X

The movements here are the strokes of thoughts tasked to rest the cases of inks. The resultant bodies that become apparent settle on blackened grounds. Perplexed coordinates are activated by stunned highlights. Emboldened lines fall, roll, run towards measured inaction, just to let thoughts wander again.

/EM/

Y

Should I begin to paint, write, or smoke? Asked the man who held an incredible liking towards setting agendas. The way to attain infallibility, he once had heard, was to set your mind to doing only one thing. And doing that one thing alone could be precursor to the elimination of everything else, where everything else would not matter, and where everything that will not matter would cease to exist. He also held an incredible proof for this:

“You see, my wife have started recently to learn to play the ukelele, at age thirty-eight. Some might say that’s too old for somebody to start playing the ukelele, but my wife went on playing anyway. She decided she would only play the ukelele and nothing else, which immensely benefited her towards achieving infallibility. She has come so close to eliminating everything except the sound drawn from the ukelele, and this, I would say, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

And so the man, who was so fond of agendas, asked himself again: should I begin to paint, write, or smoke? The man was only a year older than his wife, but he, too, felt old. Now, eager to hear someone else’s opinion, he turned to his wife, and asked, should I begin to paint, write, or smoke? But his wife, who had eliminated everything except the sound of the ukelele, gave no answer. Finally, the man who was terribly addicted to agendas decided to craft his question in the form of ukelele music, and started to analyze which verse rings best:

Should I begin to paint, write, or smoke?/Should I begin to smoke, write, or paint?/Should I begin to write, paint, or smoke? Et cetera, and went on to discover nine variations with nine different melodies to choose from. And while he was doing this, his wife thought silently, “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

/CL/

Z

Act with Fatal Approach

Bourgeoisie Conversation with Cosmic Disgust

Critical Ego

Dialogue with Aesthetic Figure

Extracts from Modern Feeling

Fatal Autobiography

Geometric Season

Hardly Visible Sentiment

Intimate Abstraction of Hate

Joint Dialogue with Mechanical Purity

Kinetic Idea

Landscape with Undefined Metamorphosis

Memories of Unconscious Departure

Nude Decreasing an Idea

Ode to Burning Portfolio

Present & Boundry

Quotidian Conclusion

Reality Superimposed

Smaller Morphism

Tremulous Response

Unconscious Aviator

Vanishing Design of Childhood

Wayward Sequence

X

Y

Z

/VB/