Spinning on an axis, the new monk appears manic in 3D face flatpack form

An embodied (w)hole that cannot stop long enough to engender its pla$tic with meaning

[IT WAS a
ground hog true-man y 2 k bug day show day]

IT IS a smeared flesh flash; aesthetic in gestalt, recognizable only on HD display

Feels nothing, and repeats perpetually, just a riddle the new monk can’t co-work out of

Like dr seuss thing one and thing two, there was a belief in uniforms.

A belief in the worker, in zola, in naturalism and looking forward 

darwinian inheritance really excited the monk
(the monk looked forward to getting small hips, androgyne breasts, a big bum and long, strong fingers.)



But the monk cannot think for assemblages, cannot dream readymades, anymore.

Intense yes, fake no,  referential. Symbolic above the hustle axis; authentic even though the future is a fad and real life has to vent through an air conditioner.

The monk crooks the codes of text, and vests in the Geist’s of thought to explore nowness beyond reasonable doubt

It is an ongoing, ever-changing, contradictory and schizophrenic explanation of and for potential contemporary luft lyf.