Today I am filled with biterness and hatred towards everything around me. This happens from time to time and I have found I have two choices:

1) Masturbate Furiously

2) Focus all the hatred in my shriveled little black heart and something in specific.

Well, I am all out of hand lotion and kleenex, so it is time to direct a big fuck you at modern art.

First, modern art is stupid because it is no longer modern. Art that is modern in the sense that it was recently made is called "Contemporary" or sometimes "Post-Contemporary." Sometimes even "Post-Modern." I hope I don't have to explain to you how incredibly stupid it is to classify anything that isn't actually modern as modern, but that how it is in the art world.

The basic thing about most modern art is that it was meant to somehow express ideas instead of images. For instance, the work of Piet Mondrian (most famous work: The Partridge Family Bus) is based on the idea of working life down into straight lines and square fields of yellow, red and blue.

Ignoring the fact that a third grader with some tape and construction paper could create exactly the same works of "art," at least this is more interesting than the most famous work of Kasimir Malevich, titled White on White. Basically, this is a square of white on another square of white. The thing that makes this painting great, as near as I can figure, is that you can see the square of white on the square of white.

Still, there is the work of Ed Harris' favorite painter, Jackson Pollock. Pollock discovered that if you dribble paint around on a canvas you can sell it and make lots of money. Later, he left his wife for Jennifer Connolly, so at least he had that going for him.

The problem with all of this is the fucking "art for arts sake" attitude. I hang around with artists and they all think that the public owes it to them to come and see their stupid plays and dances or buy their stupid paintings. The idea that they should try to do something that people might actually want to see or buy has been completely pushed out of their heads by too many years in college.

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Live for art. Die for art. Run from the barking hounds of the law for art.

That is my credo. That is why I am here. My name is Anthony Gross.

Lady Potamus has established her own little corner of dischordia on the Internet, so Joey has asked me to do some writing on this spot.

Do not expect cute little celebrity stories. Expect serious, hard hitting examinations of art and society from somebody who is outside of society by choice. I am the last of the mountain men. I am the last real American artist. I am right, you are wrong.

By the way, I could really use some money for my legal defense so the government doesn't put me away for my last art project. Help is always appreciated.
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More Rejected Stuff from VT - Written right before I went on my trip:

Sleep of the Just. Just what?

Sometimes I just fucking love life so much that I don’t want to miss a single moment of it. Sure, it is 3 in the morning and I need to work in four hours, but if I fall asleep, oh! the things I will miss! There are Shannon Tweed movies on cable! Dear friends to chat with on AIM! Hairs to obsessively pull out of my back!

Thus, I don’t sleep. This is not insomnia, which, to me, implies an unwillingness to be awake. Nay, nay! This is an exercise in pure will.

I have sometimes, of my own accord, gone for as many as seven days without sleep.

Let me tell you something I’ve learned. The brain needs sleep to process information. If you don’t sleep for enough days, you start to hallucinate. The audio hallucinations come first. Perhaps you will hear the sound of somebody knocking at some unseen door crying, “The lights! The lights!”

Next, come the visual hallucinations. At first, you just see things from the corners of your eyes, like you are being followed by some sort of evil shadow creature. Soon, the evil shadow creature gets tired of hiding and just walks in front of you, glaring. Eventually, he will want you to spend more quality time with him and will start to whine about how you never take him anyplace interesting, or how he doesn’t like Shannon Tweed.

Finally, the olfactory hallucinations kick in. I usually smell brownies, though I can never find any. The evil shadow creature usually denies any knowledge of them, but I see him flicking crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Is it so much to ask that my own hallucinations share with me?

I sometimes make the mistake of letting the evil shadow creature write updates for me. This is bad, because he is not real. I am sure his updates are brilliant, but he just looks like he is writing when he is probably really visiting camwhores or something.

Sometimes, I think that something I’ve done is just a hallucination, then wake up to find that I’ve bought a non-refundable ticket to Norway. That wasn’t lack of sleep, though. That was alchohol combined with some kind of conversation with Amanda about Norway.

Terror Incognito

Anyhow, I am traveling internationally in a few hours, so let me first say for all the world to read that, though I was born and raised in America, I have always considered myself Canadian. I have never actually been to Canada, but I always travel with a maple leaf on my jacket so I don’t get kidnapped or knifed.

I am particularly concerned this time because USA Vice President Dick Cheney recently came out and said that there will be more terrorist attacks.

Anyone who needed to be told this is the sort of person who would need to be told, “I realize you just took a dump, but you will need to take another one someday.”

Following a grand tradition of popular American political criticism, I am speaking out of complete ignorance here. I believe that most people outside of America know more about what is going on here than we Americans do. The sad fact of the matter is that we Americans do need to be told simple things like, “do not drink poison or it will kill you” and “remember to tie your shoes” and even “them terrorists sure is pissed off still!”

I believe part of this can be blamed on Shannon Tweed. Frankly, given the choice between seeking out accurate news reports and staring at her naked body on Cinemax, most normal people naturally choose the latter.

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