088 Texture

ARCHIVE #088

Texture

Newbies Prompt Log AI

Track No. 088

Format: MP3 (320kbps)

Lyrics

texture okay at the ticket desk i paid to become unsure got a stamp on my wrist like a cultural cure the first room breathed in climate controlled despair even the exit sign looked curated up there a black dot held court on a wall too clean with the confidence of rent I have never seen the plaque said the aria of silence in chrome materials dust acrylic grant and alone i whispered devastating because dot felt rude then nodded at dust like it had been peer reviewed my cardigan took tenure in the overlit hall i outsourced my panic to a stare at the wall my face kept buffering by the donor collection wearing borrowed depth in museum condition i adjust my glasses let one sigh pass through like my brain just found funding it never knew i nod like i get it i squint like a priest guarding a thought that was legally deceased i stand by a rope around negative space with a thrift store mfa taped to my face everybody gasps like the ceiling forgave i whisper texture and try to behave i don’t know what moved me but I’m moving toward the door art is pain and my feet are sore i spent ten minutes with a cup on the floor a cracked clear chalice by gallery four the wall text said polymer grief in checkout vernacular a beverage adjacent wound in the post consumer secular i saw municipal longing in the bent plastic lip the ontology of takeout in a half dead drip then the janitor came with a cart and a sneeze performed custodial negation with professional ease my transcendence made a clunk in the trash i opened the catalog to survive the crash page forty nine liminal residue and hygienic power page fifty please exit the building in the next half hour Now the fire alarm is screaming above could be danger could be institutional love do i flee with the crowd or remain with the form is the stairwell critique or only not warm i nod like i get it i squint like a priest guarding a thought that was legally deceased i stand by a rope around negative space with a thrift store mfa taped to my face everybody gasps like the ceiling forgave i whisper texture and try to behave i don’t know what moved me but I’m moving toward the door art is pain and my feet are sore the artist says the answer is don’t ask why so I write that down like a very evolved guy then I see the price tag six zeros in line my student debt salutes from the back of my mind if I faint near the exit does the sweat need a label wait am i nervous or curated i nod like i lived it i squint like a saint guarding a feeling i definitely ain’t i stand by the rope while my spirit goes numb like maybe the masterpiece is me standing dumb everybody gasps like the ceiling just bled i whisper context with nothing in my head i don’t know what changed me but i’m buying from the store art is pain and my feet are sore leaving through the gift shop financially stunned postcard in my hand like evidence of fun posting to the gram this really spoke to me hashtag inspiration hashtag aesthetic hashtag spirituallyfree but actually distressed in a very clean font pretending i wanted the silence i got next time i’m going drive thru where the vision is clear at least a double cheeseburger is something i can revere i understand the layers pickle cheese fear