PUCE Put Under Conditional Extremes (a Maverick Postcard)

My box-o-postcards is less than half-full and I wonder how you make your stack stay still. I imagine them flying around and poking you in the head whenever you forget about me. Perhaps its just that I remember about you too much. I asked an artist, Nayland Blake, about how he did such personal work and he told me that you only feel bad about what you do when you start to use the word "too" too sappy, too sentimental, too sexual, too risky. People are always warning everyone to stay away from extremes. But don't we make art to push people out of their comfortable shells? Yet here I am, making art so that I can build up some shell.
I wonder if women shave of all their pride when they shave their legs - like Sampson. Occasionally, I wonder if I would like my hair more if boys didn't. This is what we get from all our feminist movements. Swaggering and staggering under to opposite forces - a push from our mothers to independance and a pull from our lovers of magnetic dependance. No wonder women can't make art. It's a wonder that we can stand up.
I write it cramped straight lines. I wonder if they are straight because they come from a rule at the top of the page or if it is because they are squeezed in such a small space that they remain perfect. Or if it is habit. Years of college ruled paper that my writing only used 1/4th of, so that all that regulation just seeps from this pen.
The Empire State Building is blue, white, blue, tonight and I wonder at the fact that I never knewbefore living here that it switched. It is my movie-insert snapshot for the passage of time.
I'm listening to In Between Dreams and its theme song for long distance relationships. I must admit to feeling slightly lost in my unspeakable ability to relate but. and yet. however. I must gather up all my verbal conditions to state thoughts. Unconditional. Who ever found a use for that word. The Church? And this is where my sanity comes under my questioning. But who ever heard of something that was "too" conditional? TOO much in context.
For her next trick - she will make art about fainting women caught in the nick of time by our hero. Or should we call it a trust fall? Then, in a feat of genius, she will tell the audiance what selecoxib is and why estrogen, testosterone and a certain brand of metabolic fungi have the same basic chemical structure. And finally, this brave young soul will wake up in the morning and carry out her day without puting on the slightest bit of armor. Yes, ladies and gents, she will stand up and, yes, walk outthe door without reassuring herself once. Your gasps are understandable ladies. But rest reassured that she can do it. Yes she can.
Yes she can.

Soft/Hard - a manifesto-ish

Oh blogger. How long since I've used you. I think I need to think. and not at a person. but typing seems to help. I'm beginning to think that I've been soft in a way that is unnatural for me.

I think the truth is that I don't care about nostalgia or exploring my feelings. What I really want to know is how much nostalgia has to do with the chemicals in my brain. If some day we will go into smoothie stores and can inject our kiwi juice with one shot of protein, one shot of iron and a double shot of Italy-flavored nostalgia.

A thought from a website; http://www.exitart.org/site/pub/about/mission.html "The first exhibition in this series was Paradise Now: Picturing the Genetic Revolution (2000), which provoked widespread discussion about genetic research and bioengineering in the cultural community, and brought a new scientific audience into Exit Art."

I suspect that all of my feelings are really just a series of chemicals. A complete illusion made of tromp-le-tete instead of tromp l'oil. I've spelled that incorrectly but I'm not sure that I can bring myself to care. Perhaps I will edit it out later but I rather doubt it.

My chemicals are unbalanced and I feel just a little bit dizzy sitting on the 6th floor of a building whose name I cannot pronounce.

My heartbeat is fast. good thing nothing about emotion has anything to do with my heart rate. just too much espresso.

Fuck kisses. What I need is espresso.

"I need to have my meds adjusted"

on I go.

I think I need everything except romance.

It'll be tough finding music for that state of being.