Yoko Ono Peace Message

yokoono
Thanks for following! love, yoko IMAGINE PEACE: Think PEACE, Act PEACE, Spread PEACE



c
dear yoko, peace is stagnation.
yokoono
my friend, peace is stagnation, an end to war, imagine peace. love, yoko
c
i love to disturb, move on, everything flows, my imagination is driven by battling ideas. peace bores me. c
yokoono
to fight is to suffer, you must elevate yourself above strive, peace, yoko.
c
dear yoko, you sound like a cow whose stomach is slowly digesting the same thoughts over and over. c
yokoono
dear c, you sound disturbed.
c
yes, yes, now you understand, and loving it. now you excite me for the first time.
yokoono
you run away it seems, you avoid peace, maybe you are afraid of love. if you hate, you hate your self. love your self. love yoko
c
afraid, not afraid, afraid, not. peace is scary for new thoughts. maybe you are just old. maybe you are tired.
yokoono
my friend, dare to imagine a world of love, love is ageless. embrace peace. yoko
c
a world full of love, is an empty space to me, only in a world of opposites, of strive am I happy. c
yokoono
maybe you never knew real love, dare to find peace, yoko
c
no thanks

Propaganda 2010: worketh

Art Manifesto 1: Merdisme

Merdiste Manifesto

We Merdistes refuse to take art classes. We Merdistes believe that anyone can and should be able to do things with their hands. We don't believe in prettiness. It is the meeting place of creation - the more merde the better.

Beauty by serendipity.

Merdisme is a suddenism - the abrupt and cheerful meeting of material.

The 5 Merdes:

1) The Merdiste is unaware of the use of tools. This is not to say that tools should be tossed aside, or that one tool becomes more important than the next. Rather, the Merdiste creates with what comes to hand - let the beer bottle, the coffee capsule be her brush.

2) The Merdiste produces a Merde once a day.

3) The Merdiste is open to friendly merdes - Merde can come from anywhere.

4) The Merdiste explores their position within the history of Merde.

5) The Merdiste exhibits only in Toilets.

100 Most Commonly Used Words (1)

but out of many
call the number

how are these
to write with

from which
about all was said

a long day has been
see its use now

look

people may find more
than two
an other she and he

when I will part
my way
it is for you

there, at this, go

no

or what were we
if not
oil on your water

first did come up
then do get down

some would make her like him
so that in time
they could have had

each as one
made into them
by their word
who can be his

Meditation: Art

Death Ship: Part 4

His story appeared in the papers the next day but would only throw further veils of confusion upon the mystery. He was identified twice.

The first article announced that the missing boy was Johan Melicertes. No family, no fixed address. It said he was a drifter, drawn to the sea. His father locked in a mental asylum, his mother dead.

The second said he was Zeno Palaemon, a Greek fisherman from Corinth. It did not explain how he came to be in Limassol or why, if it were Palaemon, he had sought work on Le Dauphin; the ship now carrying me out into the silent Mediterranean.

Review: British Art Resistance

'Oh really?' I heard him say while frowning one eyebrow.
I looked at his obnoxious stare.
'Yes, really,' I childishly answered, not caving in an inch.
'Let's step outside!'
I punched Billy Childish in the head, where I thought he was most fragile, and yanked his pointy dandy mustache. He was sniffing from rage like a bull. What a bugger I thought. He hit me back in the gut, but I felt little, a miscalculation, he pushed me over, in an attempt to make me loose my balance, but I still stood firm. He countered quickly with a jab to the liver, that hurt. I kept Billy at a distance with a grip to his neck with my outstretched arm. I punched his nose again, he started to bleed. He yelled 'you bourgeois pig', but I had no pride and barely heard him. He tripped over his lanky legs, he was awkwardly build, not an attractive man by the average standard, although there was something common about him. This sped through my thoughts as we tumbled to the dust. I landed on top of Billy, I felt the clamor of a short breath against my cheeks, squeezed out of his lungs by his body hitting the ground flat out. I felt like two puppies rolling clumsily over the ground. Neither of us controlled our own demeanor any more, pushed and pulled by the other and by gravity working on our bodies. In the end there was no purpose of course, some by-standers pulled us apart. I was panting, while Billy kept on screaming, trying to hit me with foul words and a vulgar spirit, to which I kept my calm. I thought 'what trash' while recuperating. I never liked Billy very much, although he was gifted.

Link: Stanford Prison Experiment

I am a sweet guy. I could never hurt someone. I am funny. I am a good person. I like working with people. I could not kill a fly. You can laugh with me. I am sensitive. I am really nice. I am tender. I am gentle. I am intelligent.

Landscape 2: Hush

There were no children squealing like piglets while being dragged to the slaughterhouse. There was no pop from a tennis ball slammed by a wooden bat, no short tired laughter. There was no shrill of horny teens being chased into the water. A few hundred meters squatted in the sand, two men sat like desert nomads, motionlessly conversing, in the sand. Further, a girl bend over her boyfriend on hands and knees, her lips kissing his hairy chest. On my other side, a group of chubby boys and girls wobbled like drunken cherubs into the water, attracted to each other by the sheer gravity of their fat wrapped constellations, an obese figure in bikini figured heavily at the water line, like the sun around which these planets of kids circled. But the strange thing was, I heard not a single sound. Higher up the rock, a topless man, hammering the planks for his terrace roof, not a single beat of sound. Even the sea, rolled its waves ashore tacitly. A single cloud hovered still above. A conspiracy to not disturb me.

Death Ship: Part 3

We have been divided into groups.

The first division came with the realisation that not all men were here to refit the ship; to scrape away old paint, to gut and and rebuild the cabins. The first cut is made straight from pole to pole. Asian men are grouped to one side, Europeans to another. A man we understand later to be the captain emerges from a cabin below deck. He stretches, reaching up as if to pluck the sun from its branch of cloud and walks toward the men stood facing us. He speaks. They nod their understanding and are taken away. We are told we are to work twelve hour days without breaks and for seven days a week until further notice. The ship will be at sea for four days before docking. Docking where? someone asks but the question is met with silence.

The last of the land sinks into the water, leaving us to a world of blue; shades running at one another, locking horns at the horizon.

Toward the end of day the Sun's death invites us to imagine pinks and deep reds spilt upon the ocean's surface.

A yellow claw is raked accross the waves as she dives down to rest upon the ocean's floor.

When she is gone, the silver scarred moon bleaches the ocean white and skims stones of light toward our ship.

I watch the moon through a gauze of cloud-smoke; smoke rising from the silhouettes of men leaning upon the ship's rails, clouds rising from the sea.