Unabashedly pretentious musings on noise, shitposting, and other cultural forces.
I’d pay good money to see a mnemonist at this point, to go back to a place I’ve never been and witness this weird and beautiful act of remembering.
This experiment reveals the value of sharing work with people in the world. Even if it is something as dumb as a DIY Peloton servic
The overwhelming volume may have disappeared, but there’s still a collage of noises that fill the isolating gap. It just falls on us to make sure we hear them.
The line, apparently, was cat buttholes.
The show poses a simple question: why does western civilization still buy into this ridiculous concept of a family?
The dumpster fire that is this global pandemic, this technicolor late-stage capitalist wonderland, rages on as a certain melancholy sinks in. Whether I’m grieving or not seems unimportant.
[It's the hope that comes from] the banal routine of landing the same dumb goof over and over again, sometimes for decades.
A brilliantly human gesture filled with an insistence of beauty and power, one of many similar gestures within the group’s discography.
The enormity and power of the cultural institution that is the Garfield canon cannot be understated.
Every single object in the entire world makes sound if you whack it hard enough.
Since this show came out last year it no longer matters and is dead to me and the rest of the world. I spit on it’s grave and will never speak of it again. Except for all of the times that I do.