alistairmather

I am plagued by dreams these days. Dreams of Clowns in deaths head make-up filling the world with gallows humour. A story presented as broken pieces of random visual media - everything from poems written on half empty cigarette packs, one of the cigarettes bearing a trace of lipstick, to snippets of cell phone recorded conversations, to half finished novels torn and battered with wear. A man who may be many men, and who has three children all named Walnut, all conceived in elevators....

And this is truly a wonderful thing.

I have decided to live my life as one brilliant piece of performance art. To give meaning and immortality to my existance through the one thing humanity can uniquely call its own:

Ourselves.

Ever so much to plan... isn't life bloody brilliant?!