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On a mission to spam the spammers. With spam.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Tracey Emin

Subject: The intertextual possibilities of the sexual-self

Hi Tracey,

I have some ideas for an art project but i have neither the time nor the requisite spunk to carry them out so i thought i'd contact the greatest name in post-modern art this country has ever produced (that's YOU Tracey) to see if she would help me realise my artistic vision. I do so hope you can help me 'colour in my outline'.

As a man with a functioning penis of flesh and blood i am overcome with a daily urge to recontextualise and deconstruct the sex act down to it's fundamental animalistic uber-aggressivity. Looking around this decaying fetid pus-encrusted heap-of-cock country i see secular sexualisation of humanity at every turn. Billboards literally scream the primal roar of orgasm directly into our collective unconscious, showering and sullying our sub-egotistic sense of sexual self in a sordid miasma of slick, sticky, superannuated secretions. 
My artistic inner-vision calls for a nouveau-grandiose addressing of this socially-misrepresented and unhealthy union betwixt penii and vagine: a brand new, thrilling and exciting approach that challenges our context-heavy presuppositions of the sex act while at the same time arousing the primeval jelly from our brain-base to come forth in an orgiastic explosion of high-brow filth.
My idea then, is this: Imagine if you will Tracey my love, entering a gallery space. That very act at once explicitly symbolizing not only the penetrative act of sex itself, you Tracey being a giant penis and the doorway a robust but welcoming vaginal/anal/nasal cavity, but also at the same time representing a contextually unique pastiche of the mind-rape perpetrated by the media sexualisation of the self.

You are then immediately greeted with the first of three pieces representing my artistic interpretation of the animalistic vagueness of human sexuality: a giant photograph of a lion's erect cock with the word 'POOF' written across it (i'm thinking a sans-serif font but am open to suggestions).
In this shocking yet thrilling moment the viewer is presented with a three-fold assessment of their own sex-ego: the sense of voyeuristic guilt at witnessing true animalistic sexuality; the direct questioning of the viewers same-sex biases, creating an internal monologue along the lines of "By staring intently at this grand feline phallus, am I the poof to which this statement alludes?? Have my inner-homophobic tendencies, all but hidden by my middle-class pretensions, now been exposed as the raw chauvinistic/feministic privileges they truly are?? Did that lion's cock just call me a poof???"; and most profoundly, is my hitherto unchallenged binary view of human/animal sexuality redundant, lost into a sea of grey shades that hold the entirety of animal sexual experience where lion and man are neither 'straight' nor 'queer' but instead drowning in a hot plasma pool of sexual possibilities?

Moving on one is then presented with the second statement: a close up actual penetration shot of bunny rabbit cock into bunny rabbit vagina with the word 'BESTIALITY' in tiny tiny writing (again, probably sans-serif) all over the rabbits' faces. We are truly then in the realm of 'animal porn', confronting our inner prejudice on the normalcy of the sex act within human social interactions, fully questioning our interpretation of what constitutes pornography. If we are indeed all animals, is this 'bunny fucking' arousing? Or is this bunny 'fucking arousing'?? Is it a possibility that within the realms of ones own sexual head space one might indeed 'knock one out' over this hyper-real presentation of bunny coitus? In a world where a man can marry his own dog (Google it, seriously. Dude kisses that bitch with tongues and everything. Yuk!) are we perhaps ready to confront this re-contextualized and hyper-defined version of smut?

Finally, the last piece in this pseudo-triptych of sexual discovery: a 6ft by 6ft mirror, next to which is placed a hat stand and several coat hangers. This invites the viewer to first reassess their own body image in the new context of a truly animalistic sexual ego, asking them to look inside and feel for the first time that base neanderthal response to pictures of pricks and pussies thus releasing a sexual freshness which permeates their by now sebum-coated loins. The hat stand further invites a literal stripping of clothes while also offering a figurative removal of old sexual attitudes and biases, leaving the viewer to walk naked out of the space, free from an outdated and normalized vision of sexual mundaneity.

It'd also be nice if the gallery space led straight out into a cafe or something so you could get a drink and a biscuit afterwards. Oh, and I realize there are no tits in this exhibition, do you think it needs some form of tits? Maybe we could cover the floor in bats nipples or something? Just a thought.

Laters, innit.
Niesche x

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

The Sun

To: custserv@the-sun.co.uk
Hello the sun,

As a reader of your fine newspaper for many years i feel compelled to write to you. Well, i say 'reader' but i actually just look at the pictures and gasp softly while rolling my eyes and shaking my head from side to side in a barely noticable manner . And while 'fine' may be too strong an adjective, you're at least marginally better than that shite the daily star. Come to think of it, 'news'paper might be stretching it a bit too, but you do at least have the self control to not resort to putting big brother or x factor on the cover every bloody day. Ok, i'll start again....

As a viewer of your sub-par collection of boderline-trivial nonsense for many years i feel compelled to write to you. Now, on the subject of your 'page 3', like every decent, upstanding male in this wonderful country of ours i am frankly disgusted with your treatment of the female form. Over the thirty odd years of printing page 3 models you have managed in no uncertain terms to systematically subvert the glorious breasts of our shapely sisters into sexless, cold, pointless balloons of ridicule. I used to love tits!! Now, after reading (sorry, 'viewing') your pathetic attempts at titillation over the decades i can't look down ladies tops anymore without imagining them with a stupid plastic smile surrounded by delicate foliage. Whenever i see a topless beauty parading down the beach in Majorca i no longer think 'Phwooar you don't get many of them to the pound!!!', but instead a useless random fact pops into my head like 'Today is national no-baking day and Silvia here is not impressed! "I love a good ol' British bake me, honest. You should come over and taste my buns the vicar sez there incredible!"'.

I honestly don't know how you manage, day after flaccid, sexless day, to turn something as beautiful as ladytits into asexual lumps of goosepimpled flesh. You've ruined tits!!!! How on earth can you ruin tits??!!! I've seen pictures of corpses looking sexier than any of your generic 'beauties'. Is it the lighting you use? Do you photoshop the tits afterwards, like is there a 'remove sexiness' option and you click it to turn the tit equivalent of Beyonce into a breast-like Whoopi Goldberg?! From 'cum' tits to 'mum' tits in one easy step?

If you are indeed as serious as you have claimed to be in the past about objectifying and reducing "intelligent, vibrant young women" (Rebekah 'prison food isn't all that bad you know, you'll get used to it' Brooks, 2014) to 1-dimensional reflections of men's animalistic urges then it's about time you bucked your bloody ideas up. 'Titillation'?? Pfft! They're about as titillating as Rupert Murdoch's hairy arsehole. After being fisted by Giant Haystacks. Come to think of it that is actually quite titillating. Ok, they're about as titillating as seeing Lady Di fellate Bernard Manning (and yes i know they're both dead that's exactly my point. Just imagine Di's raggedy cadaver and smashed up face and jaw trying in vain to stimulate dead Bernards tiny racist penis into life, blood and spittle cascading down his fat-as-fuck legs. You see? Not titillating).

I suggest the very least you could do is to simply ramp up the tit quotient per model by cutting out pictures of tits and sticking them all over the models tits to give a kind of 'multi-tit' effect. This mammary overload
would potentially scramble the brain of the viewer in the hope of resetting the mind to the original base response when viewing naked busters: the well known and deceptively respectful 'phwooar'. Follow this strategy for a few weeks and i'm sure i will once again be able to demean and undervalue women with the ease of a professional rapist. If you want rampant sexism to continue to flourish in this country then it is your duty to remedy this 'spoiled knockers' shambles at once.

Good day,
Niesche x