HHD#3.

Jeremy Strand is my performance artist. He will be interviewed wearing a shirt that he chose from his crooked wardrobe and drone quietly and sincerely about his work and the philosophical errors of the art business. His movements will be slight but accurate in shape. His life will be eclipsed by his surroundings and he will preach decrypted ideals all over the place. His stare will break the floor, his smile will clean the lens. His gentle and approachable, zen grandfather speech ethic will entice the clueless and his mage/sage mentality will crucify the cynics in their own fields of milkshake.

Jeremy Strand walks among me. His views are some of mine but we don't share chicks. Strand has a stranglehold on the performance scene, the reputation of a harmless maniac spreading its air-into-iron mysticism through the gullible heads of those for whom pretending to enjoy shite is a full-mast priority.

Jeremy Strand and I are off to enrol. 'They' don't know it yet.