All artists are alike. They dream of doing something that’s more social, more collaborative, and more real than art. —Dan Graham

Everybody who cares for his art seeks the essence of his own technique

Family at Christmas.

There are far too many of you.
I am painted over.
I am wallpapered in your presence.
Christmas is: painting and decorating.
I am trussed up with tinsel.
I am hung, stuffed with cloves.
Wrapped and well-ribboned.
Dripping with mincemeat.

I am ashamed.
Another year.
I am done up.
Overdone.

I become misshapen. Disgusting.
I turn away.
If I am lost it is in these smiles.
If I am shy; if I am shy-?
I am never shy!
I am so shy.
Accepted, I have no place at the table.
I am the newcomer.
The outsider.
There are not enough chairs.
I do not remember why I am here.
I do not remember you.
Is this your baby?
Who's baby is this.

Red Band

Standing in the shower,
Muttering half-sentences over and over,
I curse myself.
In the same breath I try to allow myself to live.
I curse the thoughts that curse my nature.
I stretch out one wet hand.
I summon myself in the shower.
I call to my hand.
Where is.
What is.
How is.
I know that I will want to write this down.
I refuse to suppress any impulse.
I am warm. And I am wet.
I have no pen nor paper,
No water-proof dictaphone,
No quill and ink,
No waiting scribe,
No biro,
No cast,
Nothing.

Tomorrow I am cartographer of my mind.
Tonight, poetry.

Repeat After Me

Take 8

Take 7

Take 6

Take 5

Take 4

Take 3

Take 2

Take 1

Let Me Be Lonely

You want boring?

Long time no see

I think this is gonna be haemorrhaging for a while. But rule no.1 is never apologise, so sorry.