Tuche & Automaton

Saturday, June 16, 2007


Section One.

In the Laughing Spaghetti Factory there are:

(a) Hand-woven portraits of Mama Pork rendered in multicoloured silks and fuse-wire.

(b) A mock-up of the Sistine Chapel circa 1693 made from toothpaste.

(c) A selection of Andy warhol's wigs, including the one he wore when he died.

(Pick one of the above and go to Section Two)

In the Laughing Spaghetti Factory there are:

(a) A series of mildly racist jokes specifically designed to be offensive to Spanish people. They mostly involve incest and crying statues of the Blessed virgin. (The curators take no legal responsibility for any (i) riots, (ii) wars or (iii) accidental births that may occur as a result of this exhibition. The Laughing Spaghetti Factory exists outside of any known legal system and/or recognised conceptual continuality.)

(b) A wall of snails.

Section Two.

This is Section two. Please go to Section Four.

In the Laughing Spaghetti Factory there are:

(a) A number of water-colours (post-industrialist landscapes of Lowell, Georgia, mainly) painted using the diluted vomit of Jack Keruouac and his mother.

(b) Some old chipped marbles belonging to my father when he was a child that have been placed in an old Maxwell House coffee jar.

(c) A sty full of pigs wearing human masks. One of them is a representation of your face, drawn in wax crayons. Can you see it?

You're lying.

Section Three.

This is serious. Stop laughing. Go to Section Nine.

Section Four.

Go to Section Three. No, don't go.

Section Five.

In the Laughing Spaghetti Factory there are:

(a) Eleven blind men dressed as monks. None of them believe in God.

(b) A blind God dressed as a man. He believes in nothing.

(c) A choir of rotting cats.

(d) A row of telephones, endlessly ringing.

(Select one of the above that most closely resembles your body weight, then go home. If you die in your sleep then magpies will pick at your skin, half-heartedly searching for ticks.)

Section Six.

Close your eyes. Imagine there is a secret wardrobe that contains a homemade replica of JFK's blood-soaked shirt. There are strands of hair on the collar and tiny fragments of bone. Ignore this. Can you see me yet? I'm wearing ribbons. Open your eyes.

Go outside for fresh air. The cafeteria is now open.

Section Seven.

This is not Section Seven.

There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.

There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.

There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.
There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.
There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.

There is no Laughing Spaghetti Factory.

This is not Section Seven.

Section Eight.

Please, I'm begging you. Please Don't leave me.


At 1:14 PM, Blogger Loki said...

i thought Warhol has his own hair, or at least a decent fascimile of his own hair... if i'd known it was a mere wig all along then i'd have burned all my Velvet Underground records and waited for Songs For Drella...

I heard that he got other people to drink all that condensed soup - never even allowing them the courtesy of water to mix with it... puts Damien Hirst's ill-fated art slavery with that diamon skull (seventeen small Indian boys, whipped to an inch of their lives - sticking diamonds on with their raw nubs) to a pathetic kind of shame...

if you shop in Primark, you can bet there's devastation in your wake...

At 3:15 PM, Blogger steve engine said...

There is always devestation in my wake...

Actually, I don't mind Hirst, slaves or not...By coincidence, I was talking today to someone who told me that Hirst had settled a whole bunch of law-suits with artists who he's allegedly ripped off.

What's that old saying: Genius steals, while Hirst settles out of court...


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