Aren’t you SICK to DEATH of it yet? This constant press of other people’s flesh in your face, a flesh you can’t smell, touch, or see the back of? (Tip, you’ll just see faceceless code…)
What do these pouting humanoids want to tell us? Their inability to understand their own boredom?
And how do you react to the blank faces of these C21st Brave New Worlders of all shapes and hues, showing their Booty?
Is this Werner Herzog’s banal evil of nature given human form? Or an appalling self-satisfied Ballardian "crash" made digital, membranes, muscle and marrow pixelated into an easily swipeable format? Just how many pictures of some girl’s propped-out arse or some boy’s sucked-in washboard does the world need? Will we ever get bored of thumbing past these screened bums, breasts, abs and thighs?
Shrinkwrap these pounds of digital flesh and you could be shopping for euroknallers at De Witte Prijzenslager. Maybe they’re all being stockpiled and detoxified in a monstrous dump in Ghana, next to your corroding Nokia. Like Lou Reed’s painter friend Donald once said, put a fork in them and turn them over, they’re done.
Moodswings #1: expect a party of all persusasions. There could even be a skater ramp.