Bus Proj–
   ects

Text:

Nicole Thomson and Corrie Wilson
"So Much Fun"
Text by Katherine Botten
2019

(pdf)

So Much Fun
Exhibition
02.10.19-26.10.19

Miss Marx
a picture in the middle and the middle
has been cut out and it’s been stuck in the middle with its insides cut out
I dreamed a world
I wanted to make this rhyme
I wanted to write something gorgeous so you would think I was valuable
I know what it feels like to want to be unconscious, sometimes all I know is go back to sleep
It hurts to wake up I think they did nothing wrong
Spores and spikes Artichoke Thistle Breadcrumb
Yellow pollen, CBD weed induced dermatitis around my nose tingles, a figure climbs up the yellow thing by ACCA
Contact exposure both makes allergies go away and makes them worse and brings about new ones, how we let culture corrode our souls and everything it touches makes us weaker, a core principle of the Shaker belief is to take responsibility for your actions
I fly out of the state and I don’t tell you

Everything agitates
Bobby pins and pitchers and pictures and tinctures and punctures and that type of clip and this type of clip
We don’t destroy ourselves, we girls radiate ourselves

Everyone lives through different seasons in their life
Some boys walk you around holding a carrot in front of your face

A pale pink balloon
Snake skin sliver slithers across another collage, another collage, another day

Skaters, rappers, graffers; Bobby Shmurda, Bobby Pins, bobby traps, prickles
Sonic Youth, again
A stamp leaves a trace of its Negative Tokyo, we don’t move for- ward, we are on a new page but it’s the same paper
The paper has been radiated

Clocks stretched out
Pussycats stretch out
Silhouettes of girls, dance about

Tiny roses plant themselves on the paper like dirt, invested in the
dirtiness, invested in its own survival and growth
You think its hedonism but its mulch
You think its hipster posturing but it’s a type of farming

A boy graffing on the outside of a building with a Hensen sunset
behind him, I want him to fall off and break his legs

A smoked love heart made of cigarette lighter flame, gestural
The one without colour is the saddest
a stamp leaves a trace of its Negative Berlin
Abortion
A chain link fence
It makes me want to grow up
Sometimes I throw up

The archive agaisnst itself
It is sad because it stays put
Can we get the bees swarming again? Not this way? Only this way?
A wood cabin in the hinterland, a picture, we won’t get there
Designer dress bereft of a body
There’s nothing where there is fantasy , there’s fantasy where there is nothing

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