By Oyl Miller. 2012.
When you consider a thing,
‘TWEET’
Written by Oyl Miller
Soundtrack by Oyl Miller
Starring Bryan Bernart
Directed, Shot, and Chopped by Joe Aimonetti
Rasheed Wallace. By Oyl Miller.
Sir Charles. By Oyl Miller.
I made a few design tweaks to my personal web OS http://oylmiller.com
1.
I celebrate myself and I blog about myself.
And what I post, you can repost,
For every kilobyte shared by me also belongs to you.
I loaf and sign my soul in,
I CAPS LOCK and LOL at my ease observing cute kittens,
And cynical statements scripted over generic nature photography.
My profile, every pixel of my online presence,
Entered in this interface, this screen,
Created here, born of parents also bearing accounts from this very same social network, and their parents, still on dial-up or possibly land line,
I, now thirty-one years old, in perfect online reputation begin,
Hoping to tweet until death.
2.
Virtual houses and chat rooms are full of pop ups,
The margins are crowded with banners,
I breathe the advertising of myself, and post it and like it.
The likes of my friends’ friends would intoxicate me,
But I shall not let them.
This blog is not a campaign, it has no taste of marketing,
It is without placed product, suggested remedy or contrived spokesperson.
It is on the tips of my fingers forever, I am in love with it.
I will go to Tumblr and start another one, undisguised and naked.
I am mad for random people to contact with me.
3.
The smoke of my own breath, I will Instagram without hesitation.
Picking a grungy, high contrast filter, to encapsulate the moment,
Constructing a window into my life and very temperament.
I will tweet every respiration and inspiration,
Every bite of every sandwich will become instantly shareable,
Instantly yours.
The comings and goings of my check ins will be announced and broadcasted for all my admirers to appreciate.
The very pieces of earth I have trod will be marked my digitally enabled footsteps.
The sound of my belched, drunken texted words will be uploaded and expressed as audio files.
My kisses and embraces will be expressed as animated GIFs culled from John Hughes’ films of the 1980s.
The delight of browsing alone will be extended by pithy anonymous comments.
4.
Have you reckoned the world beyond the World Wide Web much?
Have you practiced so long to learn to blog and win the approval of social media experts and influencers of culture?
Have you felt so proud to have a post from your own fingers up voted on DIGG?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all weblogs.
You shall possess the good of Tumblr and WordPress.
(There are billions of blogs left for the claiming.)
You shall no longer find things at second or third reblogging,
Nor log through the web games of zombies and werewolves,
Nor feed yourself on the hollow specter of an RSS feed.
Now go forth, for tonight you are a blogger, my son.
(Originally published by McSweeney’s Internet Tendency:) What was that out there? You call that a circle? It looked more like a soggy donut dipped in weak, watery coffee from some generic New England diner with abrasive neon lighting like they have at the DMV. Is that what you want to evoke with your painting? Because that is what people will see. You’ve gotta want that circle. You’ve gotta commit to the circle. You’ve gotta bare your soul for that circle! We’ve traced ‘em a thousand times in practice, and here we are at your live art show, and you’re absolutely choking.
What the hell are these still lives? You’re just going through the motions with your painting, kid! These are high school level art class toss offs. You wanna make it to the kind of cutting edge galleries whose walls are bare and only open to B-list celebrities on Tuesdays at three in the morning? You think a smudgy pastel rendering of an inoffensive, submissive, realistically colored little peach is your ticket there? What if it were rotten? What it if had a deformed arm sticking out of it? What if it had dinosaur fangs that represented capitalist desire? These are exactly the kinds of thoughts real artists think. Do you even think? You need point of view in your work rookie. The artwork needs to drip with your disturbing vision.
This is the worst line work I’ve seen in thirty years of coaching artists. You’re phoning this sketch in rook!! Where is the desire in your cross hatching? Where is the emotion and the guts in your shading? You’re like a robot sitting in front of a sketch book. I’d expect better cross hatching from R2-D2. I want to see some innovation and some signature moves in your style. How are you gonna differentiate yourself from all the other artists crammed beneath the crust of the art world you’ll be competing with for wall space. You gotta get hungry in this post-modern, minimally styled artist loft you’ve paid three grand a week to rent out and listen to my comments in!!!
Why are you laughing? Do you find something amusing in that ill-conceived cartoon of a bird? Do you think putting a beak on a businessman makes you the next Parra? This is a New Yorker wanna be. You’ve gotta draw differently if you want to turn your illustrations into a globally viable and self-sustaining brand. People have to think there is something wrong with you. If you want your cartoons featured in Juxtapose magazine and find your pithy, pedestrian illustrated type on the pages of FFFFOUND, you gotta get crazier. This is just lazy sketching. Don’t bother scanning that shit in and adding color separations in Illustrator. In fact, I’ll rip that page out right now…
Are you mocking my art coaching by smearing some coffee over your colored pencil rendering? Since when did this artist retreat ever stand for haphazard mixed media compositions? Is that something you read about us in our brochure? That’s a trick question! We’d never have a brochure. You’ve gotta shift your mind kiddo. Making these fanciful, typical collages in your notebooks may have earned you creative credibility in high school with the goth crowd. But I assure you, this tranquil space of kindred artists will not tolerate these random acts of artistry. We build sharp, hungry, flesh-eating (or appropriate vegan metaphor) artists here. Were not an artist colony of dabblers. We commit to our canvases and sketchbooks in a way that is meant to scare our contemporaries and our rival artist retreats. We’re in the business of training cult leaders here.
You are not Banksy. You are not even WK-Interact. I don’t care how many pop culture references you scan into your little MacBook Air and rasterize in Illustrator with a grungy photocopier filter over it. Your social commentary isn’t biting or sharp enough to use the language of street art as your vehicle. You don’t take risks with your work. You scan conservatively. You use the Adobe Creative Suite like you’re still following the tutorials.
I can’t take this anymore. You have five hours to create the next game-changing art movement. I’m gonna go find some inspiration on Tumblr.
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