I contemplated for a cool 12 seconds whether or not to ingest the stale four-day old can of Redbull sitting smack dab on my desk next to my tablet. It had been there since Sunday and only until today did it look even more glorious than the preceding nights. I drank it. That was a few hours ago straight after work when I thought its effects wouldn’t kick in. Surely not at 11.27 pm on a Wednesday evening when now, all I desperately want is to fall asleep. Instead my mind wants to play games. Like a rambunctious two-year-old with a fresh box of wooden blocks, it’s proposed the idea of thinking and building and recreating certain instances. Previous memories, current memories, potential future ones. Just a hodgepodge of things that, seriously, I don’t want to play around with. So after making a phonecall to the one person that I probably shouldn’t have, since the poor woman has work early in the AM, I have nothing but my twiddling thumbs and wooden blocks to satisfy my alert self. Polkadot elephants - so how about them? Why can zebras have stripes but an elephant have nothing but tough, wrinkled, rough ass skin? Three lanes - why are there really only two-way lanes? Wouldn’t it be fun if we spiced our morning commute and added another lane of traffic. Just confuse all those half-awake drivers with their mugs of hot coffee positioned ever so carefully in between their legs. Beige leather interior. That would suck to spill. But I’ll hand it to the makers of coffee, that shit smells good. I’d rather take a pale coffee stench that accidentally made friends with my car seat as opposed to, say, Jameson and Jack in the Box curly fries. No sir, no way. Thank you, you half-opened can of Redbull. I’ll be on my way.
“And sometimes when it starts to feel like the lanes are passing you by - The red light in front of you reminds your right foot to press the brakes. Of course you could keep going, but you know that you shouldn’t. It’s a required stop, and thank god for that. Let the air come in through that driver window. Run your fingers in your hair and smile. It’s almost 6pm on a Saturday evening and you’re nothing but fantastically free.”—
"Everything is Shit Except You Love." | MOCA's Art in the Streets Exhibit
There’s nothing that fuels me more than seeing modern art in its fullest form. So many talented artists out there that are paving the way, and the movement is unstoppable. You’ve got the Harings and the Basquiats to the mesmerizing prints done by Ed Templeton and Hugh Holland. I wouldn’t even know how to begin encapsulating the whole thing. But I urge those of you who haven’t visited this installation to do so before it ends, which I believe is in a week or two. So check it out and refuel your senses.