Parallel Planets presents Coy Placido
in AD INFINITUM AND BEYOND
Interview by Erin Emocling
A bundle of thanks to Parallel || Planets for featuring a bit of junk art for the unsuspecting interwebs. Cheers!
This is how we become a sensuous witch.
Read all about it –> here.
The negative space. If we pile on tons of layers without purpose, we’re rejecting the very thing that’s fragile and remarkable. The simple and effortless things are often the most powerful. There is always this incredible potential to be flowery and exhaustive, and it’s a precarious balancing act to keep things minimal and subdued.
The urge to capture mental pictures can be consuming, but all these abstractions are reasons enough to get up in the morning and behave like a fireball. It is the feeling of seeing a shadow on the wall. It is the trail of a cloud vanishing, like personal economy. It takes a little bit of stirring to make something come alive and blended. What do your eyes and heart value?
Relationships sink and become ruins. Like stars forming, it’s their violence that make them divine. Let’s keep things simple… and distant.
You wouldn’t want to overexpose yourself. That’s what creeps do.
-C
This is the theme of my sorrow. You try to attach the seas and and the sun and what comes out is the bitter music of an old guitar. The waves complete themselves in the birth of flowers, only that they’re small, almost invisible. How long does a memory last? When a shadow’s faded and forgotten, who will pick these silent blossoms?
I’m trying to forget you. Unhurried and meant for the sky’s lullaby. Here’s a simple goodbye. A cradle song for both our sighs.
Loveably hungover.
I seem to have effectively fried and reduced what’s left of my brain cells to a 21st century hashtag. The more I pile up the years, the more I seem indisposed. Per self-imposed rules, I do my best to abandon intoxicants and stimulants only to come back crawling and wanting to be tampered. Sometimes the balance is so difficult, it’s more straightforward choosing the left side of things. Certainly not because of free candy, but just because it seems to be the natural state of ethics. The apparent lack of it. We’d all love to be more untamed than the usual.
I’d love to be more fearless, like animals. They don’t talk. That’s simply heroic. I’d have to get one of my cats to drink my poison of choice. We’d talk about narcissism and entitlement. Did I say candy? The dark side offers vanilla.
The emotional lowlands seem desperate for my sad eyes. Or is it my self-loathing?
I always try to stay away from all the materials and creations my manipulative ways have set, but it turns out, they’re all I know. Defining yourself is a really strange thing to do. I seem to have forgotten the simplest, enjoyable things which is a shame. Like eating ice cream or having angry sex. The choices become narrower as you advance in years and dosage. It’s either we complicate things more, or should we just simply jump off a roof. Into a pool. Why? Because you’re a golden god.
(How can they make that movie without all the dope?)
I get mad on behalf of people when judgment and tastefulness is bad. It’s all around. It’s also in me. I don’t mind when it’s just tragically bad, it’s just that it’s plainly OK, which seems to be the benchmark for quality these days. That’s why I have fights with myself. It’s for good, competent measure. Where is the level of sympathy required for the roaring drunk within me?
You deserve better than this. Where are the coherent works of the undaunted yore? I try not to lord it over compositions. It’s easier since I’m a cheap cop-out. I’m not going to keep you from harm, because that job’s already been taken. We’re in a world of shit, and some of it is my fault. I have mathematically eliminated myself from more responsibilities and I can’t save you from this drab, uneventful read.
These ramblings are dedicated to nontextual materials. I’m operating on a heart-rending pit. Let’s focus on intention and not mechanics. The grooves in our lives are deeper and they seem to lack the luster of a child’s interest when offered sweets. It’s a wordless idea, and I know we’ll always be rioting for its expression.
It’s all good. Again, we’ve failed better.
Getting high. It’s so empty. But we all need space.
FREE WALLPAPER SIZES
2560 x 1440 ⎜1920 x 1200 ⎜1920 x 1080 ⎜1680 x 1050
1600 x 1200 ⎜1600 x 900 ⎜ 1344 x 956 ⎜1280 x 1024
1280 x 720 ⎜ 1024 x 1024 ⎜ 1024 x 768 ⎜ 800 x 600
Drink to your delight. Alcohol in hand. Tight Focus. Celebration zoom.
I might as well get another round. We’re all adults here. I take a swig and not surprisingly, I instantly feel like an asshole. If anyone’s to embody the easy feeling of making art on a day-to-day basis, it’s got to be an asshole. A little self-effacing, but it’s a sweet spot. As metaphors go, this is not a terrible one. We all would want to hide behind a pair of hang-over shades every now and then.
Drunken conversations are the most earnest, and apologies in these cases aren’t really needed. If we’re to be fairly informal, the drinks may drown us into something more immaculate: like a heartbreak. Gulp it down and ask for another.
Sometimes it’s maddeningly vague where inspirations come from, and I think anything of value would always stem from something pouring. Like a confession. So, let it flow and take an uninterrupted shot. If we confront our tipsy selves and smashed our glasses out of passion, then blood would pump a little faster even if it’s just for everyone’s hypersensitive benefit. I wish I was more God-haunted in this age, like if a divine destiny is out to administer my desires and aspirations, I’d simply emphasize on a power to drink. Let’s all drink from the holy blood. Take yours, it’s throbbing.
Let’s define ourselves with all our baggage and conjure a place where a sign says “Work In Progress.” This life will never be perfect as long as we’re carbon based and aching. Take a drink and let the drink take a drink. This is how we dance on top of tables. Indulge in all things that spill, but let’s be clear on one thing: there’s clearly more space for spirits in your half empty wine.
Where’s my drinky drink?
Fade to red.
Climb, retreat, rinse and repeat.
I dreamed of climbing a mountain, only to wake up and realize that I’ve lived there.
Folding 8 camps in the grandeurs of Baguio City for CIRCLE OF FIFTHS. A homecoming art venture for life enthusiasts. Rest and recreation is always permissive.
Come to Café By The Ruins to witness ace performances by your favorite bands: Top Junk, Reklamo, and an acoustic performance by Mr. Tek Templo.
Pack a light heart and rise for your pilgrimage.
-C
The Garden continues to be a weapon and is willing to do 10-to-20 for that.
We’ll overstuff ourselves with recovery music and claptrap art as always.
