This one statement by the MARCH GROUP among a thousand countless uncalled for unfounded statements that it makes on subjects like art it knows nothing about.
MOTION SICKNESS.
Art has ended. The world and being collapsed. Who are you? In this void, invisibility is seminal. Drink emptiness. Drink brinks. Swill on fathoms. Who are we? The earth is a line drive single to the slaughterhouse. How that spinal column of A-bombs sprawled among letter boxes and limbs delights the indoor eye, swindles passports into paradise. Vice. Vulgar? This is the beginning of the new death rattle in overt covert pervert keys. Do you expect marriage to be marriage, carriage to be carriage? Think invisibility. Drink rotations. Lengthen skyward. Art has reached escape velocity from the self, it plummets into bedrooms, boudoirs, brothels, banks, bedlams, and A-bombs. Where else. Into taxis, taxidermists, tabernacles, tarantulas, tubas and telephones.
At one time man confronted speeds of light, and people swilled above their house-tops, pyramids were formed and megaliths, Noah's arcs. Now inertia is in flames. Can we confront again the speed of death in H-bomb blasts and retain our corpse of clay or must we watch the kaleidoscope of paint immured in motion sickness of that final day?