John Roebas
boosting the afternoons

date_from 13/09 8/11/2014

Practice? Practice? Practice.

Everything is real in due time.

There is no end to attempted living.

Some cities are black and white. Some rooms are off-grey.

Plastic wrap the concrete days we drift through and make an imprint on the surroundings.

Burned again. Lesson learned.

Repetition is comforting. But comfort is unnerving. How about we break something?

Now I walk around with glass granules in my shoes. I thought I’d be further along at this point.

Cellular service is always the worst downtown. You always call me when I’m downtown.

Words congeal and melt; the waxy remnants stick to lips like tar on a backside.

Do you remember that summer we spent pouring beverages on hot pavement, guided by voices, diving slowly into bodies of water, and talking shit on anything other than our favorite rappers? These days, we wonder why people are so cold.

God. Sitting in a weathered Oldsmobile in a Wawa parking lot, wearing nothing but a brother’s parka, drinking neglected coffee. I guess things could be worse.

Oh, but isolation is not an option. Come back to me. Now.

Gotta get up. Gotta get out. Gotta get home before the morning comes.

Left shoe, right shoe. Right name, wrong show.

--

Keith J. Varadi
August 2014
Los Angeles, CA

This solo exhibition exists in two-parts and in two locations, beginning in Brussels, boosting the afternoons, and overlapping and extending into Los Angeles, short-timing the dawn.

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