Curly-cable how-to: fasten one end of cable to dowel. Wrap wrap wrap. Fasten other end. Apply consistent heat to outer jacket (I use a cheap heat gun from harbor freight). The plastic will lightly melt and assume the shape of the dowel. Allow to cool!
On a side note— if your process photos start looking like the art itself, you might be on to something
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Plinth construction, eyeballing component scheme in pelican case
Arbitrary favicon injection
I have had this thought:
this ‘Internet’ is a harbor of paranoia
each tender little ship (site, user) nestled in its own, unique, over-the-shoulder dock,
tied in with ropes by the NSA
so I wonder if I can make some art—
some deployable paranoia??
I took it down the other day. It coincides with some work that I’ve been doing for class. I’ve got a Raspberry Pi acting as a wifi-hotspot, running some proxies I wrote, to scoop up the HTTP traffic running through it and modify it before returning it to the user.
I will be back with process pictures, maybe some video, of my “deployable paranoia hotspot and trickery emporium”
sometimes you have got to learn to release control.
free television, north america. is an autonomous curation of people in disparate cities trying to get rid of their old TVs on craigslist. it is, also, my first attempt to pluck out an indexicality from the rhizome— the mess which happens at the end of modernist grand narratives.
so far as i figure, there are threads happening all the time within the rhizome. these tricky, inter-connected, similar things remain unseen until they are teased out, given context by each other, and their family portrait is made.
ultimately, the threads wear out— televisions may cease to exist, or craigslist may fold, but for a moment at least they are preserved.
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First dangerous substance: Kevin Bott’s hypertext experience 'Gnarly'
Kevin Bott was voted most likely to be ambassador for humanity when the robots win.
Thanks for all the likes and kind words and everything, everybody, but aaaahhh that link isn’t mine! That’s the very talented Mike Smith and his snarky GPS system, and though I do love it very very much, I would feel fucking awful if anyone gave me credit for Mike’s hard work!
…And If it’s my link you’re after, try kevinbott.com.
I like remembering the times the sugar crystals crushed in my teeth, when the coffee was an overture of our riotous summer warmth passion, before the bitter gnash reframed every gulp— and I see now that it takes a few cups to learn how you love it, and a lifetime of upset stomachs to know it when it’s gone.
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