𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 . . .

CRIT
04-12-02022

“We are raised to believe that great works of art require suffering, I want to show that, no, the opposite is true.”

- Fred Armisen in the mockumentary Documentary Now!



Dear Reader, have you had logged any

ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ of late?

I’m being purposely opaque about what ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ is, hoping the mystery of it grabs attention—a ploy to buy me some time. I want to impress you, dear zine reader, with some shatteringly poignant takes. But I’m slogged by a so-[̲̅M][̲̅U][̲̅C][̲̅H]-is-happening-all-the-time feeling. All of it booming out the a media apparatus of exponential growth.

I feel like a sieve—everything flows right through me, and I’ve only time for a sip—writing on one thing then, mid-sentence, writing on another & another & another & another.

I’m a stone 𝙎𝙆෴𝙄𝙋෴𝙋𝙄෴𝙉𝙂 across the surface. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve forgotten how to sink.

But stay focused Sean (that’s my name), we’re writing on ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ, my word for the moment of peaceful euphoria preceding an inevitable pain. In the literal, ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ is time in the air. It's the time my bike flew out from beneath me, while I flew out over the hood of the ruby-red Corolla I’d just struck. I looked into the silly face of the shocked driver, I felt profoundly calm—thinking, “well now, I wonder how much this will to hurt?”

Quite a bit.

On another bike ride, friends and I were bombing a steep hill, feeling stellar, until Tara hit a pothole. She flew for what felt like a •´long`• time, a ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ burned into my memory, gilded in glory. At least she got to •´fly`• before the crash.

She broke her arm in two places.

𝙎𝙆෴𝙄𝙋෴—I almost forgot, this is a book review. The book is Which as You Know Means Violence, by Philippa Snow. Which as you don’t know, explores the philosophy of those who for art, fame, money, ecstasy—or some disastrous amalgam of the four—choose to endure pain.

(★★★★★ for the book BTW)

We all fly. ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ waits in every pothole. Some chase it, thougg (skaters, motorheads, acrobats, crowd divers, stunt men, kinky slaves, etc). It’s a strange life path. Isn’t the largest boast of modern times that we get to avoid the pains that were once unavoidable? Trading violence for treats?

But what about ℕ𝕆 ℙ𝔸𝕀ℕ, ℕ𝕆 𝔾𝔸𝕀ℕ? Isn’t that a virtue? Depends. Are we talking about 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗮𝘀𝘀’s Johnny Knoxville, the artist Marina Abramovic, or a just dirty sub cuffed to a 𝕾𝖙. 𝕬𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖘 cross.

𝙎𝙆෴𝙄𝙋෴—I almost forgot, this is a band review. The band is Meet the Sun . . .

♫ 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ♫

♫ 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢! ♫

. . . I saw them open for Xiu Xiu at a basement bar in Phoenix, Arizon.

(★★★★★ for the band BTW)

I'm writing this at their show (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛ) and editing it many times on the days that followed (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ & ꜰᴏʀᴛʜʀɪɢʜᴛ (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛʏʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴᴛʀɪɢᴜɪɴɢ)(ᴀꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ)(∞)))).

Focus, Sean!

The jackets of the couple in front of me feels like an allegory for my American experience. The camo jacket on the right reads, ‘America is FUCKED!’

♫ 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚜 𝙵𝙰𝙸𝙻 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙰𝚅𝙴! ♫



The denim vest on the left reads, ‘The Wrath of God Lies Beneath the Soil’.

I’m more wooed by the latter . . . not because I don’t think that America is fucked, its just that I’m trying to lean into the belief that America never really existed in the first place. It was always a story projected over a large expanse of dirt . . . or soil. That soil feels like a real thing to fuck  around with. When I fall, it’s the soil that catches me, however painfully. America, just takes credit when it’s expedient

♫𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜♫

♫𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 ♫

♫ 𝙽𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ♫

♫ 𝙷𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ♫

“MTV had brought an OSHA representative onto the set of [Jackass] season three, whose checks and balances extended to insisting that when cast member Dave England ate a ‘Vomelette’ … that had been heated to an FDA-approved ‘safe temperature’ of 144 degrees.” - Which as You Know Means Violence

Making sure the vomelette I am paid to eat is at a safe temp for consumption feels like a allegory for my American experience. Its gross but heated to a safe ironic distance.

*Uhg. I’m being cynical—cynical & lazy. Writing optimistically is so 𝓱𝓪𝓪𝓪𝓻𝓭.

ℕ𝕆 ℙ𝔸𝕀ℕ, ℕ𝕆 𝔾𝔸𝕀ℕ.

So I’m talking about this book. This book, a band . . . & America too, I guess. Which works because it's a patriotic book in its own way, and 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗮𝘀𝘀 was a patriotic show. It’s full of flags, sailor suits, cowboy getups, bull rides, & red-white-n-blue rockets to ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ. All heated to a safe ironic distance.

Patriotic & queer, in it’s own way. 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗮𝘀𝘀 is full of men in thongs & women’s clothing—things traveling in-n-out of their anuses at each other's hands. All heated to a safe ironic distance.

“𝓞 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓷 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻’𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓼,”



. . . where did I hear that?

“The most interesting way to use self-injury as a way of to explore one’s gender is to act in opposition to what might otherwise be expected of you — to be a beautiful sorority girl who plays a stuntman, or a stunt man who displays himself like a beautiful sorority girl, or a trans women who not only shares her transition with her audience, but makes it obvious that her ordeal was not pitiable or ugly, but heroic.” - Which as You Know Means Violence

𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗮𝘀𝘀 was unironically screened at the MoMA in 2011. A year prior, thousands of strangers stared into the eyes of the artist, Marina Abramović in her piece, The Artist is Present, at the same Museum. Abramović sat still in a chair, drinking & eating nothing, wearing an adult diaper, and gazed into whomever sat across from her.

I mention the diaper not for the cheap laugh diapers invoke. The adult diaper demonstrates—like many of 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗮𝘀𝘀’s stunts—a willingness to suffer the pain of indignity. A pain that requires a rare type of courage to endure.

“This is something the performance artist, the comedian, and the stuntman have in common: an ability to conjure, often using very little means other than courage.” - Which as You Know Means Violence

In 1974 Abramović performed a piece entitled Rhythm Zero. In it, she stands before a table of 72 objects. Among them :: 🇦 🇷🇴🇸🇪 - 🇦 🇫🇪🇦🇹🇭🇪🇷 - 🇭🇴🇳🇪🇾 - 🇵🇪🇷🇫🇺🇲🇪 - 🇼🇮🇳🇪 - 🇸🇨🇮🇸🇸🇴🇷🇸 - 🇦 🇳🇦🇮🇱 - 🇦 🇬🇺🇳 - 🇦 🇧🇺🇱🇱🇪🇹.



It went as expected.

♫ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝟸𝟺 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚢 ♫

Abramović said in a later interview, "they cut up my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly 6 hours, as planned, I stood up and started walking toward the audience. Everyone ran away, to escape an actual confrontation."

“One person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away,” feels like an allegory for my American experience . . . and the eventuality of any vulnerable public surrender—aggressors and protectors to aggress the aggressors. A violent havoc that erupts whenever a crowd can’t stand still and let vulnerability be.

♫ 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ♫

But, I’m being cynical again.

♫ 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢! ♫

Hard cut to the basement bar. Meet the Sun is still playing and a small mosh has begun to churn. Adults for the most part, moshing through decades, same as me. A communal ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ ritual— crashing together in a basement beneath the soil.

♫ 𝙷𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 ♫

♫ 𝙷𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛

𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 ♫

♫ 𝙷𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛

𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 ♫

♫ 𝙷𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚎 ♫

The book ends with an excerpt from the poem, ‘Why’, by the masochist/artist Bob Flanagan. He was born with cystic fibrosis—his pain was mandatory, until he chose it. The poem list’s his reason for a life of masochism

I’ll end this book review with the poem’s last line.

“Because you always hurt the one you love.”

♫ 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 ♫

♫ 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 ♫

♫ 𝙽𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ♫

♫ 𝙷𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ♫

The mosh’s ＳＫＹ－ＴＩＭＥ promise calls. I’ll end my Meet the Sun review here.

♫‘𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢’♫

♫’𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢’♫

♫ 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 ♫

I won’t end my America . . .

♫ 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 ♫

How could I? I still don’t know if it ever existed

♫ 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 ♫

♫ 𝚂𝚘 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗 ♫

𝙎𝙆෴𝙄𝙋෴