Anthony Rondinone – Featured Artist
the unknown faces in the hall
it could’ve been someone i knew
though i can’t be sure
from those states of creative origination where
elemental energy processes matter
and the first thoughts of this newly forming thing
are smeared and smudged in the disfigurement
of periphery
each face i compose runs through
me with macabre sincerity
textures emotionalized from the underworlds of fame
exemplifying
—the great lie—
which makes some unique and others not
the genome remonstrated:
we are not at all rare and
this realization is okay
to think much the same
these thoughts
a tree looks like a tree looks like a tree looks like
a slight manufacture refinishing itself by
—the great truth—
deducting thought for others to think
much the same
this process
so distorted
so unique
so temporarily human
as if the determination of a species
for just a brief moment
could be more than a blink in the spectrum
of what makes time
time and life
life
i could very well be this omniscient face
i do not recognize
like a jesus rumor spreading like fleas
going under radar
pretending to love all things and people and faces
but who could really know
that could just be some shallow suggestion
some ghastly assumption
we tell ourselves
to imagine something greater
from the harsh fabrics of nature
the true belief goes as stated:
the faces are pyramids
like a tree blooming or
a gust of wind ignited
(is that me talking
thinking
it is
wait
no)
these demands pike through me
this matrix perils
whispering inside me
built on the
idea that the natural world
(if such a singular thing could exist)
is now consumed by itself
and what appears unnatural
exists arbitrarily under the
same temporal rule
this microbe
this single-celled organism
that evolved three billion years
ago when nature
was still understanding itself
swimming like ejaculates
struggling for survival
maybe just one
but probably not
probably never
and here
compilations and clones
reproducing and fucking
and building on itself like skyscrapers
until nothing is recognized
then fucking again until
it’s all fucked out and there’s nothing left
but a hollow shell
how pure
each face that runs through me
each thought
so macabre
so distorted
so unique
each of the billion faces that run through
are in fact…
me
each microbe twitching
each thought stroked
bouncing off each other
like bindlestiffs searching for their purpose
their own remarkable purpose
within a dream
within a dream
within a dream
by LORIN DREXLER
Anthony Rondinone
https://www.anthonyrondinone.com
Anthony is an artist born and raised in the Bronx.
Anthony works with multiple different mediums, two of the main ones being Oil and Ink.
What is Gen Society?
Gen Society is an art space blog for visual art and creative writing collaborations, and other randomizations. Hosted by writer and musician Lorin Drexler, this online venue is an expressive experience for those interested in the world of the arts. It is a literary journey through the hearts and minds of contemporary artists in practice and a reflection of those that have long passed.
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