make your own insomnia
So, I was trying to write a cover letter for my MSc application without using the phrase "I want to take a course in Knowledge Management because it sounds Orwellian and I don't have the necessary impetus to avoid office work" and in the hope of not falling asleep in the process, I had a thought. That thought was: Interpol/Libs 60s art collective AU.
This is the best thought anyone has ever had, y/y? Carlos is an experimental composer! He writes the soundtracks to experimental films. They mostly consist of silence, punctuated occasionally by the sound of a dog scrabbling at a violin which has been rubbed with meat. He stumbles into the collective by accident because he lives with Paul, who shares studio space with semi-successful sculptor Daniel Kessler and his lover, Sam (they claim they're just fucking to piss off The Man, but everyone knows that they're secretly some kind of old married couple who enjoy baking and It's A Wonderful Life and light bondage). Sam's a kind of Bruce Naumann-esque video artist, who spends most of his time filming himself exercising in the studio and then philosophising about it in order to convince hip art dealers to represent him. Paul thinks he's full of shit, but then Paul spends most of his time sat in front of his easel, staring blankly at the white canvas and waiting for inspiration to strike. Sadly, he takes too many horse tranquilisers to register being struck by anything (Carlos has carried out several rigorous investigations into this. Sam has filmed them). The other guys only really keep Paul around because he generates good copy - stick him in front of a journalist and suddenly he talks and talks and talks, mostly bullshit but massively inspired, arrogant, articulate bullshit. Plus, he's slept with some very important people.
The horse tranqilisers, amongst other things, are provided by two lovely British boys who live in Carlos and Paul's apartment block. Carlos avoids them, as a rule - from what he's seen, they spend most of their time in various states of undress, looking vaguely bemused and dictating beat poetry to one another. Carlos, who is a classically trained pianist from a good home who was raised to believe that presentation was everything and that personal hygiene was not optional, is quietly disgusted by them. They say they're getting life experience. Carlos thinks they should get jobs. Sam wants to document them. They just want to be beautiful. They have actually said this, multiple times. Paul has assimilated it into his pull quote portfolio.
...and then things happen, possibly with the trying to orchestrate a Happening which doesn't work because Sam's camera equipment tips everybody off, Paul and Carlos don't show up, Pete and Carl do, and seem to think this is some kind of open air rehearsal which they can script as they go along. Daniel stands in the middle of it all, looking resigned and taking photographs whenever he blinks so he does miss a minute of the entire, depressing, artistic process.
At some point there is sex.
But first, I have to write a formal letter.
*sigh*
This is the best thought anyone has ever had, y/y? Carlos is an experimental composer! He writes the soundtracks to experimental films. They mostly consist of silence, punctuated occasionally by the sound of a dog scrabbling at a violin which has been rubbed with meat. He stumbles into the collective by accident because he lives with Paul, who shares studio space with semi-successful sculptor Daniel Kessler and his lover, Sam (they claim they're just fucking to piss off The Man, but everyone knows that they're secretly some kind of old married couple who enjoy baking and It's A Wonderful Life and light bondage). Sam's a kind of Bruce Naumann-esque video artist, who spends most of his time filming himself exercising in the studio and then philosophising about it in order to convince hip art dealers to represent him. Paul thinks he's full of shit, but then Paul spends most of his time sat in front of his easel, staring blankly at the white canvas and waiting for inspiration to strike. Sadly, he takes too many horse tranquilisers to register being struck by anything (Carlos has carried out several rigorous investigations into this. Sam has filmed them). The other guys only really keep Paul around because he generates good copy - stick him in front of a journalist and suddenly he talks and talks and talks, mostly bullshit but massively inspired, arrogant, articulate bullshit. Plus, he's slept with some very important people.
The horse tranqilisers, amongst other things, are provided by two lovely British boys who live in Carlos and Paul's apartment block. Carlos avoids them, as a rule - from what he's seen, they spend most of their time in various states of undress, looking vaguely bemused and dictating beat poetry to one another. Carlos, who is a classically trained pianist from a good home who was raised to believe that presentation was everything and that personal hygiene was not optional, is quietly disgusted by them. They say they're getting life experience. Carlos thinks they should get jobs. Sam wants to document them. They just want to be beautiful. They have actually said this, multiple times. Paul has assimilated it into his pull quote portfolio.
...and then things happen, possibly with the trying to orchestrate a Happening which doesn't work because Sam's camera equipment tips everybody off, Paul and Carlos don't show up, Pete and Carl do, and seem to think this is some kind of open air rehearsal which they can script as they go along. Daniel stands in the middle of it all, looking resigned and taking photographs whenever he blinks so he does miss a minute of the entire, depressing, artistic process.
At some point there is sex.
But first, I have to write a formal letter.
*sigh*