Droopy jazz hands

I sort of punked out yesterday with Yatta. But it was such a good punk out card to pull. I want to punk out again tonight but feel that philosophically I cant. Why is that? This is my blog. My open ended I can do or post anything I want blog. Not one single perimiter. Other than words images audio visual and the online framework.

Why is it that I feel compelled to write something "meaningful." What does meaningful even mean? It makes me think of a conversation I had earlier in which I was poo pooing someone adding things to clay to see how it would explode in the firing process. I was asked if I was a purist. Oh man, talk about a weird cycle of loops circlihg around and around and around!!! Am I taking umbrage solely because I feel the need to have some intellectual material snobbery backed by ny education in which experiment solely for expiriments sake is futile. But then, Exit Through the Gift Shop. Aaaaaaaaaaaah! My brain just imploded. I dont have an adequate answer for myself. I piss myself off arguing for one and vice versa. Hello Dante, why yes, Id love to see what Limbo looks like. 

Knowing myself I think a few thinga. 1 i had a chocolate chil cookie for dinner and two cups if coffee. (I could perhaps stop there) 2. I was having great conversation regarding art art theory and lovely frustrating arts academia 3. I was distracting myself from my worries about this weekend. 

And now my eyes droop and jazzercise calls. As does a loooooooot of work. So this chicadee is heading off for a wild ride in the Land of Nod.  

God nacht alle samme ! 

I want this to be a tshirt! 

Christina Osheim