on Gunta Stölzl rug skid into Mario Merz glass rumble in William Morris dirt. This chamber. Is On. The brink of chaos.
This party is too
Malcolm McLaren: [growling by sewer light, by sewer pipe] Art is thee most exquisite punk. It screams, defies, spits back. But look at this—1920s! I’m in Spirit Drag voguing cross decades to find you all soo Moduurn like it’s some pristine Cali Furr Nee Yaaa’rrr [fake bad southern US draawrrl in fake bad Parisesque]. Eest aowwll jusunudder Sex Pastilles gig een ze deessguys. Cha cha cha
Claude Cahun: [dramatic admiring a suite of photographs avoiding blasé fantasy chess with orbs, mirrors, whatnot] Votre rébellion est charmante, Malcolm, mais elle manque de subtilité. L'art n'est pas le cri, c'est le murmure après le cri. La pause qui dérange plus que le rugissement.
Grace Jones: [champagne, lots of it] Honey, Art is both the scream and the whisper, and sometimes it’s a slap across your face. Yes Yves, darling—Air is Art, ok? Air I Art!
Yves Klein: [peacock’t in blue] Le Vide n'était pas seulement de l'air, Grace. C'était une invitation à la transcendance, à habiter le Vide ! Mais votre analogie avec la gifle est intrigante. Je me demande comment cela se sentirait en bleu monochrome?
Veruschka née Vera Gottliebe Anna Gräfin von Lehndorff-Steinort: [cigarette holder skywriting smile lips eyes] Yves, wenn du mich blau anmalen würdest, wäre ich die Leinwand des Lebens selbst. Aber sag mal, gibt es in Paris genug Pigmente, um mich zu bedecken?
Jim Morrison: [rugs, somewhere] The sewer is our temple. Beneath the city’s veins, we are gods of the underworld, forging poetry from rot. No one here gets out alive, not even the absinthesiac beside me.
Pierre Molinier: [laughing soft tableau of live legs] Jim, ton angoisse est délicieuse. Mais regardez ceci : la beauté n'est pas une question de vie ou de mort. C'est la courbe d'une cuisse, le tranchant du fétiche. Mes poupées disent la vérité quand les humains ne le font pas.
Zillah Minx: [eyes, and eyes another drink] Oh, spare us the fetish monologue, Pierre. Punk is about breaking all molds, not clinging to your peculiar ones. Carlos, tell him. Subversion needs an edge sharper than mannequin toes.
Carlos Vortex: [plays theremin like a leaky pipe, considers playing leaky pipe] ¿Subversión? Ah, es como este sonido, ni aquí ni allá, pero persiste en tus huesos. La subversión no se trata de romper las reglas. Se trata de doblarlos hasta que el mundo se deforme.
Jean-Paul Goude: [sketching Grace Jones on fresh cotton napkin] Et pendant que vous téléportez, vous le rendez beau. Grace, votre silhouette est magnifique ! Le reste d'entre vous devrait prendre des notes. Il y a tout un art à transformer le chaos en glamour.
Gjon Mili: [camera attempts, cigarette smoke, dim light] Jean-Paul, glamour është kalimtare. Bukuria ekziston vetëm kur drita dhe hija flirtojnë në përmasa të përsosura. Duke folur për përmasat, Yves, sa do të duhej Klein Blue për të pikturuar Kullën Eiffel?
Shigeo Kanai: [plucking air smile or] あなたは青で考えますが、虚空には多くの色合いがあります。アートは、有形と無形のものの間のステッチです。でも教えて、イヴ、君も青い服で夢を見るの?
Monica Pardo: [burnt oast on an emerald-green cocktail singalong] Sonhar é bom, mas prefiro a embriaguez do presente. Diga-me, Malcolm - você teria ousado administrar uma banda nesses esgotos? Ou a umidade teria arruinado seu tweed?
Malcolm McLaren: [Or someone playing Malcolm McLaren, most likely thee Malcolm yet proto euro go-go so-so writ large US mix, go BIG regardless] I would’ve found a way to amplify the echo of rebellion. These walls would sing, divine Monica, and you’d be front row, jez soaking it in.
Eloïse Félin: [lounge feline detached] La rébellion, l'amour, la vie, la mort, tout cela est surfait. Ce qui compte, c'est la façon dont vous les portez. Regardez-moi, est-ce que j'ai l'air préoccupé par la fin du monde, ou simplement par le fait que ma soie ait survécu à cette misérable humidité?
Hassan el-Mounir: [moshpit damageplucking of an oud]نهاية العالم ليست سوى وتر آخر. الفن يتجاوز النهايات. إنه الصدى بعد الصمت ، الدفء بعد اللهب. مالكولم ، فاسقك يفتقر إلى اللحن.
The party crescendos. Jim Morrison sings a spontaneous ode to sewer rats. Grace Jones Jean-Paul Goude Turn On [The Moment] into [Avant-garde Performance]. Claude Cahun poses as champagne . Cocktail glasses are flying. Impossible lavish cakes are flying. Centuries-new ideas are flowing faster and faster with each thought a lawless spark of brilliance — electricutacious loony madness extinguishing every dim light and door knob and there are many.
Événement Clandestine — A deeper sewer chamber. This one, decadently decorated, glows faintly with bioluminescent fungi lining the stone walls. Golden light glints off champagne glasses. A surreal installation—a chandelier of dangling limbs painted Yves Klein Blue—swings lazily overhead. This feels like a casino. Moon Milk, luminous hallucina, flows freely. The party pulses with drunk energy. Bursts of laughter canceling sewer light.
Henri Matisse: [conducting a symphony with Moon Milk, glass bells and his hand, he paints on air] La couleur ne se voit pas seulement, elle se ressent. Cette absinthe, ce lait de lune, c'est le vert de la nostalgie, le vert de la jalousie, le vert de la Vie ! Mais qu'est-ce que l'art si ce n'est la capacité de distiller tous ces légumes verts en un seul trait parfait?
Jan Vermeer: [smells good] En toch, Henri, is je groen vergankelijk. Mijn meisje met de parel, haar blik - ze legt de eeuwigheid vast in één enkel moment. Als dit rioolfeest mijn canvas was, zou ik het als een weerspiegeling in de absint schilderen. Een vervormd, lichtgevend paradijs.
Marilyn Monroe: [levitates, wooden crates, icy martini her hands] Eternity’s a bit of a bore, don’t you think? I’d rather be a fleeting explosion—a firework. Beauty isn’t in the lasting. It’s in the flash, the bang, the breathless pause before the world remembers how to breathe again.
Kahlil Gibran: [sitting then spirals on condensation then glass]آه ، مارلين ، لكن انفجارك يضيء الأبدي. الح والحياة والموت - هم الأفسنتين داخل الروح البشرية ، مسكرة ولكنها واقعية. وماذا عن الحرية؟ أليس أنقى فن على الإطلاق ، غير مقيد بالوقت؟
Ernie Kovacs: [tilts glass, breaks glass] Freedom? That’s just an elaborate joke the universe is playing on us, Kahlil. Art is the punchline — cue laugh track! You ever see a drunken sewer rat dance? I call it Eventualism.
Ben Hecht: [curls cigarette] Modernity is just a synonym for chaos. We’re all swimming in it, and some of us are lucky enough to drown. Writing, painting, performing—One beautiful attempt to document the drowning.
May Sarton: [refuting him kindly, her voice steady, poetic] No, Ben. Art isn’t drowning, it’s the gasp of air before the plunge. And Moon Milk? My friends, the pause before the poem, the space where the words seem to fall together.
Yoshihiro Tatsumi: [doodling on a napkin] 人生は詩でも溺れてもいません。側溝です。そして、秘訣は逃げることではなく、側溝を歌わせることです。私の漫画、私のゲキガは、壊れたものの歌に過ぎません。
Al Jaffee: [Mad Fold-In grin] Life’s only worth it! — if you can fold it in half and find a secret joke. You all take yourselves waay too seriously. Art? A glorified punchline.
Arthur Dove: [drenched tuxedo, balancing on chandelier, the usual] The punchline here is cosmic. Art is the sound of the spheres colliding, of Moon Milk spilling into the void or onto your chin at least. Abstraction made real! I am but Music of Light and Space. [Glances nervously at Robert Irwin, humphf — no matter]
Spotlight on a Performezzartist’s garish apparition vacationing around in ethereal silver gown of crimson shard glass. She holds a giant paper megaphone. We’ve auragraphed it with our presence. Her brut voice chisels the room in three: Those who rise. Those who fall. Those who are the storm. Basically everybody.
Eloïse Félin: [incanting] Energy and velocity, hurled above the glacier—dizzying currents leaping more furiously after invisible obstacles,
Effervescence stagnant, blossoming enormously upward, Descending into the mines, pushing from every side,
Always fighting, always calling—
CALLING ALL OBJECTS!
All colors, all feelings, all races, all factories, all animals, All tongues to its aid—its companions, its witnesses.
It throws its vision of paradise into hell and vice versa; There is nothing sacred—all is divine essence.
From this suffering—a pendulum's irregular motion, Irony profound, a sacrilegious flower, Slowing gradually toward the book's end, Resonating calm and serious, Clear, wise passion—the final prayer.
Silence. Then applause cheers howls laughter. Moon Milk rodeo. Invisible night.
Marilyn Monroe: [whispering to Kahlil Gibran, lucid, sincere] Do you think art is prayer, or is prayer art? Or maybe both. That’s the real joke Ernie was talking about.
Kahlil Gibran: [smiling faintly, his voice soft as moonlight]الصلاة هي الفن عندما تكون صادقة. الفن هو الصلاة عندما يكون شجاعا. قد أكون في حالة سكر بما يكفي لفهم ذلك أخيرا.
Henri Matisse: [lifts glass, voice as buoyant as Color—and Life!] À l'intrépidité, mes amis ! Au lait de lune ! À ce magnifique paradis des égouts ! Aux couleurs que nous n'avons pas encore peintes !
A chandelier swings. Moon Milk glows. The sewer hums with [Laughter][Music][Fragments]—[Truths] too wild to, well
The party rumbles. We are spiraling. Dawn is in there somewhere. We just know it is.
None of this is happening
Nothing is happening
THIS
A petit cocktail party and art reception New Works by Giovanni Boldini • Henri Fantin-Latour • Suzanne Duchamp in a Paris sewer at 3AM
IS NOT HAPPENING
faster slower now faster again now thinking this must be xrayed eventually get the guys who are xraying
The No Banquet? The Yes Party? Neither nor nor the Other but must be xrayed indeed these artists writers posers imposters party crashers infinity collectors actors beauties suitors all wooing something wooing nothing nothing wooing philosophers never washing for days weeks months catching up with eSatie catching up with aJarry sharing allergies with Theda Bara this Rite of Spring is gossip of note is and take note, is and, are you taking note? well and is—
aArtaud is
jDubuffet is
hWilke is
cBurden is
tTzara is
mMenken is
aCravan is
aA bBoy from the street is
aA fFlyg gGirl from the street is
Someone named AKA BANKFEES is
BANANANANSKY
Jean-Gaspard Deburau is
René Lalique is
Cruella de Vil is
BANANANANSKY
but such are rumours
we return to our studios we return to the streets of our studios the skids of our studios alleyways secret passages coded clubs with secret codes for entry floorless hallways exploding roofs windows and doors blocked by brick walls staircases made of bread soggy from the rain drying in the sun crunching underfoot blowing in the wind entire studios xrayed into dust dried white ink ecstatic cocaine from America tooted absorbed by filaments of nose under crackling electricity science new alchemy science new sex science skating off film photography performance mirrorplay beats music sound experience infra-active dance wet tar goop abatoir worlds of sex art sex money sex fraud sex body
xray love
sex spray love
esprit love
Esprit 79
what is it but fast but faster but faster yet now slow now slower yet but still only fast
we are all xrayed now
light traveling at the speed of human who is artist who is human who is
light xray at the speed of silence of my traveling headlong through a throbbing ballet of dark and light bodies of absorbant sweaty seditionaries muslin rubber clunk razor leather jacket stud crumpet lickrise the streets of bodies crafting grunts between silences a punch in the face elbows to my knee and groin elbows to the back back of the neck back of the knee lancing my cheeks and at least they are releasing blood now—
we stompp stompp stompping
we skronkk skronkk skronkking
we moshing our way through the sewers of Paris meaning the World the World Damp—World Dank sliding crotches asses knee to the eye and groin boxing ear puffy with sound cement I’ve had every artist here saliva juices flung into my mouth eyes ears nose sprayed handcuffs cufflinks bras corsets leathers cottons shoved into my everywhere my everything one long rumble parade silver gold radium green eternal black punk white attacking a blood course
I may have glimpsed Picasso with one eye
Yves Klein Blow? Hell I don’t know. A candle was put out somewhere. I smell it when someone lifts my head off the trampling boots fighting high heels clawing at Made in France made in french cement slime
Fuck is that Picasso?
we are shredding and loving and bedding and wetting
the blur you catch is Life
ART RIGHT NOW RINGS CLARITY TO THAT
!etOUItsOUIte!
