Patrick Downing (b. 1974)
Beautiful Dark, 2020
Lamp with gack and garbage
Incontemporary Art: 2redux’d 2fux
Month: November 2020
I saw this malarkey writ loud in a cloud…
Hope.
Got it?
I think so.
How d’you know?
I don’t know for sure but you kinda just—
Just what?
Feel it.
Huh. Where?
Where what?
D’you feel it?
Inside. Down deep.
How deep?
I’d say it’s bowular.
Bowular isn’t a word.
Sure it is. As in reference to the bowels. Look it up.
I shan’t. But regardless, the bowels, huh?
The bowels.
Really?
If I gotta pick one place.
You feel hope down there.
I sure do.
You sure it ain’t that breakfast burrito you got at the gas station?
I definitely hope it isn’t that.
Incontemporary Art: Tuff Critizizms
Admittedly, there is a fine line between brutal truth and nitpicking. It is at this boundary between the two hemispheres of judgement and assessment that the very nature of existence itself, not just art, is found. And at this boundary, this threshold, this membrane, this thin and hairless skin laid upon the world, is also to be found a well of immense and terrible power. Of course, it can be incredibly tempting to harvest this force and wield it in ill ways. We have always known this to be a hazard of this most noble enterprise. Thus it is that all art critics have been bound by the Faultfinder’s Code of 1473 to toe that motherfuckin’ line as hard as they can. Even if it means their own ultimate demise. And by demise, we mean painful death. And by ultimate, we mean long-winded.
From “The Critic: Official Manual (232nd Ed., 2018) by Mandrake Muldoon et al.”
War Fighter 2300 A.D.
“You see that?”
“Did I? Wow, that was wicked wild.”
“Super wicked wild. What do you think? Meteor maybe?”
“Something from space, that’s for sure.”
“Definitely from space.”
“But–“
“But what?”
“You think perhaps maybe it was a–what do you call it? A usurper?”
“A space usurper?”
“Uh-huh.”
“As in like an invader?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“Nah man, where’s the fun in that. Why’s it always gotta be an invader from space? Why not an adventurer?”
“A space adventurer?”
“Like Rambo.”
“From space?”
“Yeah, Space Rambo.”
“Rambo doesn’t adventure he fights.”
“As in alien fight? Are you sure? I mean, okay, so who’s the adventure guy?”
“You know, what’s his name–Nicholas Cage.”
“Isn’t he a science guy?”
“No, he’s a fighter guy. I’m pretty sure anyway.”
“That’s Rambo.”
“Then who’s Nicholas Cage?”
“He’s the science guy.”
“Then who’s the adventure guy?”
“The guy with the muscles.”
“Are they–are they science muscles?”
“Nicholas Cage isn’t as muscular as he is scientific.”
“Wait, no, you’re all mixed up, that’s definitely Rambo.”
“C’mon man, get serious, I said science muscles. Just add aliens.”
“Oh, right, sorry, you mean the guy from the sequel to Rambo Six.”
“No, because I didn’t say it was on a submarine.”
“I thought it was from space.”
“It was. It is. Specifically alien space.”
“Wasn’t that the one with Nicholas Cage? The sequel to The Ultimate Rambo.”
“Jesus Christ, what are you deaf now? Let me repeat, I said A-L-I-E-N alien not S-U-B-M-A-R-I-N-E submarine.”
“I hear you. I heard you. You said S-C-I-E-N-C-E science A-D-V-E-N-T-U-R-E adventure. And alien, I just can’t remember how to spell that one.”
“Okay, regardless of your spelling skills it’s nice to have you back on planet Correct.”
“Good to be here, and just to clarify now, I believe we’re actually talking about Rambo Extreme.”
“Yes. Finally, you get it.”
“And you’re right it does pretty much describe what we just saw in the night sky there.”
“Like I told you.”
“And Rambo Extreme was the best in that octology.”
“Aliens, submarines, science, Vin Diesel, adventure, and war, that picture was epic! I can’t won’t argue with that.”
Incontemporary Art – Fall 2020 **flash sale** We pay the HST!
Patrick Downing (b. 1974)
Horrible Light, 2020
Lamp with gack and garbage
‘Fraidy Catcalling
He’s so afraid of everything he uses a bathysphere to take a bath.
The guy spells paranoid with five exclamation points!!!!!
He’s so scared shitless he hasn’t taken a dump in six years.
He’s not just afraid of his own shadow. He’s convinced his shadow is part of a cabal of shadows that want to give him gonorrhoea. So just try to get him to seek shade on a hot day without a condom.
Of course, he also fears the sun. To him it’s nothing but a massive ball of molten gas that makes nothing but deadly radiation and too much gravity.
And don’t even get him started on gravity. According to him you don’t just fall down, you know. You don’t just crash to the tarmac. Not without gravity getting its weasel worms into you. Fear that shit.
Speaking of worms. Yeah, get afraid of them too. Eyeless shit eating squishy monstrosities that crave nothing more than to feast on your corpse.
And oh how he fears the dead. Soulless bone bags that just lay there in the firmament waiting to rise again and eat your penis. Wicked wicked things the dead!
Also to be feared (he was kind enough to bullet point these ones for us):
-pants
-crackers (incl. Triscuits but Ritz are fine apparently)
-mosquitoes
-mosquito nets
-Utah
-dudes named Bjorn
-ceiling fans
-jazz fusion
-ceilings
-voodoo (see: the dead)
-soups AND stews (chili is fine apparently)
-nuts AND bolts (screws are fine apparently)
-intimacy
Listen, I’m not gonna stand here and say the world isn’t a scary place, because it can be because it is. But come on, you have to be reasonable, I mean be afraid of Utah, fine, who doesn’t have misgivings about the place, but put some goddamn pants on!!!!!
700 horses of hard fucking science power
Behold the equation that opened the trapdoor to the bowels of the Universe and like a cosmic suppository jammed up its spacehole unleashed an explosion of enlightenment and joy the likes of which had only been experienced by everything that one other time during the waving of the checkered flag at 1982’s Indy 500!
#Mathematics101
Hollywood News Report: Oscar Winners Edition
They sat me down in the office and by they I mean he as in him as in you guessed it old blowhard windy the maroon buffoon. Also, as it was, my boss. So there’s that. Anyways what began then and is thus chronicled in absolute depth right down to the most nanoscopic details which I will lay bare for you and all other humans who choose to read further was the most powerful and prescient PowerPoint presentation ever given. It all begins as such:
“Rick, hey, harya?“
“Fine.”
“Glad you could come in. We need a steady hand on this one.”
“When don’t you. What’s cracking?”
He got up and closed the blinds and dimmed the lights. A screen lowered from the ceiling behind his desk.
“Okay. Here’s the thing.” (Click) An image appeared on the screen.
“We’ve got the Boz.”
“Uh huh.”
(Click) A new image appeared.
“We’ve got the font.”
“You really do. Huh. Okay, I see that. So what do you want I should do—“
“What? Do? What do you mean do? Jesus fuck, what’s so hard? We have the fucking Boz. We have the fucking font. NOW GET ME THE FUCKING SCRIPT!!!“
End of presentation.
Beginning of the next enlightenment.
the Leather Douche 