i smell like work. the odour of sweat and effort.

i am solanas!

in the melee of this post-ideological political worl' i feel a desperate urge to leap to my captive feet and proclaim - i am solanas! i think it's the only logical response.

es! sea! you! em!

we are cut up, cannibalised, rehashed as mess/ages from (m)other worl's. we the matter. we the media.

andy's dead but we didn't kill him.

in two glass cabinets, a perfectly separated hirst in formaldehyde, you can walk between him, profoundly.

i am solanas!