STATEMENT OF WORK

wine glass perched on the edge of table teetering

loose knots

always, the steinway falling 

driving 70/mph, eyes closed

doomsday preppers on holiday in ibiza

weekend protest, followed by sunday mimosas

lost inside the escape room

staircase wit and the voice of god

swallowing a quarter

the bus you don’t see

ennui you can’t shake

posting as praxis

preventative this

preventative that

never not not surprised at the thing, or the other thing, or the thing behind the thing

supermarket of the senses

residual fear

two day shipping

one day shipping

same day shipping

fourteen different ways to ignore the

fifteen best things you can use to

sixteen best ways to break your

brancusi’s endless crisis

sheltering under a thermal blanket in a lightning field at night

comfortable resignations

comfort and the bed you die in

the fire on the hill in the distance and the fire in your hearth

infinite scroll kink torture

manhunt in the c-suite

the dog gasping for air, gagged with a ball in its mouth

community brick resources

false alarms and the din of panic, but over there (here it is nice, here is where we will stay)

what you see and what you don’t

on the hill, inside the bunker

faithfully antagonistic

cause de celebre 24/7

candy crush family saga

ideal time and other solitary activities

residential fear, and other phantom paranoias

The wealthy art collector, seventy-three, dressed in fine furs and proudly adorning a firetruck red hermes birkin, and recently flush with capital after the sale of their recently deceased spouse’s horde of questionably obtained gold bullion, vacantly wanders forward into and straight down Anish Kapoor’s Descent into Limbo whilst aggressively eyeing Carvaggio’s David with the Head of Goliath at the private viewing.

Simultaneously, four miles away, the hedge fund manager known publicly for their proclivities for stimulants and other carnal pleasures of the flesh is finalizing a bulk sale of firearms to the UN to combat poor children. They suddenly rise six feet into the air above the custom designed murano glass Gio Ponti boardroom table and vanish into thin air in front of his colleagues.

Years later, the hedge fund manager is found in Kapoor’s pit, nude and covered in minas crude and speaking in tongues. Simultaneously, the wealthy art collector appears six feet about the ground inside the boardroom, nude and dripping with bonny light crude, plummets unceremoniously onto the Gio Ponti boardroom table, shattering it beyond repair.