August 2016

Pinko in Portland

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I was in residence at Institute for American Art in Portland Maine for two weeks in August working on and performing a piece called Pinko.


I made lonely dances, wrote love letters to Marx, planned meetings, and sang songs:

Dear Marx,

I was in a graduate school seminar where we read all of your Grundrisse notebooks.  Towards the end of the seminar, with about two weeks left in the semester, the professor, José Esteban Muñoz, suddenly died.  In a paper I presented in class I quoted letters you sent to Engles and Lasalle while you were working on Grundrisse about how you often felt too sick to write. In the weeks before he died, when none of us knew he was going to die, José sat in front of the class rocking back and forth giving meandering lectures on what we had read, occasionally pausing mid-phrase to gulp down some water from a large plastic SmartWater bottle or say a cutting aside about a text, an artist, a world.  He loved talking about your writing formally—about the semiotic labor of attempting to represent capitalist systems so as to encounter other potentially less violent ways of life.

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I’ve been working with some poems to find some songs for the past few years. I’m ready to release them/be released by them. They are dear songs, near songs, first songs, loss songs, lost songs. The words are not mine. Perhaps they’ll offer you something. You can download them for free:





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