It's all not-not all bad.

A few weeks ago I watched the following and I have nothing intelligent to say about it other than it blew my mind, which is actually not an intelligent thing to say. I watched it under near-perfect circumstances. I don't do drugs. I do do depressed, and the one positive and negative thing about working in the restaurant industry is that my sleep schedule can easily be thrown way off course with no noticeable effect on my ability to actually be on time to work. The only way to solve this problem sometimes is to stay up all night just to go to bed at a reasonable time. I watched the following around 10am on a day where I hadn't' seen sleep since 2pm the previous day.

Trecartin's work plays like the fever dream of some as-yet-unnamed part of the subconscious, the part of the id that only consists of the desires implanted in our brain by television and the internet. Call it the "med", short for both mediated and medicated. Scenes and sentences fly by driven in all directions by the logic of the quickly-scanned text, the portion of a paragraph read before a hyperlink directs us to the next page, the next half-read sentence. And the language is of advertising, is of a mind desperate to be understood by Facebook instead of the other way around.

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