there  could  be  snakes  in  here

"36056e1bc7447cc3d66832a10f9e420beeab3226" (2017) by dorianna Besides being free and endless and potentially superhuman, algorithmic art has a hidden benefit: The artefacts are not the real problem with conceptual art : rather, it's the pretense. The artist, feigning profundity; the critic, helping them wank. Artbots won't claim profundity, nor will they be attributed it; so they might make museums smell less of shite. "Accidentally generated pattern........" (2015) by Kieran G. Larkin 'Exploration of Related Points Along a Space Filling Curve #2' (2007) by Don Relyea "inception_4c-output-3-9-3" (2007) by Pete Ashton

The clues you bastards give away! Psych profiles of a seditious buncha bright young things. (I don't know how hard you think about naming your things - but anyway you needn't think very long for your scent to be on it. And it's no more than a scent I'm after.) Title: Romanticise the Future . An imperative; also a statement of his new(ish) worldview. Compare with Douglas Coupland's "EROTICISE INTELLIGENCE". URL: "ithasbeesinit". Recalls Eddie Izzard , recalls Black Books - but is neither. There's a residual presence online for the whole phrase, but that's to be expected - since this URL is a spot-on evocation of the aesthetic in eC21st language; ironically awkward grammar with a nonsequitur dab of twee. Are bees more comic than your average beast? Yes . Formerly: arcolimunosotrexate - a gibberish composite of various medications of his. It ensured you got exact google hits, at least. Presumably dropped owing to a change in self-defin...

I reviewed about a quarter of the shows I saw at the Edinburgh Festival. I would just link to the people I wrote them for , but their subediting crushes and banalises everything, so here we are. The deadlines were strict, so these were all pounded out in about ten mins. I'd recommend the exercise to anyone. ******************************************** Jumping Jesse Jones One very short route to my heart is cheer in the face of adversity. There's a bucket of adversity facing Mr Jones, as he plays here all month: he plays alone, outside, in a big booze-branded box; half the audience face away, chatting; he also quietly competes with Chapel Street's traffic noise. Playing original acoustic blues, he throws in some slap-bass moves and clattery thrash. His voice is a sweet baritone, but undistinguished. Most of his songs work because, if you master a cliché, it will not offend the ear anymore. A Davy Graham reference - in this town - does him credit, as does a...

(c) Cody Hoyt 2009 "... I am just about the world's worst source of info on [ Infinite Jest ] ." - Wallace, letter to fan Infinite Jest is a book. I am a reader of such. What could go wrong? But it's hard to say things about IJ because, despite that ^ epigram, in a real sense you are competing with Wallace if you do; IJ has already Freuded, Hegelled and problematized itself, not least in its 200pp of (plot-endogenous) footnotes. And its reputation obscures it, already, only fifteen years in. (e.g. As well as the usual exhaustive cult attentions , there's a series of wacky blogs and a support group devoted to how gruelling it is.) We view length as pretentious in itself. This speaks little for our generosity, motives or attention spans. And but the fact is that the book isn't really over-written or gratuitous: that it's 1200 pages of drum-tight shit, staggeringly funny and human to boot. It reports in on a dozen things I'm not interes...

"HEROD: Salome, Salome, dance for me, I beg you. I am sad tonight; dance for me! If you dance, you may ask of me what you want. I'll grant it. SALOME: (rising) Do you really want to give everything that I desire from you, Tetrarch ? HEROD: I give all you'll ask of me, even were it half my kingdom . SALOME: You swear it, Tetrarch ? HEROD: I swear it, Salome . [...dance...] HEROD: My riches are yours. What is it you want to have, Salome ? SALOME: (rising, smiling) The head of John the Baptist ." "Ah!" is the final scene in Richard Strauss' world-fucking opera of Wilde's world-fucking play Salome . Herein, after stripping for her stepfather Herod, Salome scares the shit into him by making out with a severed head. (Worse: the head of the prophet Jochanaan.) The supernatural world in which the action takes place is understandably upset; the moon disappears. A terrified Herod orders her killed. She's quite a creation; a strong, sexu...

" Sonic-Reducer : Who is Pablo and all the other people you're singing about? Are these real people? Lars: That's our secret. One of several reasons for that is that we want to let people build their own worlds according to Pablo." WHAT THEY ARE Unapologetically cloying. I mean; it's Billie the Vision and the Dancers, the sweetest and most engrossing narrative pop music I've ever blundered upon. Over five albums (so far) we are wound round with their wryly giddy worldview, are gossiped into the conversational landscape of "Pablo Diablo" - a creature who is more or less an alter ego of lead singer/songwriter Lars. It's bruised-joy and it's a shrewd sentimentality. It's the epitome of that inexplicable trend in Scandinavian pop music of carrying off even the most twee aesthetic. WHAT THIS IS Another one of my obsessive gushes. I should stop here if you don't care for critical overreading. Does "twee" not imply "tasteles...