The room filled with silent dogs, absolutely still, staring at me as I sit in the chair. I kept the door open as some sort of offering or opening to the outside world, an invitation, bring me your wisdom and set it before me like so much opal and offal and eyeball, but all that has arrived are the unclaimed dogs of the neighborhood, collected mounds of trash beside the boarded tenements so as to climb inside air ducts and feast on discarded chunks of roadkill baked in the sun until scentless and dessicate. Now they stare here, the expanse of their potential dominion, and all I can do is stare as I have abused opium this afternoon and now want nothing but to stare, to fall into the chair in microscopic steps over secretive hours in the light of the moon. I know I need to get the dogs out, as the compound is rife with delicate technology: decaying synths held together with homemade patch cords and aleaoric electricities, the basement vector processors grinding away, the fungal samples stored in the michael-jars covering the walls of the closets back by the alley exit slowing growing into inhalable forms. I attempt high-frequency ventriloquism, sending the dogs into the street, where they pounce upon a carriage, and I find the cordless phone somewhere in the folds of the chair, and I order a sandwich and beer and a dvd of the Levana Hidden Ballet's performance of Soyez Mysterieuses from the delivery service, and this delivery boy seems to appear instantly, and I warn him to shut the door, tell him to poison the dogs, I will pay him in mutt pelts and stained canines, and he stares at me until I attempt to throw my now-cold tea in his face to shake him from his lethargy but succeed only in spilling it on my bare feet.


Anonymous said...

I absolutely adore this. I want to adopt it. Have it printed on a tee shirt.(Can you imagine the chicks I'd pick up?!)

Astonishing(which I never say any more without remembering the scene from The Emerald Forest where the long-haired guy accompanying Powers Booth into the cannibal camp makes this exclamation shortly before being speared and eaten alive).

Anonymous said...

the useful content u provided do help our team's investigation for my group, thanks.

- Lucas

Is discharge Dada? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Dada..

Is discharge Fluxus? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Fluxus.

Is discharge art for intellectuals? No, discharge is for anyone and everyone who appreciates creativity in all its myriad forms. Be it static visual, audio or moving image; the written word or the deconstructed, non-linear form. The spoken word and noise.

All creativity is the springboard for discharge. It highjack’s a multitude of genres and disciplines and transposes them onto the internet. discharge is electronically transmitted art, be it via blog, myspace or whatever format possible, it can also be produced and seen in classic formats.

The discharge Chapbook. The discharge Building by Parts book. discharge has no rules. All contributors to discharge are responsible adults. discharge has no leaders although it has an elected body of rotating editors who oversee rather than dictate the flow of the group.

The aim of discharge is to profile creative people and to do away with the pretension of the art world. Everyday people creating art everyday to an exceptional quality.

Art by barrow boys and girls. discharge is international.