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AFH Transmissions From Marfa

Art for Humans presents an American Odyssey by Paul McLean [with Tommy Robbins].

Of course, finally, I only believe my own work. -Donald Judd, 1965

www.artforhumans.com
art [at] artforhumans [dot] com

29
Jan

SNAPSHOT

Somewhere

Beyond the concrete (scanning – the artist in mourning)

The sun will set over Malibu’s edge of the world Pacific horizon .Orange disc above the Equitable highrise, through my filth filmed windshield, tinting the interior of my vehicle, as I zip along a cross-town thruway toward Silverlake beyond Planet Hollywood (and the star of the slums of Beverly Hills’ fake breasts)

the sun descends into the sea

A scary monster in residence in the shell

Of a street drunk who used to be a minister

Flicks a bottle cap at my car making a face like an Inuit mask & I destroy him

Thunder

Missing the record by a few tenths of an inch

A couple of kids swept away by the runoff up on Baldy

Bob didn’t believe when it happened in Austin

Even when it burned up his car &

Shut off the lights along South Congress

…A naked nymph at Barton Springs believed, tho

Attended by two young bearded warriors

With fierce flashing eyes and a towel

In the twilight, perfect kids doing flips off

The diving board

Kata

Negotiating tight turns in stop/go traffic in the International 24-foot box truck weaving through the crazy daily Angeleno Oil fueled race for an image that means poon, millions, mansion, membership, access, instant recognition, More

Chain smoking American Spirit lights and drowning in Redeyes

From Starbucks (Basquiat knew the value of branding)

It was either the de Kooning rat shit or the George Washington portrait or it was Abraham Lincoln’s hat –

Who knows? Maybe it was that tenement apartment on La Brea where the 40 huffin dailies played with radio controlled cars, concocting their own entertainments, while we idled on the paved incline, waiting for the light to change.

Poem

Or maybe it was the turning leaves of Virginia, or the 25’ swells of Kauai off the ledge at Princeville with a certain

Conservator, a sparrow eating pastry crumbs from the palm

Of my hand, or the Night Marchers in what’s his name’s backyard, or Honu in the reef, amongst the dazzling fish bodies… I need to get back to Nashville to shoot some

Negatives. John G is on the River 500 wilderness water miles north of Minneapolis, Shane cuts loose in Hollywood, concocting scams for Fred Segal buyers, import/export connecting Tennessee with Cali & the world & my girl lost to Yale, my enemy forever, my boy in Santa Fe, my boy in Santa Fe.

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