Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Some recent Facey posts (for the less-connected)

October 21

Reading back through an old diary to find something I was working on (at least I amuse myself): " Believing in contemporary art is like believing in the tooth fairy, without the return on investment. In earlier ages of humanity, if the oligarchy wanted you to believe in some essentially silly control mechanism that served to affirm the power structure, they would at least offer you some kind of incentive to do so, that you might associate pain with reward. Not so now, because this system is perfect, and as such, already over." 30/4/15

October 25

More old stuff (self-satisfied shit kicker): "A now all-the-more-alienated peasant class deploring the triumph of technologies supposed to free up time (freeing up time from what work remains that doesn't demand of its author's consciousness)- ending in nationhoods of senseless mediation, the bureaucracy of Dead Souls, repurposed humanity. The lack of resistance is a hostile act on the part of a decentralised, deactivated humanity."

October 29

Last night: saw a woman carrying a Kelly Clarkson album under her arm, like, an LP, like, as in vinyl. The CBD is weird, man.

October 30

...Then, Claire, Alex and I were walking through Hyde Park and were stopped by tourists (peering intently into the trees) who asked us where they could find the koalas... to which we of course replied, "the zoo," much to their obvious disappointment... We then attempted to appease them with the possums... Alex pointed out something furry in the bushes... which turned out to be an enormous rat..

November 25 9:24 pm

Don't know what I am supposed to say about SCA, the latest casualty in this utterly corrupt city, as vulgar as it plainly is to lament the demise of an art school in these times. I never experienced the same connection to the former COFA (though I did to its student body), but even those first steps into an education without discipline, a non- or pseudo- education, gave me my life back after I had been so ill, hope for the self-determination that had seemed so impossible. And the prevailing culture (especially at COFA) took so much away throughout that process of assimilation and indoctrination, networking and art prizes, in place of the impulse that had driven us all there that I still believe is the unifying force, however naive or superstitious that may seem against the spectacle. I am unconsidered in my exegesis, attempting a Masters for some reason, without any pretensions to adding to "discourse" as they call this particular debasement of philosophy (which was normally ludicrously patriarchal to begin with), and unable to understand why I should create so much less, be less prolific in the name of some one-liner, in order to present myself accordingly. Frankly, I am bored with all the hostility directed at those expressing real criticality, and feel that those with anything more to say for themselves than that which they have learned by rote to manage the world in terms of their hopelessly redundant milieu, would tend to prove more generous in their approach to debate than those that I continuously am chastised by. Fuck what has become of art and all its schools. SCA was a good place for a time, a safe place, and I am more grateful for the generosity and support of the faculty and technical staff at SCA than I think they will ever know, but this is Sydney, where nothing like that even matters. Back to preying to the gods of accelorationism like nothing better ever happened to me. But it did. I do not want to live only to leave here, but I am struggling.

November 30 8:11am

Ninth day straight of work, it is my soul that's collapsing. My body is scaffolding with a CGI projection of my refurbished self printed on synthetic gauze, but the crumbling edifice is still just barely visible. I walk up to the cross to get something for breakfast and some workman tells me to "smile, it's Monday," like there's nothing like a bit of casual misogyny to remind you that you're a pretty girl, and pretty girls belong to the world. There is a Christmas tree next to the El Alamein (Dandelion) fountain, and I absentmindedly go for a closer inspection expecting needles and condoms, maybe even woven into the branches, but then I remember what year it is, and wonder why a Christmas tree seems so much more offensive than all of that that was there in the past... perhaps because I would seriously doubt the Christianity of those new residents that some public installation like that would be for, but then, that doesn't mean their children should go without santa. I've lost what joy there was to be had in fighting, it doesn't seem so funny anymore. I have failed and I have been failed, my worst projections: my refurbishment, any facade that I have to keep up for such a meagre share of the wealth. I have been told I can write, and that there must be something I can do with that, that maybe I could lecture, but I can see no way forward, I am as hopelessly bad at asking for help as I am at asking for companionship. Being good at communicating never brought anyone closer together.

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