Josef Koudelka

Leaving the Academy, I suppose I went.

I need some strong spells,
so completely distracted from duty
some tin foil wrapped around a corsage found winters later
Why wouldn't you try not working?
Whose brave enough?
We have enough cream
seeing everything the same.

This days weed tastes of cinnamon
and a forest after the rain,
I've taken to the out doors, cover
discarded for the thrill of the open sun.
the surf is juicy and the surfers are dumb.
My knee is still sore
and it may never heal
Child hood hero's go out , proud
As they always were


The Architecture of her bra lifts
thick folds of fat from her belly
to enclose fields like poppies
puppies sitting up begging to
be plucked like a marshmellow
into thy mouth as if it were
a stomach. the body snaps
has at half
a whole mouth.
Takes it in
a pellet at a time and yet my
scorn tells me that I'm in need of
feeding of feeling fed from it.
To love a breast is to crave
the softness from the sail, the billow
under a frozen sea where
homelessness could be lost for a second
and the heart beats out of control.

This is a scene from Big
Wednesday, it is wednesday - I
sit at the newly installed park
benches over the break, where
a lone surfer a waits in suit
a skater older than me chats
with a dork, He's legit a good skater,
but runs a skate shop. Other heroes
turn up in real suits and sun glasses,
Must be in real estate advertising
must be cause of the accent (wanker)
He's come with a slacker busy body,
a stunt doubles stand in and man
I'm pissed. But i remember I'm the
Bear from the beach house, i'm the
spirit of '62', I'm the notion of freedom,
freedom from being untrue, I look
like a dork but i'm the least dorky
speaking to me will reveal this
to be tru. But you surfer are
a wanabe and you're scared of
me, cause i see you, getting it
wrong, and enjoy it.

The youth have hardly changed, in
case they look exactly like as i did
in Youth I was a cad.  My Anti-
fashion was fashion, minimalism pop - threads
black, grey brown I don't wear blue
jeans, them's for slaves, where as I
see they do well that's not changed.
I feel so radical now
in the sun, Aperture open
Eye my little camera i have
note pad to a threat
Public witness statistician.
The odds of anyone remotely thinking
bout the data status of the life
before me, renders relevance through
the rafters before God that is a
mouse that leaks...

Surfers are still the ones who dare
movement,
A public body Acting strangely,
a stretch, a lie down,
a scan of the seas horizon,
lining up the seas shore
fat thrills and folly. Oh I'm sure
of that.
Only who'd want to look at
that body nearly naked now
either sports man or crew,
either he man or no man,
While wild man he got away.
wild mans body was his own, he
rate more that any woman. he'd
stand in silence buzz love a song so
heard by creation, god knelt. to
The tune maker, a life

Mobiles are clouds
do fractals, anti-kaleidoscopes 

A surfer learns a lot by watching others,
and deconstructing pictures, we think we are
our heros the gods of athletes

People grow more beautiful the more their
lives have been under threat.
A beautiful baby quick to pale, not so nice
life twice,
Writing this poem I'm astonished at how
powerful I am, crush and virtue go
hand with hand. I keep the poor
for they are like me.

I approve of what I like
I make a point of littering anywhere I go,
why deprive myself of a living
I didn't pay for this, how could I
I'm a bum,

I looked at her
for a moment  she you could see was happy,
a cracked sunshine refracted intensely around
a bunch of mirror shards, against a wall
of warm laughter, I was stunned,
her noticing me face says 'remember
your not sexy' and she is, On a hill
I sit and my beacon Red hat has her lost
to my affection, support famous love.

Which means give me anything or nothing
to distract me from this life
so I can
On the library steps, I record
thought already had on the boardwalk
where across from Icons the cities pub
past the real living invisibles getting smashed
under the bridge, I take note, of
the given harmony. the war perhaps has
given slip. Slipped over under
Until online can you hear it
the war has gone under
into the online underground, My cultured
response to day light is art my night time
culture in gang banging, I'm the key and
her hole, king and her horde,
Play self at the center market
On life duality
A wee wand waved pertuity
by subject youth in full blown costume.

But here comes the fashionable ones, who pull through
the shards of time to patch quilt a sketch
of rebellion the thinking crew of skepticism
It's here It's there it's everywhere
for a moment with the young at heart.

The word I'm looking for is "Pertuitity"
I ask of all people a security guard who directs
me to the desk to just my luck the Head
Matriarch sits perfectly helpful "where would
I find the Dictionaries, - 400's I think,
Section D, Yes that's it under languages - Yes of
course! How silly of me, the Oxford first
then the Collins street slate tombs,
Remember searching for a word,
you go by smell in a forest
For the river, sounds like, feels like,
looks like, there are other words,
that interest, the word the way I think
it is not there,
I just hear it call to me
like a person despite everything wouldn't mind a little
company.
She pulls down the cleavage of her t shirt
a little apparently to adjust her bra,
she's 16 - maybe, I look I have to,
I look up at the word pipe, as she
waits for me to interject, computer put away,
I notice a hidden streak of pink behind
her ear as she gazes over my left
shoulder. Facing me the next desk over
I go to check my phone. anything to help
bring a conclusion to this scene.
I pull out my camera, and try to hide
it she notices - I put it down behind the tombs
and pick up my phone,
flustered it may be a camera, she
leaves walking towards me. I'm on the
toilet aisle, perhaps a connection.

I don't want to sell to arsholes,
but perhaps once I've sold to loved ones,
Arseholes would be a lot of fun.
Arts always reveled in the Baseness of
Market values I don't see why I am
any different, I seek to sell this, this
depravity, or rather its been bought, By
you dear public - the thought of it must
shudder - you too could be unemployed,
a vacant space upon the grid accumulating credit
till time says lets drop - and the purse of
bowls tingaling, our sound

Turning of pages its new surface
regenerated to an indifferent smoothness
polished by hate by an unhappy machine too
richly run. Maybe its petuitity

I Asked, not knowing how to smell it
I could not know where to look
and she looked into me, like a peek
that goes on for a lot longer
I wallow in her grey eyes searching out
the whites and find none but there
lies a marble of fertile ground layers
of no turning back and for a moment
her alcoholism touches swords in honor with
my stonedness, Per petuity we both have
trouble saying it, but that's it that's the
word. A thing that lasts forever or
for an indefinite period, in particular
a bond or other security with no fixed maturity date.

The rites of All present All season,
We've never topped the bicycle, as
we drown now in car bonnet done up
against a tide too impossibly big not to
drown, what cast a glance against Anything
in your vicinity, is better than
the bicycle for its scale and effect
for and both to the body, environment
and you know, I travel.
on a thin wheel my speed is

Dave Hickey

Take that Gavin Hipkins

The World never
stops being beautiful
The Sublime,
excruciatingly
glides
by time,

Dual twin brothers,
lost to a wolfs Mother,
'Time gentlmen
It's time,
Last Drinks,'
First smoke, All the aboard
the train to civilization,
Where everyone takes
their time.

Kids in playground
has perpetual motion machine,
Using his weight he can
swing it in Gravity
Worlds longest swing
whose done the world longest swing.

you pushed against two particles
to stand between,
a heart pushing at the weight of the solar system
travels to light the bonfire
of death
warming life
like hot water
in winters spring

ART ARISTOCRACY

http://books.google.co.nz/books?id=458hLESUpzIC&lpg=PA70&ots=p2uE90OnUG&dq=art%20aristocracy&pg=PA70#v=onepage&q=art%20aristocracy&f=false

The Disertation, By cambell Walker

The man who split the back of nature had a sense of humour. from Tao  Wells on Vimeo.


Notes on a film by Cambell.
First off let me note that i drew adown a bit from my little bong, my litte mambia the cobra of singing nettles, lightbulb, other wise here, forth know as, little monster. Takig pipe in
hand my macbook, (given to me by my rich, glamourous, beautiful cousin who lives on the corner of West 21sit ad 82nd st.) I notice full screen, that the quality of the medium he is shooting on is pureposefully dense, bright and rich, colours are pure intense and focused, This is post super realism people this is high definition, stop to think subtle sinificance of that shift, - (I can't Right no think, cause I am speeding, to get to my fanale) here with Cambell you are visiting the frame, you are the camera, you breathe, but you are a camera, you watch.. past the point of humanity... and that is cambells point, the visitor steps through the frame with contemplation, and extended gaze, a delay, in glass... illuminated illumination,  high definition.. is another point  )...  perhaps implying information age.. i dunno. I'm out of clasps) - The opening shot is masterful, the Narrsissit, Icarus, whose bailed from his assignment, the one given to him By the GOds,, -(Always his parents, you?) And then the most extroordinary thing happened, he actually proposes and then does the Big Shave by martin Scorese, the epic undergroud piece of kudos in the underworld of the art A-G (Avant-garde). - where he shaves - like Cambell - But scorese cuts up his face - Cuts it up. The ultimate edit. And i sit there realing the Genius - he's going to make me get up and leave because of the homosexual intimacy of privacy that by medium be is invading - erasing this fronteer by creating it in his own image - the boudary maker, Cambell Walker, And here is the Best part - I get up and leave  - knowing perfectly
That he would keep going, would become the warhol of film ad Empire my arse for nine hours - I would leave But the film would be left still Running - I would want to be in his presence while I visited the kitchen to watch the birds, which have infested this particular garden with an abandonment of uch wild animal status that my constant source of distraction is their meriment and its display in the trees, - I come back from visiting Bird land to find Cambel cutting himself up - wrist cheek, neck, I am Repulsed

By his war paint - where is his blues?
Red Reds not the colour, Red's
not a colour, Blood is Black,
BLACK I SCREAM AT YOU,
CAN'T YOU TELL THIS'S A TRick
THIS SNICKERY THIS IS ART
ALL ART IS THE ART OF THE
CONJOURER THe TRick of a
TRICKSTER, HEY You THis >
is what Reality looks like... oh.
Boy I took the Wefare train
of Reality to out hereness and
oh - you know what you get a
pretty lear view of the
fuckers who are the minority who
are pulling all the strings....

He washes his face again,
more moved on than whole
circle - maby it's the sho of the
platone window light, with
curtain thrown asunder,  Fading
Jingle theory of a perfect guitar
sendiment grinding off the emptyness
left by the intent intensity
of the ending......

Hey Cambell what do you think of that Review...

I have to go to the supermarket instead of KFC (I want their coleslaw) to get something real has to be sustainable, cafes are too expesive and there's no culture..

I have found
that by asking the same or similar
questions on the nature of existence,
that are asked by the Record of humanities illuminated select,
and by sourcing my authority in the same or similar
substance of a privileged experience; (and this experience being
comprised of nothing less than the existence of the question appearing simulateously with the linear quality of my response) -
I have by default made myself at odds with the way the world predominantly works.

Day light War

In Count down, Whanganui, some artist has put yellow lights in, rains down on the store like somethings wrong. As I enter to that familiar tune and the swivel of the head particular to my prostration, like everyone in the store knows each other and for a moment it's like "Hey, I know you well". Happily down an aisle I ask Laura not to dance, Why, she asks, Be cause it will kill me, I say.. The pressure is intense and then I'm spat out the end, check out.   

 A sunset is a recall, a declaration
I wonder if I'll ever see you again


The girls hair thick like a broom looks padded with glue her pasty white flesh a dimple as her shy german accent flattens her fragrant kiwi bolstering and I have to run away -  when I recognize in this sound the trapped human inside the crabs shell, serving me.


The sunset, a hole in which to 
see through to the center pole 

Outside I witness the broken command grind through a previous civilization kudos for age - the elder watches me with uncomfort, the way trapped prey looking down at you with a shot gun against your temple looks. Facing a customer that doesn't question her customs delivers endless joy - the kind an artist, artisan, technicrat, fascist dictator has for order. Everything agreeing - I photograph her and I see the daylight war, before me.

Capitalism and Schizophrenia - The Trailer (Grand Theft Auto Edition)

Made by Dick Whyte

 

My neighbours I know myst be freaks casue thet are playing a real hard ball game at appearing inconsequental. The insanity to maintain such an appearance is suffocating to say the least.

Advertising meats like any other week

(Advertising is a lot like conversation.

Selling a point of view

 In a way we all know it

 So

IT sells itself

We call this..

Genius)

Along come a jingle

A lyric with a rant

Of hypnotality

Youd have to sell it.

Time for a safety,

Smoko

In the burrough

A story safely of

 Journey taken

 Amongst wrecks of open sea

Friends like these

Leave for Africa

To fight in the liberation army

They are idealists in Virrelos concept

Of concepst destroy flows.. all flows

All perception.

Art Aristocracy is

A battery

 The cells of black and white carbon

Dating the charred romains of thoguth

 Processes 2000 years  old

 The super cosmic deoartment store

 Ot the illusion of options.

The maufacture of surplus desings

In a area of before was relativ and nessessary

Almost exclusively even if some of those objects were generously tokens of magic or logis. Operating systems upon this world….

“She just through me a perfect look where she made the point of raising her eyebrow in a sardonic mater, authoraive but with graet humour and hi jinx, this accomplishment requires an audience finely attuned tot this type of performance, There is a opposite attracts aspect to each others attraction, One it happens, and it’s more thean flaesh post flesh beyond, behind, with out, inside, in love, lovi. “

“he’s like OH MY GOD”

“are you tying everything I say”

“yes”

OMY GOD”

He is, he sitting right across from me typing…

“That sound great, “

you know that

that’s what…

umm

that’s what bob Dylan did

 yeah

when he was living in grench village, (MEAN TIME)

yeah

what

that sounds like a great idea

 I’mjealous

 Oh yea we don’t even have tha option which im  jealous

Yeah

Yeah

Tao really likes analying all kinds of stuff

TV IS THE CONVESATION
THE ADS THAT ARE RHYTHICALLY
PROGRAMING OUR LIVES
 THIS IS THE SONG OF THE MACHINE<
THE SUPER SOUND
 OF THE INNNER
 MACHINE OF LUST WE HEAR A CRWOD AND WE PERPETUALLY WANT TO SE WHAT THE CROWD IS SEEING SHOUTING ABOUT < EXCITED< AND WE CAN NEVER EE E PAS THE BACK OF THE HEDS OF THOSE WTACHING SEEIGN REAL LIFE>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“you discribe the story perfectly , about Jan and the television…

I think it’s 70 return

70 return , nah

that was way cheepr the Auckland

 and we paid more like 80

oh cool, leaving in Aril

oh yeah

 I haven’t relaxed yet I’ve been tense for a long time,

I’m starting to sound lliek a robot, oh it’s the line, I was dreaming  ok mybe I have to go cause the reception is cutttin gme out…

Aos good we’ve got a system, so he doesn’t have tot have to get fulltime emlymets

 Whera as in Taiwan it was like

Get a job now

 It was so stressful

We are so hapy to be back

 It was so stressful

 We took to long

 We should have come back earleies

R we werere too dedicated,  or something

Ay way thanks for calleing we should go

 Oh did you get my message that I left on your machine,

 Oh maybe ive been calling the wrong phone, oh yeah there was an answer maching

 Oh you don’t check your messages,

Oh

 Fnny

Yeah

Well

 Yeh it doesn’ tmater case you called,

It was  afunny message any way, I said hi I’lll call you tomorrow , but I didin’t I sent a email a month later, to my brother, who I also treated such, said e waited by te pone fr lef a day..

Ha ah

 I hope you werne not like that

 Ha aha

I don’t kow il’ve got to go to bed soon early

I’ve got to bake bread tomoorw

 We’ve been at this great plave where tao is making a documentary about it..

I see it as an issue around ownershp of land,

Surplus

He incredible effort of not doing anything, well…

I’m gonn use  big part of my life reading

I want to take 3 or 4 months reading doystovsky,

Or read for years the shock doctine, and burroughs dreams…

For Kurt Cobain, 90's artists, and you

Laura Shepard

Sump oil & motor oil on paper (1500x1500mm)

I'm in love with my fan and my fan loves me.

http://www.wayfarergallery.net/hot-images/?p=1384&cpage=1#comment-7268

I'm Insane, medley; Dinosaur Jnr, followed by Dinosaur Jnr followed by Sonic Youth, followed by notes on Virileo's "Art and Fear"

I know Yer Insane

Everyone see to came

I use such restraint

Whats left around me

is there to me

Cant waalk with you

THis is overdue

and it spills from you

COme on out

Feel the pictures

As they warn you

Bottom out, it's good for you

it can be real

Nothing like a picture of you

Canot follow you along

So you have a ways to grow

Cannot follow you alone

Dreams are not themselves

Dreamt with out living it

Its har do tell

when the day begins

Its the evil twin

let it out.

Wrap te beat

around you endlessly

all doubt

has been good to me

you can't be this

nothing like i picture it

giving me a chill

nothing like i ppictures this...

I'm insane

If I ran away today

Will youpull me back tomorrow?

Took some time to arrange

With trust, space will follow

OUt to find the things you need

Your connections hard to swallow

Still things you tell me when

Your eyes track me down, keepin you hollow

Throat starts to drain

Ive done it way too may times to go away

Gone in a state, by my water

Can you bring it back to me

Will you follow?

And how'd you get away

If Iran away tomorrow?

Took some time to arrage

Your connections hard to swalow

I know youre somewhere, I'm insae

It's your needs onmy brain

Smack me out, our eyes exchage

TO have the strenth to stake my claim

Have you placed it?

I cant taste it

Will I waste it?

Cant trace it

Time to face it

NOw gonna go away

I know you're somewhere, I'm insane

Its your needs on my brain

Smack me out, move on with chage

TO have the strength to stake my claim

I know you're somewhere, I'm insane

Its your needs on my brain

Smack me out, move on with chage

TO have the strength to stake my claim

Im insave Sonic youth

Love starved backwood teaser farm girl hot eyed bride

stone cold blonde a quivering menace atomic wallop wholesale

murder

we wat out

we fish at night

tough towna cruel touch

sailors leave

Sirens screaming

lap of luxury

a show of violence

take off your mask

lay off my brother kiss my fist

sop t nothing

a steam swamp

ad a troubled heart

the sky is red

and i can't stop running

her baby stares

the secret's there

So help us god

i'll swing at your funeral

the stubborn air

the killer mob

A red bone woman

A double cross

Big fake bitter love underbelly freezing jungle

One step more he;ll stir your senses scratch your surface and nail your head

Murded angels

bodies in bedlam

a woman scorned

you cant hang me

tied to my job a blast scene alibi tied to a tree in a blind alley

nothing before

a big fear

Don't get caught

by her fathers friends

swamp girl faded

the tiger's wife

a frenzied love

hot climate

twisted passions

flesh parade

dead ahead

a world so wide

Big river love camp

The house boy and hill girl

the agony column

dont crowd me

it's time for crime

strange breed river girl's misery index

inside my head my dog's a bear

she was significant

i'm insane

Consequently, Virilio questions a political correct­

ness that presupposes a terroristic, suicidal and self­

mutilating theory of art. Making links between

contemporary art and genetically modified seeds

bearing the label 'terminator', he is trying to find

an image of pitiful art that exists outside of the

conditions of bio- or 'necro-technology'. Refusing

technoscientific 'success' at any price, Virilio insists

on a cultural critique of scientific experiment,

technological inhumanity and deformity.

In our

day, however, the question according to Virilio is

whether the work of art is to be considered an object

that must be looked at or listened to. Or,

alternatively, given the reduction of the position of

the art lover to that of a component in the

multimedia academy's tybernetic machine, whether

the aesthetic and ethical silenc. e of art can continue

to be upheld.

Virilio is from time to time in

danger of staging a debate with only himself in

attendance.

What is absolutely vital for

Virilio is the technological means by which con-

temporary art has abandoned its passion and sexual

force. Conversely, it is important to stress that he is

undoubtedly concerned not to characterize con­

temporary art in opposition to theory or aesthetic

fervour, but to distinguish it as a pitiless and

emotionless reaction to the disastrous circumstances

of hypermodernity. As a result of such heartfelt

aesthetic declarations, Virilio is quick to single out

the hypersexuality of contemporary pornography as

the most recent source of pitiless representations and

sadistic ideas.

Virilio wants to recognize that in video

and film, TV and on the Internet, Auschwitz

inhabits us all as a fundamental if often repressed

component of contemporary processes of cultural

globalization. Today, as a result, art, according to

Virilio, confronts the predicament first identified by

Walter Benjamin, that is, of imagining that barbar­

ism and warfare will 'supply the artistic gratification

of a sense perception that has been changed by

technology'. In jeopardy of preoccupying itself with

virtualized self-absorption, contemporary art, Virilio

argues, as well as humanity, has attained such a

level of'self:'alienation' that it can now 'experience

its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the

first order,.9

This evening we are not going to talk about piety or

impiety but about pity, the pitiful or pitiless nature

of 'contemporary art'. So we will not be talking

about profane art versus sacred art but we may well

tackle the profanation of forms and bodies over the

course of the twentieth century. For these days when

people get down to debate the relevance or

awfulness of contemporary art, they generally forget

to ask one vital question: Contemporary art, sure, but

contempormy with what?

When I visited the Museum at AUSCHWITZ, I

stood in front of the display cases. What I saw

there were images from contemporary art and I

found that absolutely terrifying. Looking at the

exhibits of suitcases, prosthetics, children's toys, I

didn't feel frightened. I didn't collapse. I wasn't

completely overcome the way I had been walking

around the camp. No. In the Museum, I suddenly had

the impression I was in a museum if contemporary art. I

took the train back, telling myself that they had

won! They had won since they'd produced forms

of perception that are all ofa piece with the mode

of destruction they made their own. 1

What we will be asking this evening will thus take

up where Jacqueline Lichtenstein left off: did the

Nazi terror lose the ar but, in the end, win the

peace?

Whether Adorno likes it or not, the spectacle of

abjection remains the same, after as before Ausch­

witz. But it has become politically incorrect to say

so. All in the name of freedom of expression, a

freedom contemporary with the terrorist politics

Joseph Goebbels described as 'the art of making

possible what seemed impossible,.24

'When will the

Nuremburg Code be applied to medically assisted

procreation . . . to the attempts at creating a human

being?'

Ethics or aesthetics? That is indeed the question at

the dawn of the millennium. If freedom of

SCIENTIFIC expression now actually has no more

limits than freedom of ARTISTIC expression,

where will inhumanity end in future?

Sportspeople are managed by an entourage who

are under more and more pressure from the media

and their financial backers. If the current debate

isn't settled pretty .. swiftly, a person will only have

to ask in order to be programmed to win.

' The assembly-line champion is already Oil the drawing

board.

Ethical boundary, aesthetic boundary of sport as

of art. Without limits, there is no value; without

value, there is no esteem, no respect and especially

no pity: death to the riferee! You know how it goes . . .

SILENCE WAS PUT ON TRIAL in Europe as

in the United States. From that moment, WHO­

EVER SAYS NOTHING IS DEEMED TO

CONSENT. No silence can express disapproval

or resistance but only consent. The silence of the

image is not only ANIMATED by the motoriza­

tion of film segments; it is also ENLISTED in the

general acquiescence in a TOTAL ART the

seventh art which, they would then claim, con­

tained all the rest.

During the great economic crisis which, in

Europe, would end in Nazi TOTALITARIAN­

ISM, silence was already no more than a form of

abstention. The trend everywhere was towards the

simultaneous synchronization of image and sound.

Whence the major political role played at the time

by cinematic NEWSREELS, notably those pro­

duced by Fox-Movietone in the l)nited States and

by UF A in Germany, which perfectly prefigured

televisual prime time.

The speed of the

movements and the rapid change of images force

you to look continuously from one to the next.

Your sight does not master the pictures, it is the pictures

that master your sight. They flood your conscious­

ness. The cinema involves puttingyour eyes into uniform,

when bifore they were naked. '

'That is a terrible thing to say', Janouch said.

' The eye is the window of the soul, a Czech proverb

says.'

Kafka nodded. 'FILMS ARE IRON SHUT­TERS. ,8

Valeska Gert, the actress who starred in German filmmaker

G. W. Pabst's 1925 'street' film, Joyless Street:

1 looked like a poster that was novel. I would screw

my face up into a grimace of indignation one

minute, then quietly dance the next. By juxtapos­

ing insolence and sweetness, hardness and charm,

without any transition, I represented for the first

time something characteristic of our times:

instability. This was in 1917, towards the end of

the war. The Dadaists did the show as a matinee

in Berlin and the high point of the programme

was a race between a typewriter and a sewing

machine. George Grosz was the sewing machine.

1 danced to the sound of the two machines.,g

Daniel Malone

Billy was

Right to lift

the lights in

the room,

made it better.

Billy Apple.

Daniel Malone.

Notes from Daniel Malone Dies

David Clegg

Art School

Another Beginning

New Plymouth

Malone Undressed

The Director in the play

plays the Director in

front of the audience, 

audience would sometimes 

be replaced with

maniquins. Strange Polish

words said to

a mirror with ..

Another Beginning…

Conversation with John Hurrel,

About a show “fetishism” No,

Was it, what was it,

The work of Billy Apples in

Relation to Billy Apples, fetishism,

Daniel Changed his name

To Billy Apple to be

Included in Hurrels show,

1996, New Plymouth,

“strange to use real names

or other shows, or

 

What had change.

I know I had more

things before I left,

As Daniel Malone,

What was missing now in this

Room, where Billy's work still

Hung -(magnificent Phallus)

Magnificent Story Dead Malone, 

The Teacher of English,

I had to prove I

was an Artist of some considerable

standing to get a visa in Poland.

So I had to show them my...

Then my passport that

Says Billy Apple…

It was good,

It was naked,

It was Daniel in

The paper

on the table

covered like leaves

to rot in the park

under a head stone, a mirror

Klip-see-dra- Death certificate

Death Announcement.

His Hair in a Head stocking...

Didn’t do that many

People, shows,

I don’t have an aptitude

For Languages  - Polish,

Or even English,

I’m an English Teacher,

I’ve spent two years

Learning a little little

Polish,

Teach speaking English

Used all the same parts

Of my Brain as Art.

 

Dead MAN

Getting Back

His Clothes

‘Some Have you

Have outlived

The Maniquin

Idea”

“Play yourself but never

be yourself’

“The future is unwritten”

SPEAKING ENGLISH

MALONE SYMBOL

WHERE BUILDINGS

WILL BE BUILT.

SAM BECKETT.

 

The Window

Gifted to the Victorian

Gallery collection,

“I had an idea if

 I threw a Brick through

This window that it would

Become a new idea’

CNZ wouldn’t fund my

Trip from Poland to

do it.

‘I Proposed to give them

the smashed glass cast

back into a Brick

under the name Billy Apple,

‘This was the problem of course.”

I had to be, you can’t

Travel on one name, passport

And another on the tickets, 

ARTIST

VISA

RUN OUT,

(Billy Apple – it’s a silly

funny name, it’s

not a name I’m going to keep)

HAVE TO START A

COMPAY – SPOOKEY

2-3 hrs Teaching English,

the rest Art practice,

will have to disappear,

‘Billy Apple Art & Text work”

is the name of my

company.

The Ghost of

Daniel Malone is

Billy Apple teaching

Art ad text to

Class room.

you can see

yourselves in it 

I’m changing

My name Back,

I’m In love,

I’m getting MARRIED,

And I’ve got the

Paper work today.

I’m moving Back

(In the Book Malone

Doesn’t Actually Die,

It’s a..)