Mueller Day

Originally posted on April 18th…

This is one of those days the things we say in art seem thin and pointless in the context of this context. I was reading The New Yorker. Someone wrote about a hamburger joint with expensive food and crowds around the block as if this was a time anyone can read about hamburgers, good or bad, and their toppings. I wake up happy to be alive until I remember the thing that has happened and the techno creeping slide and lurch to this. No one knows that to call this. What is said about this is sawdust. The flowers at the market, I think, You can’t help. Looking back is irrelevant. Now is everything, and now makes the way we spend time unseeable. It’s the blank, ugly white of a giant cataract and unshot film sputtering along in a projector. I understand alcohol since two years ago.