Innit mates...
They are born and raised in
flicked inconsistent paint splatter
crowded, filthy, dark
the raw mucus of the artist's gleaming eye
environments where their existence is one of abject
hologram pictures of soldiers
In bio-hack labs for the family
misery and terror. The females
Tangerine top with detachable tabard
may be hooked up to “rape racks” where they are forcibly
made to hack hack and hack again, against the mighty machine
impregnated, over and over, only to
do the hard work of the artist, this grimy yet moral acting
have their offspring
difficult proposal to write but worth it in
taken from them just hours after birth. (The wailing of cows
like a sort of cross country "Sport Art" in Zagreb town centre
whose babies have been dragged away is as haunting as the screams of
piglets.).
a living breathing tissue of enzymes and fluid carriers, open to the
public
They are shackled by their ankles, dragged
taxi drivers by day artists by night
along a conveyor belt, sliced open, and plunged into boiling water,
often
outside the gallery coteries but happy in their marginal hipness,
ahead of the game, and looking cool
while fully conscious.
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