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ZeroZero is not nothing. Not Pepsi Zero not Ground Zero, not nothing. Your sculptures are stuck in the mud, man. I take that static thing I poke probes in between slits of ribs I complete the circuit.

Electricity was not manifest in 1966. When our Zero predecessors predeceased us it was blinking, blinking. Today it is thinking, thinking. If you think that’s not a thing worth thinking through then the circuit comes through you. Two terminals is all it takes. A beginning and an end, looping back on itself because like all moments of en-light-enment the source is a big fucking circle. If one more art manifesto says ouroboros I will bite the front facing tail off every sneaking snake in a white cube gallery so help me—

Dog. Wag the Dog, and the Dog Wags you. Fair is fair. This one is for the freaks n geeks, who tinker in the dark so artists can be supposed singular geniuses with factories hidden in their deep pockets. Who really completes the circuit? Too long has the objective been subject to the subjective, too long has protocol pedestalized perspective. I’m talking to you, cool kid mascara bell bottom bell weather for the bald man’s culture wars. We want to get laid too. 

ZeroZero is loud. The baby bang, the kind that comes when all the quiet particles start to wonder what it’s like to touch and ¡Boomers! ZeroZero is light you can taste. But it ain’t Pepsi no it will not make you burp it might just make you breathe better. It’s bubbles—rhythm. It’s ballet—pop. It’s two faced so no tigers can sneak up on it. Dynamism is a 10 dollar word and our work comes cheap pay us please exclusively in quarters with two tails. We prefer dynamite

An end to eureka art. An end to gee whiz. An end to tricks this is not a trick you plagued Pharoahs you. An end to style transfer. An end to cold computation, to particle sims and pretty pictures. An end to the scapegoat of illusion, playthings and party art, squint to find your blind spot, oh shit ignore the fact that holes in the armor of our psyche are windows ignore the blind boys who taste sharp corners like lemons from a mile away. A beginning of a laboratory of doubt. A beginning of the experience as the object. Hard to sell easy to smell, my kind of party. 

ZeroZero is machinations. It is unfinished and automatic. ZeroZero is just enough nourishment to keep you crazed and awake and hungry. It is light caught in tinfoil making you wonder who made the world. Back away, look again, walk the line, line dance.