When you have no moral or spiritual foundations, you are vulnerable to being psyopped by toxic memeplexes—provided by state media, manifested from algorithms, or internally from pathologizing insecurity or trauma. These are demons, and they do possess people. Virtue is immunity.

By mastering the manipulation of information (the media, his own image, or his superstar coterie, to name a few), Andy Warhol understood that he could master culture. Warhol reminds us that to be the originator of something widely memed can match being the originator of the trigger event. Th0ese re gestures—such as reblogging and retweeting—have become cultural rites of cachet in and of themselves. Sorting and fi ltering—moving information—has become a site of cultural capital. Filtering is taste. And good taste rules the day: Warhol’s exquisite sensibility, combined with his fi nely tuned taste, challenged the locus of artistic production from creator to mediator.

“But why should I be original? Why can’t I be nonoriginal?” He sees no need to create anything new: “I just like to see things used and reused.” Echoing then-current notions of eradicating the division between art and life, he says, “I just happen to like ordinary things. When I paint them, I don’t try to make them extraordinary. I just try to paint them ordinary-ordinary. . . . Th at’s why I’ve had to resort to silk screens, stencils and other kinds of automatic reproduction. And still the human element creeps in! . . . I’m antismudge. It’s too human. I’m for mechanical art . . . If somebody faked my art, I couldn’t identify it.”

A haiku about forgotten tears

Drifting on a sea of forgotten tears

I drift aimlessly, searching for a way out

But there is none to be found

Warhol’s oeuvre, then, should be read as text instead of literature , echoing Barthes’s idea that “the text is a tissue of citations, resulting from the thousand sources of culture,” 36 which is a shorthand defense for the waves of appropriative, “unoriginal,” and “uncreative” artworks that would follow after Warhol for decades. It also explains why Warhol could take a newspaper photo of Jackie Kennedy and turn it into an icon. Warhol understood that the “tissue of citations” around the image of Jackie would only accrue over time, growing more complex with each passing historic event or era.

Andy Warhol collected everything from cookie jars to contemporary art, scouring auction houses, antique stores, and flea markets for new treasures to add to his many collections.

The Time Capsules are Warhol’s largest collecting project, in which he saved source material for his work and an enormous record of his own daily life.

Black pudding is a sausage usually consisting of a mixture of blood (usually from the pig, but there is also beef black pudding), fat or lard (smalt), bacon, spices and fillers (rye, bread, barley, and/or oatmeal). It is a by-product of slaughter and was traditionally made in the fall.

In other countries, too, black pudding is made from blood and other cheap cuts of meat at slaughter. For example, butifarra negra and morcilla are made in Spain, boudin noir in France, black pudding in England, Blutwurst in Germany and Austria, sanguinaccio insaccato and bodeun in Italy, but black pudding can also be found in Asia, such as the Korean sundae.

We’re always bending over backward trying to express ourselves, yet LeWitt makes us realize how impossible it is not to express ourselves. Perhaps writers try too hard, hitting huge impasses by always Infallible Processes trying to say something original, new, important, profound.

https://twitter.com/AEQEA/status/1544362070581313536

Similarly, Ken Friedman’s work “THE DISTANCE FROM THIS SENTENCE TO YOUR EYE IS MY SCULPTURE” (1971) has size but no physical presence other than that described by the relationship between the card it is printed it on and the eye of the viewer. It lacks what nearly all sculptures have but still has a physical presence; it is perhaps most similar to the “purely conceptual” esolangs that lack anything beyond the recognizer.

When you have no moral or spiritual foundations, you are vulnerable to being psyopped by toxic memeplexes—provided by state media, manifested from algorithms, or internally from pathologizing insecurity or trauma. These are demons, and they do possess people. Virtue is immunity.

By mastering the manipulation of information (the media, his own image, or his superstar coterie, to name a few), Andy Warhol understood that he could master culture. Warhol reminds us that to be the originator of something widely memed can match being the originator of the trigger event. Th0ese re gestures—such as reblogging and retweeting—have become cultural rites of cachet in and of themselves. Sorting and fi ltering—moving information—has become a site of cultural capital. Filtering is taste. And good taste rules the day: Warhol’s exquisite sensibility, combined with his fi nely tuned taste, challenged the locus of artistic production from creator to mediator.

“But why should I be original? Why can’t I be nonoriginal?” He sees no need to create anything new: “I just like to see things used and reused.” Echoing then-current notions of eradicating the division between art and life, he says, “I just happen to like ordinary things. When I paint them, I don’t try to make them extraordinary. I just try to paint them ordinary-ordinary. . . . Th at’s why I’ve had to resort to silk screens, stencils and other kinds of automatic reproduction. And still the human element creeps in! . . . I’m antismudge. It’s too human. I’m for mechanical art . . . If somebody faked my art, I couldn’t identify it.”

A haiku about forgotten tears

Drifting on a sea of forgotten tears

I drift aimlessly, searching for a way out

But there is none to be found

Warhol’s oeuvre, then, should be read as text instead of literature , echoing Barthes’s idea that “the text is a tissue of citations, resulting from the thousand sources of culture,” 36 which is a shorthand defense for the waves of appropriative, “unoriginal,” and “uncreative” artworks that would follow after Warhol for decades. It also explains why Warhol could take a newspaper photo of Jackie Kennedy and turn it into an icon. Warhol understood that the “tissue of citations” around the image of Jackie would only accrue over time, growing more complex with each passing historic event or era.

Andy Warhol collected everything from cookie jars to contemporary art, scouring auction houses, antique stores, and flea markets for new treasures to add to his many collections.

The Time Capsules are Warhol’s largest collecting project, in which he saved source material for his work and an enormous record of his own daily life.

Black pudding is a sausage usually consisting of a mixture of blood (usually from the pig, but there is also beef black pudding), fat or lard (smalt), bacon, spices and fillers (rye, bread, barley, and/or oatmeal). It is a by-product of slaughter and was traditionally made in the fall.

In other countries, too, black pudding is made from blood and other cheap cuts of meat at slaughter. For example, butifarra negra and morcilla are made in Spain, boudin noir in France, black pudding in England, Blutwurst in Germany and Austria, sanguinaccio insaccato and bodeun in Italy, but black pudding can also be found in Asia, such as the Korean sundae.

We’re always bending over backward trying to express ourselves, yet LeWitt makes us realize how impossible it is not to express ourselves. Perhaps writers try too hard, hitting huge impasses by always Infallible Processes trying to say something original, new, important, profound.

https://twitter.com/AEQEA/status/1544362070581313536

Similarly, Ken Friedman’s work “THE DISTANCE FROM THIS SENTENCE TO YOUR EYE IS MY SCULPTURE” (1971) has size but no physical presence other than that described by the relationship between the card it is printed it on and the eye of the viewer. It lacks what nearly all sculptures have but still has a physical presence; it is perhaps most similar to the “purely conceptual” esolangs that lack anything beyond the recognizer.