I live in a world of boxes. My biological existence was formed in a living, breathing bio-box. I was expelled from that box into the man made. The man made is where I learned the way of the box.
I grew.
I became educated in a collective learning box and everyday after my education, I came back to my collective family box and opened a storage box to find something to eat. I took the food and would then go to a special box within the collective family box to watch entertaining things from a box that showed me what I am supposed to be interested in.
Eventually, I leave my collective family box to search for more boxes. I find them.
In a house, within a room, and trapped in my own head I live. I leave a box, and enter a transportation box to travel to the collective business box where I work. I work to get money to support my own personal box which I rent from a landlord who has a bigger box than I do. Sometimes, on a Friday or Saturday night I leave my own personal rented box and walk down to a collective lonely box to sit around with strangers and drink alcohol. I drink in a box and think about how I can get more money to buy myself a bigger box. I have to think outside the box; or so Im told by managers, commercials and self help books that I buy to help collect the dust that forms in my own personal rented box.
Christmas.
Christmas is a time that I bring a living dead tree into my own personal rented box. I go to the closet and take out boxes upon boxes of orniments to decorate my dead tree that once was alive. I jump into my transportation box, and drive to a big box store to buy things that were placed in boxes by migrant workers struggling in sweat shop boxes on the other side of the world. I wrap the sweatshop produced boxes in nice wrapping paper and place those boxes under my formally living tree and wait.
Sooner or later I will get old, or sick or find myself in some sort of forgettable accident. I will be taken to the box from which I originally emerged. This is a box that hold those in need of a cure. This is a box that resonates with fear, dread, and hope. This box is the alpha and the omega.
I die.
I will be taken to a cold freezer box and placed in a small metal storage box. I will be placed in a small metal storage box and remain silent and still. I will be formless, and still. I will become a product.
Phone calls will be made.
The product will be removed from the small metal storage box, placed into a transportation box, and taken to a box that are for the preperation of dead people that were once alive. The product that once was me, will be treated with various chemicals to make my dead self appear in reverse...From alive to dead to faux alive. My former living self that is now a product will be placed into a box, which will be then be slid into a tranportation box for the formerly living. The product that once was me will be driven to a place where my final box will be buried in the ground and quickly forgotten.
Dead.
Impossible Angles
Chicago Art Institute
Reckless Chicago
Eternal Prayer
Sentinal
Overview
Prison
