surrilisima

[mice r.r.]

the simplest surrealist act consists of going down into the street,
revolver in hand, and shooting at random.
-andre' breton

well thankfully for breton surrealism is hardly dead but it's in its hey
day here in inner city america. everyday male and increasingly female
adolescents are being initiated against their will into surrealist gangs.
they do not buy guns, they steal them from other surrealists living or
dead. the older higher level surrealists go on to become pimps or police
chiefs or mayor of the city. really these surrealists are increasing in
number daily so that it's difficult to avoid surrealists. going to work,
coming home from work, going out on a date, doing anything. it is
difficult to plan around them yet it would be foolish not to. this
frustration that comes from each errand entailing a possible yet totally
unpredictable end to one's life is usually the last screw to come out
before the bottom drops and another surrealist is initiated. one more
revolver firing into complete and total randomness. one more dolt
surrendering to the sheer dreaminess of life firing shots randomly at the
pavement, that chimney way over there, a stray dog, that kid on the big
wheel, bam, bam, bam. with no provocation and no witnesses you can
continue on your surrealist career another day. of course it can be very
lonely being an artist but by chance meeting another surrealist. hey
how's it going? blam, blam. oh, no gun. they must've been an
impressionist. oh well. if there is a redeeming feature of surrealists i
guess it's that there's no way to distinguish them from the average art
illiterate goon. you've either got to kill everyone in the entire
megaopolis - throwing them all into a mass grave, say kezar stadium, or
the superdome. or do nothing at all. either decision you become part of
an enormous art project. really the most complex surrealist act comes
down to doing absolutely nothing.

[Walter Alter]

ez04...@dale.ucdavis.edu (mice r.r.) writes:

squatting over a digital alarm clock and pinching off a couple of hefty
loaves in an attempt to turn off the alarm and snag another 40 winks sort
of gets my surreal gland secreting.

Dali Lama