The cartoon — as the primitive manifestation of the virtual, the ability to treat reality as malleability — feels more and more aptly depictive of the world currently lived, a world governed by abstraction and rulers on whims swapping crutches for legs, swamps for politics, licorice for sustenance. In the future your head will be replaced by a pumpkin and this will be the will of hand we can’t see but can all infer, sense will be destroyed and replaced with something much more billowing, slapstick maybe.

Art is collective cloud-based fantasy envisioned by the countless projecting its realm in which we all role-play our abstractions.

Reading is such an automatic mechanism. It is a base human disposition to “read” our environment, to make sense of our surroundings, and advertising takes advantage of this: a byline appears and before you can stop yourself you have read it, allowed it briefly to control you and its message has been passed, its transaction has been complete, and its sign depleted lifeless garbage. Artists soften this verbose assault by clipping meaning, leaving it to never complete a logic but hover incomplete and

arts beginning with mimesis, desiring the illusion