[The Seven by Nine Squares home page] [YAWN 11] [Art Strike 1990-1993]

Regarding the Great Art Strike (1990-1993) and its Relative Effects

As the movement and the direction are self-explained, cliché of felinic history will be negated at this time, relative to the quantified ratio of analicks located in the jello-sector of Minnteasobauta ruins, a silent burp reverberating off itself, a laughter in the Forest Without Trees. Some would be required to commit the ultimate act, remaining naked in the traffic of fordian Cyperuick speech patterns, smiling incessantly at the shopkeeper's chit-chat and nausea jokes, awaiting the slip (as all the time in art is lost) to come up the chutes of dynamic verbiage, eh? Reality on the planet sucks anyway, so all chimed the karmic-philosophic ditties, Rot, Reality, Rot. At that time, the Enervation Factors elevated the adult endgames into Karl Fesser's sassafras cocktail mimics, tucked and sucked only in promotional wieners of gravity, a lack of answers and unscientific indecence. A strike, what a bright idea, he blurts to himself. What brazen and brilliant negative! So the little stir begins. We'll be adjusting the perimeters, giving the so-called straight "art" world the credence it didn't deserve in the first place! We'll set up another wall! Another artsy-fartsy division line, another pointifas of "Us and Them", but this time the blur will come in the "Us", communication is Ism-stained again! The solemn tones and endless trots of useless maddened theories, out of the mouth like burbling brooks, producing an infinite gas-bubble of foul smelling silent wealth, cookbooks! I just want to go Home and turn on the gas, watch "The Mechanic" for the ninth time and have that spot of tea grow into a negative, even thinking beings need some rest from this job, this drudge, this creative process-jeez, I need a vacation, he says to himself? He opens the cookie and finds he always believed everything They trotted out, a little jealous-bug earwigs through his cranial, the welcome-weakness of the idea, ohmy, this creating process and "art" is such a bitch, never stops, and I've set up the Here and There for this area, too. It's not all bad, it has stimulated discussion and self-examination (well that was the Big Something). A breakfast is always euphoric, the tentative support of glimmering hunches, to verify his position in small ways, if it comes to that! We'll tailor the tails and make every creator wag 'em! Those fibrous nerds that feel that the process has no separation, but yet (hee-hee) we'll set up a whole 'nother ball of Elmer's! Eh! Another temple of didactics! Another solid mounting of academical bullshit! As the movement and direction proceeds, the cops bust in the door and scream "freeze! you meaningless voidal! You have the right to remain slick and be an agent for societal change! But any work that remains obscure and obtuse will be held against you, like slimy maggot guts? You have the right to remain marginal and live the rules that don't exist for yourself and I know what I mean, cuff him Dainioh." Across the wide expanse of crumbling cells, the 1% ask themselves-"Oh, 'tis closet, this atomizing musty, I speak to this mind, 'tis the Isness that only is, let's start a revolution? Duh?" The aircraft over the stadium, pages turning alone and fear. God. Do you think this one does for aggrandizement alone? Eh? Guns don't kill. Only the assholes that own 'em do. June 19, 1987, the atomization process began on Earth. The noticeable evidence will ensue in 2002. Eh.

[Waukau, Wisconsin