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How many times has the alphabet pinned me heavy to the fat back of a spinning celestial rock? How many bouts have I lost against language itself? 

Twenty six letters, and if I could just put them in the right order. What an odd act of faith, trying at all, to represent the heat and electricity of conscious life as anything other than a desperate surrendered moan.
 How thick is the world? How thin and hopeless are our bones braced against it? Not that defeat isn’t it’s own privileged grace. To feel the weight of the globe thunk against the tiny chamber of your heart. And let it crush you.

How to Cope

Imagine all of your stress and anxiety as a rock. Grip that rock in the palm of your hand. Feel the weight of it. Toss it up and down. Put it in a pile. 

How to Cope: Expanded Artists’ Edition

Mine for new anxieties to use until you’ve built a mountain of rocks with a hollow center. Crawl inside. 

Invite people to your cave. Give them a tour. Say to people: Here is my rock collection! Smile wide and point emphatically: Someday I’m going to polish them!
cool / sad job: professional laugher
Dad + Rainbow

deal with it

a little bit softer now, a little bit softer now, a little bit softer now
when times get tough keep clicking
Hangin with  Eske
mixed media on canvas
sometimes laura owens hides paintings behind her paintings, apparently. It’s not a logical thing to do. A lot of her work is a bravado effort at frustrating logic, visual or otherwise. That energy runs counter to the subject matter; simple, silly, joyful. 

Laura Owens whitneymuseum Biennial 2014
Extra careful (at PUDGE KNUCKLES)
Justice and liberty pharrell
Werkin late / late werk
every life is a slow poem about death