Arthur Hugh Clough: Amours De Voyage


Takashi Murakami, Kansei Abstraction

  I refuse, reject, and put it utterly from me;
  I will look straight out, see things, not try to evade them;
  Fact shall be fact for me, and the Truth the Truth as ever,
  Flexible, changeable, vague, and multiform, and doubtful.-

  Off, and depart to the void, thou subtle, fanatical tempter!


-Arthur Hugh Clough, Amours De Voyage

John Cage: Joy and Revolution




“One must be disinterested, accept that a sound is a sound and a man is a man, give up illusions about ideas of order, expressions of sentiment, and all the rest of our inherited aesthetic claptrap.”

“The highest purpose is to have no purpose at all. This puts one in accord with nature, in her manner of operation.”

“Everyone is in the best seat.”

“Everything we do is music.”

“Theatre takes place all the time, wherever one is. And art simply facilitates persuading one this is the case.”

“They [I Ching] told me to continue what I was doing, and to spread



-John Cage

Bukowski: what can we do?


Ülkü Yilmaz, Charles Bukowski




at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn’t
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it’s best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder.

what can we do with it, this Humanity?


avoid the thing as much as possible.
treat it as you would anything poisonous, vicious
and mindless.
but be careful. it has enacted laws to protect
itself from you.
it can kill you without cause.
and to escape it you must be subtle.
few escape.

it’s up to you to figure a plan.

I have met nobody who has escaped.

I have met some of the great and
famous but they have not escaped
for they are only great and famous within

I have not escaped
but I have not failed in trying again and

before my death I hope to obtain my

Kusama: Hallucinations And Obsessional Images


Yayoi Kusama, Ink, Pastel, Collage on Paper




“My art originates from hallucinations only I can see. I translate the hallucinations and obsessional images that plague me into sculptures and paintings. All my works in pastels are the products of obsessional neurosis and are therefore inextricably connected to my disease. I create pieces even when I don’t see hallucinations, though.”

“Because my mother was so vehemently against my becoming an artist, I became emotionally unstable and suffered a nervous breakdown. It was around this time, or in my later teens, that I began to receive psychiatric treatment. By translating hallucinations and fear of hallucinations into paintings, I have been trying to cure my disease.”

-Yayoi Kusama




Yayoi Kusama, Infinity Room

Shadows and Light (for P.S.H.)


Philip Seymor Hoffman by Ülkü Yilmaz



Fragile eyes

Tiny fractured world
Falls apart in slow motion

and fade-out

fade away


Not to rust

To dust

My best was not good enough

My life was cracks in the pavement
Gathering what was blown my way.



I did rise with the fateful wind

Doing time in the flowing factories of the heart

The dream factories of the body

I engaged to the fullest



I have disengaged completely

That up there on the screen

Is not me

That was pieces of you.

There is a hunger

A hunger that returns

Again and again
From time to time

Sometimes it makes me afraid
Of the damage that I will do

Some bleak February day
Some bleak February day


You don’t know what it’s like to be me

But I


I know what it is to be you

I proved it a hundred times over in my work.

You say that the work of the heart is magic

But I am no longer here to tell you that it takes
Everything that you’ve got
And then some.

I showed you the inadequacy of happiness
The flash, the close-up, no special effects.

I was the raw material

I was the world that is a canvas that is a song that is a story
That is what it is
And yes, my life was a blue guitar
But I couldn’t change the way things are.

My life became a motel of memory pictures
And there is nothing left now but the recordings
Because I fell through the digital cracks

And because there is a hunger
There is a desire
To make it all go away

These eyes

These hands

You don’t know what they have seen
You don’t know what they have done
You don’t know where they have gone

The clouds have me now

As does the rain

And I really don’t care what you say about me from now on

To me you have always been one and the same

You have no idea for how long I have wanted out of this game

There is this desperation

There is this horizon without hope

I sought a return through the needle so I made my connection to keep me warm inside because outside there are all these cold and conniving faces and there are hallways like mazes with a monster around every corner waiting to eat you alive. You want to know what it’s like?: Well, that is life in the camera’s eye, that is the desolation, that is the silver screen, where everybody wants you to entertain their dreams. There is so much noise up there that you can’t even hear yourself think. The whole world tells you who you are and they are all ravenous children lost in the void of hysterical dead time. The dark ecstasy. Yes I have tasted every drop. The theatre is on fire and everybody has run for the exits except me because I wanted to burn-up with it. I wanted to feel the burn. I wanted to understand the fate of so many. I wanted to experience what has gone wrong. I wanted and I wanted and I wanted and I wanted and I wanted and I wanted and I wanted because there is this hunger. And it will not leave me alone. There are shadows that follow me. There are shadows that want to cover me. There are shadows that want to envelop me. There are shadows that want to swallow me. There are shadows that muffle the cry that comes from the mouth of the wounded heart and turn it into bliss. There are shadows crawling around inside my body and they tell me that they have the solution to everything if I would only give myself over to them. If I would cross that line. If I would be ready to give up everything that I ever had and go down there and drown, drop down into the room full of shadows, the dark place into which you are disassembled back to your organic elements. The promise of disappearance. The promise of resurrection. The promise. The promise. The endless and broken promises that make you wonder what it is all for. The ones that keep you edging towards the door. The promises. Watch me fall. Watch me disappear. I am now what you fear. I am now what breaks your heart.

My final performance on the bathroom floor with a needle hanging out of my arm. My face blue like my dead heart that could take no more, in my dead body crumpled on the bathroom floor.