How to mine Drama from Reality [Part 1].

When I tell people that my chosen dissertation topic is ‘walking and art’, I get one of types of ‘interesting’. The first means: ‘that sounds very boring and lazy’. The second means: ‘good luck with that one Josh, it’s shit and you’re an idiot’. Of course, I have said them more than anyone. I deserve it. I hate my topic. I hate art. I hate having to write a fucking essay about things that are so incredibly pretentious. I hate making basic things significant. I hate feeling expected to pretend to respect the people that take all of this rotten bollocks seriously. I hate having to waste my time and eyes on this. I hate that it’s all a trick, there’s so much salesmanship, endless journalist rehash, endless text, endless images, endless fucking installations, endless quirky badges, endless magnetic poetry, the endless stench of recent paint, the endless queuing, the prices, the lack of humour, the ugly aesthetic, the dire and fraudulent in-joke network, the cod-nihilism, the phoney weirdoes…desperate for hierarchy placement, eager for a seat in the café, hungry for DISCOURSE…bleak isn’t bleak enough. This is not civilisation; this is delusion. This is a bunch of liars in rooms with crap telling you that it is not crap, this is a stream of worshippers of the confident, crawlers of the arrogant, servants of the myth of genius – or worse – the myth of correctness, the giant act of superiority of righteousness or fashion or youth or any of these stupid fucking balloons…no practical education? Judged by the followers? What kind of a lift are we trapped inside?

What absolute frog burst this is! I have taken this shit of an establishment seriously, worrying about their opinions and trying to please them…this essay will be the biggest waste of paper since the phonebook for the guy who died in his flat two years ago. Still, I am of course talking paranoid shite and soon enough I will be out of this process [despite depending upon it in order to avoid office land]. Hate and frustration at you art school. You are a farce that I no longer need. I am going to make my work and a living from my work. Or be dead and in debt. I don’t want to work in a job that restricts my thinking.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2!