People can convincingly obsess over the composition of everyday objects, taking the curve of a toaster and making it the birth of a galaxy. Slowly running their fingers along a heating vent over and over, trying to express the stimulation as though you could never feel it like they do. I wish I
was born with that insightful logic, that barrage of sensory delights could have been my golden ticket into high society.
I GUESS I HATE THEM.
I FIND CONCEPTUAL ART AWKWARD.
A guy named Rudolf Schwarzkogler began cutting away at his penis with a knife, piece by piece, in the name of art.
He bled to death.
Or this fellow, Vito Acconci, who masturbated under a ramp, over which visitors walked. Other features include him dressing his penis in doll's clothing and biting himself all over.
Some chap named Chris Burden crucified himself on a Volkswagen, and he found the courage to crawl across a parking lot littered with broken glass.
SO I ALSO HATE THEM.