CUNTY SCHOOL !!!!!

clothes, childhood and arrival (writing exercises from School of Cvntology)

MY TROUSERS ARE SEVEN YEARS OLD and there is a hole in the ass where it’s rubbed away. A Robert Mapplethorpe patch on each thigh, one of him sitting on a crucifix, and the other of him holding his dick, that i sewed on when i started recovery, so the believers would stay away. I felt to weak to protect myself back then from catholics. My shoes are three years old and i know i need new ones. The t-shirt i don’t know how old it is i found it in a punks car boot and it was the softest i ever felt so i sewed a zip in it for top surgery. The other shirt is one year old, a Vinniene Westwood mens navy. I brought it off vinted for stupid cheap. Before i got chance to see if it fit, and respond in the app, my brother had to wear it in court. Lucky because he had no shirt of his own. The one thing mum embossed on me about job centres and the law is, dress like you’re freedom depends on it. Maybe this is why i resent looking good. Amy Winehouse, Pete Doherty, Julian Assange, and Kate Moss i found out later, all went to court in Viv’s clothes. Say what you like about her as a pick me, or a fake punk, but the clothes have power and it worked for us and for Miss Winehouse.

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BEING A CHILD HAD COME TO ITS END. As did my feelings of wonder— the feeling i could fly. The world became hard. Where i’d bruise myself on its objects, suddenly foreign and separate to me. Before i had slept on a concrete floor as light as a cloud, owning nothing, not even a pride in it. Now i slept in terror. And even with new pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets i’d sweat myself awake in the night. Finding myself in a pool of water. Cold and hot extremes, as if i didn’t understand temperature. the glory of being truly non one to anyone of living from stealing, of being able to endure the most, of not being legally responsible for myself, of ruining my health and every oppunirty from anyone with any steak in society had, as unceremoniously as a British bearocraitic process, shattered. i suddenly saw what i guess other adults would see. a procession of degradation, ill health and tedious masocism inflicted on a kid, who came close to dying in a ditch.

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I ARRIVE THINKING I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS. For some reason i don’t know, it don’t matter how i am seen to others. i arrive on time. having just had a nice meal. i arrive knowing arrival is complacency. illusion. i arrive, thinking about leaving. thinking no, this is not it. i arrive on the earth as an explosion. not an entertainment. i arrive dropping things but catching them as they fall. Rehearsing that first fall when i got disconnected from the all. I arrive to myself and no one else.

IMAGE — I KNOW WHAT I AM / PEACE IS EARTHLY LOVE (page of my sketchbook from Maxe Candall workshop) fountain pen and gold metalic marker on lined paper.

TAHNKS FOR READING!!!!

The last three months i have been attending the School of Cvntology at House of Annette with weekly crits and workshops. If you want to see fruits of how cunty we have become in such a short time, it may not be too late to buy a ticket to our graduation this Sunday at Goldsmiths CCA !! If it has sold out, i’d say just sneak in!!!

FREE PALESTINE AND FUCK THE AUTHORITIES !!! NEVER FORGET ALL THE LABOUR AND LOVE THAT GOT US THIS FAR!! LOVE IS THE HOUSE AND THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS!!