Slapdash Organism, or Yes, please, I would appreciate the receipt

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It is a trick of magic for works to deny the censorship they promote.  If the reaction to an offensive speaker is to demand that the program at which he appears be cancelled, then the reaction is all there is.  Pardon me for making my narcissism part of the conversation, but . . . 

I like to tell the story of the hanging gardens of Babylon with an asterisk that I know of Babylon only through the work of The Rolling Stones, not beggars banquet either.  

Tristan Tzara suggested that an authentic act might involve running through the street with a gun, shooting indiscriminately.  If only we could presently cancel authenticity . . . I once bought a glock 9 mmfrom a friend as a birthday present for my father.  It was not whatever the opposite of patricidal ambition is.  The gun had a button, when depressed, shone a light that traced wherever the barrel pointed.  If you don’t think that’s cool, even if just at an atavistic level, then you did not grow up on the movies I grew up on.

The authority figure’s thing was wanting  his honesty to be pungent and to be praised like a pugilist, as though bluntness was a seduction method above and below sophisticated deflection. His exhibitions betrayed this habit of mind and then some.  Straight talk about old people and senescence is far less art-world salient than revolution and the exchange-value of misanthropy. Four white walls yes you could ask for more but let’s start with accepting what’s on offer before we order off menu.