Yellow Discharge In Underwear

State Hospital (in the era of big Anarchy). TWO

Edward Kienholz: The State Hospital . Interior (1966)

"... about an old man who is a patient in a hospital
mental .
He in bed, bound with belts
and naked.
Injured
.

has been injured in the stomach
with a bar
soap


(wrapped in a towel .)


His head is a lighted fish tank with two live fish
blacks.

is very still and not noise is
in the room.


old Above is a duplicate
exact
including the bed,

(the which will be placed

as a bunk) .

The body also has the tank top
and fish, and so on.

contained in a neon bubble ,
representing the thoughts of the old.


Your mind can not think
nothing can not go beyond
present. Caught
there ;

by the
rest of

its
life. "

, (Or \u200b\u200bsomething like that said Edward Kienholz)

PHILOSOPHY (my) mind.

wanted to start announcing that

" I am the box Ward19 "

and, as I said in the previous chapter, my mood

is the awareness that the world is divided into two categories of relief: those who know what's inside the box and those who ignore it.

I hope, romantically camped in uncertainty, early onset star any member of any group. I am a any that waits for any appear and say: " Hey man, I know what's inside you "or, by contrast," Jópeta, boy, I have not the faintest idea what hide. "Who comes is irrelevant. The important thing is to shorten the wait, and to expand the conversation. Only God Talk .

"The soul of man is precisely this man in other men. This is what it is, this is what has breathed, in what has been fed and drunk all his life consciousness. In its soul, its immortality, of life on others. So what? He has lived in the other and the other will remain " ( Parternak Boris: Doctor Zhivago )

Well. Open the machine cube dissolves mood: nobody claims ignorance or lack of information . Everybody knows what's inside of me . Trivializes my belly like Mishima for public knowledge, like

a nobody,

a John Doe .. ..

E. Kienholz: John Doe (1959)

If there are traces of dissatisfaction collateral that, not me accountable. I was never the Man of the Year.

Us - I with you - see the box Ward 19 inhabited by a ghost and double language. Two men lying on his miserable bed, drugged up to a quarter of death and with bruises on the abdomen, buttocks and arms. The above (B) is said the bottom (A) some complaint inaudible mode. Says

subhuman A:

- "My mood X can be described as a subhuman B endowed with the property Y, with Y "humiliated because someone has treated me with great cruelty" .

If we are honest - me and you - the human language translation insightful diagnosis of the case - told by the lower (A) showing the above (B) - has been work of our compassion; aesthetic look. I'll call

DISTANCE to this possibility of human language translation standard grammar of enclasutrados subhuman. The distance is to escape the pain and the hit (let the blow fall on another, more just we, of course, because no one stands to save your ass). The Distance is bringing massive other's pain, inhuman moan away our lives for the salvation of a perception of a whole: poems, theses, picture ...

All art is tainted by the slime filed to prevent the coup that blind and dumb. All art is constructed in the distance.

Word of the distance defines a third resident who humbles himself contemplating with cold eyes black fish that is not right: what happens in the box. Morbid scream therapy or prophetic hopeless.

The subject-phrase above (B) does not seem to lights. Prisoner of his sub-humanity lives, sub-humanity which is marked on the balloon that contain text such as below (A), another sub-human to be more precise, it mutated into a subject-drawing comic, comic-patient the effect of state intervention (dossiers, reports, informed consent, justice, action resocializing etc.) and professional action of the guards, psychiatrists, therapists, bad lovers, pharmacology, nursing and domestic friendlies hoarders of appeasement free homemade liqueurs.

down type guy upstairs said the explosion delirious dream of a bubo. ******

..... I say that I am now both men dominated and, on the other hand, am not one of them as I rise and describe - in distance - the sad dearth of my two avatars institutionalized.

Me I'm worth and self-pitying (being Distance hit me sinuous slink soap and towel).

I confess, I am the soul of the distance itself, intelligent face of the once seduced the man of the year ;

I have attacked the other two figures and tied her arms to the bars to strengthen their sub-humanity;

meen I let it (and run) on top.

accomplices have not needed

excúlpese every institution and company

excúlpese the family, the love that disappointed and spiteful, who raped us before that time and we killed half the conversation or left us with the word half as initiated the trip.


In the distance at which I looked beaten with a piece of soap wrapped in a towel to let the other galvanized memory. Impossible to think after the rain of hosts. I hit and I was institutionalized in this

Dream itself, in the pain itself that the violence of the belt and the beating baptized

****

My head is the container that holds that old hurt in the stomach with a bar of soap wrapped in a towel. Q WOULD LIKE lyophilized his misery and off odors. But no way out. I'm in the box with all your shit, with the hum of suffocation that comes to me. They will die one day and I'll last me a while as objective sign of death. The Estranged's glorious and I will be upheaval in the old self and its double.

Edward Kienhold (and Nancy Reddin Kienholz): Sollie 17 (1981)
*******

Metadiscourse . speak and me comes to mind the idea that Kienholz this facility is really very little actual . I guess the image that shows the alienation of man institutionalized in its cure / conviction is trapped in the spirit of the seventies as a genie in a lamp. And no Aladdin to apply massage to the appliance. Everything vibrates at Kienholz and my text annotator, in a way very similar to Joseph Beuys spaces . Filthy facilities seventies. An old man with urinary and colonic bags hanging like lint cyborg. As these objects we perceive the past but not having written to testify to their expiration. My eyes today, far from filled with anger, trembling and in Grandma's kitchen when the light was and boiled to 125 things in a yellow dust and grease. In Beuys Kienholz and ethics are extravagant or epic that Malpensante felt that only served to quickly seduce young art students thirty years ago. Today, all old, we too epic workmen '. Head comes to the Neighborhood.

*******

If my head is the box Ward19 and say that the installation seems like a gizmo parked for the time, that means that I too am outside the flow quo. "Ward X 19" s eans that (and only) X is unable to define a poetic dwelling his contemporaries. " I'm not oracle, do not open the future for my children. They will have to look for life. Killing the father to build and obtain certificates of habitability ethical and aesthetic. Well. I agree that I can not build the home of the future. Well.

certify death Marrameow kitty.

signs are planned Grand Anarchy in the shadow of lorazepam

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