It’s a sunny day, I’ve slept too much – doing nights take their toll, the work is sedentary but still I feel like I’ve walked a thousand miles; I could sleep for a thousand years in return. A new release by Suburban Architecture plays, I read the News, I read more of the same old thing: the ‘Special Relationship’ isn’t very special at all, and David Cameron is as inept as they come, the Empire seemingly indifferent to The Great Bear devouring The Little Bear, for it has what it wants – Europe eating itself. A gender critical feminist laments a woman playing a man – more nepo-babies spilling the LARP of their luxury beliefs into make-believe, as the unimaginative Hollywood mill drones on. It’s all so fucking predictable, so fucking boring – so fucking mind-numbingly tedious. The world is Hell, whether it’s the horror of Gaza, Ukraine or the soul-sucking, meaningless din of a culturally homogenised West. The sun fades to a blank screen, nothing more will be and nothing will change; the human story is over and **spoiler alert** the ending is now: an evolution from cycles to bland repetition. There will be no revolution, you will not be able to turn on, tune in, drop out; no art, no love, no joy, no romance, no spontaneity, no liberty – merely compelled participation in a Warholian nightmare. He saw what was coming though I believe even he would wince at now, for even then he found himself feeling lonely, but at least there was fun to be had, unlike now – everything so controlled, monitored, recorded, siloed, market driven. I believe likewise Duchamp wanted the urinal to fail and the fact that it didn’t is tellingly unfortunate. Nevertheless, there was freedom to revel in absurdity, there was fun to be had, unlike now. Art is truly dead, for it has become the now. The hardest totalitarianism to defeat is one where people believe they are free. I walk among the trees, a breeze bristles gently through the firs and I wish I could stay … disappear into Wonderland, roam free forever, and forget the oppressive, conformist, predictable march of the endless now.
April 2024
© Percival Alexander