Wow. You said it would happen, but I didn't listen. Here itis. Really? Wow. There it was, the inevitable: most of the shit do isstupid. I mean, I know what I go for and I know what I like and I have areally high tolerance for boredom, process, repetition, installations, andcraft. But so the fuck what ifyou're getting in touch. I just don't care about biography. I mean it.It's either hot and saying something or it's totally not. And if it's lame and saying something, you fucked up. There's no pats on the back for failing to execute a design. And there's noreason to spend your time making aesthetic meaningless shit. No names here,but you know what I'm talking about, right? I mean, I just cooked a greatfucking steak and I'm proud of that. That should be on my resume. If there'sa checkbox on a list somewhere for Max cooked a great fucking steak, finally,check that off. Now can I get some fucking client content and go back towriting code and making stupid drawings. I mean, at least I tell people mydrawings are stupid and craftless and meaningless. I don't make a fuckingmillion of them and tell everyone they're about feelings. Do I? I don'tknow. Maybe sometimes. Maybe I really mean it. Maybe that steak justknocked the sense into me. What the fuck would I do with pink shoes? I meanit. Would I shine them and put them on a shelf? Wow, Jeff Koons predictedsomething there, didn't he. When he put a shoe on a shelf people thought itwas a comment on sculpture and the place of design. Fuck that, he's talkingmy people; what a waste. I am seriously clear right here. I am totally sickof the social promotion of art. Do something real. Give away your lunch. Give away your drawings. Give away everything. Give it away.
Max Tabackman Fenton was younger then.
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