Courtesy of MLusk, Weather Records
Grant walks into the Museum of Modern Art. Feeling harried from a the cabbage he had been compulsively crunching while taking photos of dead things arranged in perceptive ways upon yesterday's broadsheet, he simply needs a moment to himself to loosen his mind. And his bowels.
Where Marina Abramovic once perched, famously holding her bowels, a late sixties Yoko Ono art installation stood instead. One microphone, two huge speakers.
Where Marina Abramovic once perched, famously holding her bowels, a late sixties Yoko Ono art installation stood instead. One microphone, two huge speakers.
Scream.
1. against the wind
2. against the wall
3. against the sky
Grant can't believe his luck. Two ways to lighten his load! He steps up to the microphone and yells. Loudly. As loud as he can. It sounds very loud to him. He steps back to admire his work. He can almost hear his guttural regurgitation reverberating through the whitewashed galleries. A lady, undoubtedly emboldened by the sheer strength of his gastrointestinal sorrow, too approaches the microphone and bellows, albeit to lesser effect.
Grant then realizes the speakers are switched off.
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