Justin D'Acci

ADUMBRATIONS

......Culling ballet between the absurd, dickish strongman & withered old witch [though unmaterialized, the dance goes on]...... drifting around in clustered, spectral clouds—toward some singularity?...... realms merge in specimen displays...... see the fugitives flee! (or else grovel for consumption by the boxed automaton)...... Small room with two portals and a masculine figure standing center. Behind the dolt is a door; before him, a mirror (each being the other)—each ornately framed. A feminine figure peeks in from the doorway to the dolt’s back. He sizes himself up in the mirror, which instead displays the peeper’s backside......

......Uncover legendary truths...... or be inextricably linked to a passing fad?...… the antipodal image: two stumbling legs bubble out from the molten well. As the beast treks on it sloughs old parts, leaving them to the dustbin of history; but these two, endlessly nurtured by the depths, stumble on, losing themselves into the future… and so they find eternal breath and go on groping through our night......

......Neither Crypto Surrealist acolytes nor rigid, zombified perversities—vampiric skinwalkers… something deeper and further…... To ingratiate oneself into a dead movement: clown as surrealist technique in the vein of concretized automata? No! It’s the surrealists who played in the tradition of clown! A particularized embodiment of that universal spirit. Thus the same Source courses along—however different, however same......

......Beauties rot and beauties seethe, in the rubble of humanity. Cowards rise and seek reprieve; fickle fingers slit their crease; flattened bastards on their knees; blades become a flock of geese; loose litigious lips be freed; vultures sup and swine excrete; losers leak from from whence they peed; cracks between the filth and greed; slithering lies digest the deed; simple fiends go forth and breed; devoted crocks concoct their creed; on and on unending screed, sing ye rubble of humanity!......

......Planetary soup of forms expels uncertain limbs… latent, unifying content: the dream within the dream within the dream…... some ancient alien temple coursing with Light, guiding explorers into its womb of mystic kitsch......

THE APARTMENT is a mind of its own—aberrant tumors looting life from basement crank, attic wank...

THE APARTMENT forges unity from scattered depths, stammers sick renditions of the divine hymn...

The apartment of THE APARTMENT hereby christens itself as Droll...

(Formerly, I announced that a colony of moths would be present for the show, thriving off a dead man’s macaroni and Kix behind an interior window... I regret to inform you that the moths have been dealt with.)

Love & Loathe,

Justin D’Acci